#behold my skills in making the last one present tense

[helianthus21]

hyungnim vs hyung

[aetherarf]

[[ Summary: Diluc, after some... decisive encouragement, decides to spend a little time with you, except this time he won't be trapped behind the bar.

Other Parts: Part 1

Word Count: 1'936 ]]

In his hand, a Cecilia. He forced himself to still his hand, before he had broken the stem. Admittedly, he spent far too long thinking of your present, a small, simple thing, one that did not warrant much response beyond a 'thank you.' He didn't want to seem too... forward, after all.

He considered many, before he decided upon a cecilia. First, he thought of the dandelion, the flower most who are not from Mondstadt think of. However, he eventually decided that it would be a poor choice, due to how delicate it was, and how the seeds were eager to be spread... he did not want you to have a plant stem over your ear and the seeds stuck in your hair.

A young mistake with Kaeya led him to discover how hard it was to get them all out.

Then he considered a windwheel aster, one that adored the gentle wind, and he did see you as gentle, when he could not be. But, with the two-flowered head, it would be sort of awkward to position at times, and if he tried to remove one of the two flowers, it would always wither upon itself.

Then he thought of Lamp Grass... but the gentle glow could draw too much attention, and if he truly desired to tuck it in your hair, having it too close to your eyes would lead to a quick headache.

And a sweet flower was... too fragrant. Being assaulted with that sweetness was... sickening, utterly sickening, at least for too long. So, the pale color and gentle but still pleasant fragrance of the cecilia was his final choice.

He walked into the Angel's Share, looking around curiously-he had informed Charles beforehand that he was going to be present, but strictly for 'leisure' purposes. However, that didn't stop Charles from looking at him oddly.

Instead of try to explain something futile to someone who didn't need the explanation, he looked around the building... A few knights who were off work, drinking off their stress, Kaeya among them, a few regulars, and that obnoxious green bard singing for tips or drinks... Well, he did have quite a pleasant voice, and was skilled with his lyre, so he couldn't complain yet.

However... through everyone, he didn't see you. Maybe you hadn't arrived yet? Or maybe you went upstairs, instead. He walked up, and, lo and behold, you were sitting there, a drink at the table you were sitting beside, as you seemed to be reading something.

"Are you alright?" He asked, and you jumped, not expecting him. He half expected to leave immediately with his tail between his legs, but as you smiled, he felt his heart flutter, and with how joyously you said his name...

"Diluc!" You pushed yourself up, neglecting your book, "I thought you weren't coming!"

He could feel himself smile, just a little, "Well, I told you I'd be coming, even if I'm not working." He said, only now remembering the cecilia he had brought, "Please hold still, for just a moment." You obeyed, watching as he lifted the cecilia up, tucking it over your ear, adjusting it slightly before pulling his hand back. "Just a little present."

Your hand lifted, lightly touching the petals of the fine flower, "Oh, thank you! Sit with me?" You asked, gesturing to the other seat next to your table, as you sat down. He didn't hesitate, sitting down across from you.

"It's really kind of you to show up," you said, looking down as your fingertip ran along the wood of the table, "I was disappointed when I saw Charles behind the bar, but... I'm glad you're here."

Diluc nodded, "I don't speak with you solely to pass time, I enjoy the time I spend with you."

Oh, was that too forward? He tried to not show it on his face, but...

... With how flustered you looked, but a smile still on your face, oh, he adored that look.

"Well... I like spending time with you, too. It helps you're better at mixing drinks than Charles, you know how to make my usual better than anyone else," You chuckled, Diluc glancing to the side, half wondering if Charles could have heard that from so far.

"I can make you another drink, if you wish." He offered, "On the house."

"No, no, I'm good... But, on the note of drinks," you stood, "Can you watch mine? I'll be right back,"

"Of course," Diluc hummed, watching you leave... his gaze trailing on the empty silhouette after you had descended down the stairs. Quietly, he sighed, hiding his face in his hands.

Had he been... saying the right things? You had been in a good mood as far as he could tell, but he wasn't exactly the best at speaking with others... Maybe he could help out the mood a little?

He had an idea. He grabbed your drink, resolving to come back in just a few moments, and walked downstairs. You weren't in sight, so he figured you went to the restroom or something. He saw Venti, who was resting for a moment, drinking... however, it was clear he was just drinking water, rather than alcohol. He had a few tips, which would feed him, but no one would give him alcohol due to his young face.

"Bard," Diluc said, and Venti perked his head up.

"Oh, hi Master Diluc! I'm not drinking, see?" He raised his glass, "Just taking a second before I start playing. I'm not causing any problems!" He defended, a with a little bit of those silly theatrics he adores so.

"I can tell," he hesitated, "I have a request, and I'll offer you some wine if you play it."

Venti raised his brow, "Well, a glass of wine is nice, but-"

"I'll give you two bottles if you play whatever I ask without question." Diluc interrupted, and Venti... stared.

"Oh. Oh, you're serious." Venti quickly stood up, his hands on his lyre, "I'll gather it a little later tonight, what's the song?"

He hesitated.

"A traditional love song, one not too brash or forward that wouldn't interrupt an otherwise casual evening. You can think of one, can't you?"

"That's-" he stopped himself, not wanting to risk his chances of Diluc changing his mind, "Sure."

"And wait a few minutes until you play." Diluc added, not wanting Venti to have half done with his ballad before you could even get back, "Understood?"

Venti sat back down, grabbing his water, "Understood!" He said, somewhat squeaky, "Anything else?"

"No... No, thank you." He hummed, already turning around to walk back up. He was thankful, setting your drink back down where it had been before, he able to tell solely from the lack of use of a coaster, and he, tensely waited for you to come back.

But you showed, coming and sitting back down, "Sorry, I got into a conversation with a friend. Did anything happen?" You glanced at your drink briefly, and Diluc shook his head.

"No, nothing." Nothing worth telling, anyway. "I hope you didn't cut it off for me, I wouldn't wish for you to worry for me."

You shook your head, "I can talk to them whenever, I only get the Diluc Ragnvindr to myself every so often," you joked, laughing to yourself.

"If you so wish, you could have me to yourself more often." He had regretted those words, idly wondering if he should walk out to the balcony and jump off head first.

"That... Sounds nice." You admitted, hesitant.

Was Diluc supposed to keep pressing, to plan a time and place? Or was that too much-

"Oh, I love this song," You interrupted his nervous thoughts, none too soon, as you glanced down at the ground floor, seeing Venti singing, strumming his lyre as his soft voice had sung a gentle, but pleasant song. It could almost be confused for a lullaby, in Diluc's opinion, but he did not care to listen to the lyrics, or to the song at all, looking at your smiling face, until you looked over at him, and he turned to look away.

"Are you a fan of music, Diluc?" You asked, curiously. "I prefer to play than to listen," he admitted, "And I suppose I prefer non-lyrical music. But this is still nice." Not for the music, however.

"Maybe you could play for me," you joked.

"I'll remember to bring a flute next time I come."

"I didn't...mean it," you muttered, "But that would be nice. Wouldn't it be better to play... away from all the noise, though?"

Diluc was quiet, and... he decided. He was going to keep pressing, you were giving him too many opportunities, he would hate himself if he didn't try.

"Let's go to Good Hunter tomorrow, then we can take a walk and I'll play for you," only you, "Would that be alright?" He asked, seeing your shocked expression.

Oh, maybe he was going to hate himself no matter what decision he made.

"S-sure," you stuttered out, "That-that sounds nice."

He didn't hear any thinly-veiled hesitance, only shock. Were you truly so doubtful that he would have asked for your time alone? Were you... afraid? He wouldn't hurt you, the only situation he would was if you assaulted him, and he must protect his own life, but even considering that made his heart ache.

Venti's song slowly ceased, and you sighed, looking at your drink. "I guess I should get going," you muttered, "I have work tomorrow. Is tomorrow at six good?" you asked, and he... hesitated.

"Of course. I'll see you then?" You smiled, full of sweetness and his heart was full of adoration, so much so he could barely endure it.

"I couldn't forgive myself if I missed it."

You waved him goodbye, before leaving ahead... and he had to sit there for a long moment, face red as his hair as he his his head in his hands.

Oh, he had a date. He planned a date... Was he supposed to dress up, to bring anything special? He didn't want to bring a gift that would be too forward, nor to force you to carry it around later...

Maybe he could order a bouquet, mainly cecilia's with a few white roses amongst them, that he could play off by saying he requested pale-colored flowers, in case you were discomforted by a possibly forward gesture? He could pick it up whilst walking you home, or during the last end of the... date.

He was still reeling. He looked forward to it, so dearly... He found himself walking down the stairs, about to leave before Venti all but grabbed his coat, staring at him with puppy-dog eyes.

"Hey! Wait! You didn't forget, did you?" Venti asked, Diluc... did forget, but he remembered shortly after.

"Charles," Diluc said, the man behind the bar looking up, "We owe two bottles of wine to this bard," he didn't even need to gesture to the clingy boy, "Give them to him however he requests."

Charles looked at Diluc oddly, "Alright," was all he said, however, and Venti walked over to the bar,

"Gimme the bottles." He said, and Charles fussed around, before grabbing two bottles of fine wine, Venti grabbing them and walking off to the entrance, fumbling to open it with his hands full, a smug smile on his face, "Good to do business with you!" He chirped, just before he left.

He was definitely far too willing to give whatever he could to make you happy, but somehow, he didn't feel bad about that at all.

[cudan2]

We’re Only Human

Spring Break Shadowing Part 4

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,040

Summary: It’s the last day of shadowing with Dr. Cullen, but you’ve come to realize a little more about how you feel towards him. Cue crushes and a little bit of chaos along the way.

A/N: I finished the semester and can actually dedicate time to writing this again because instead of being on spring break, I’m now on winter break. I also chopped this part in half because it was probably going to be over 6,000 words otherwise and that’s just a lot compared to the previous ones. Bear with me, guys. Another note - I’m thinking about posting this on Ao3 but will rewrite it because I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this in present tense lol. 

Anyways, this is #8 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

You don’t know how it happened, but time is on your side and you’re running early this morning. The sun has just risen and casts a warm glow across the hospital as you make you way to the Starbucks, determined to be the one to buy Doctor Cullen his drink for once.

Meeting him here every morning has become a tradition, a tradition that involves him getting you breakfast every day you’ve shadowed him this week. The two of you would chat about various topics while walking to where ever he had to be next. Sometimes you would prod his brain with more medical-related questions, occasionally he would tell stories from his past, but regardless, his every word had you captivated.

Alright, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to finally admit that you may or may not have developed a tiny crush on Doctor Cullen. To be fair though, this is your last day shadowing him and it’s not like you’re ever going to see him again anyways. You feel a pang of disappointment at the thought, but it soon disappears when Emily greets you at the counter.  

“Hi, Y/N! Where’s the doctor today?”

“I was running early today, so I figured I’d grab both of our drinks.” You place your order and ask the barista what Doctor Cullen’s “usual” was.

“Oh that?” she laughs. “He gets boiling water. It’s a little weird, but I just assumed he makes tea with it.”

Boiling... water? You think back to the last several days and try to remember what Doctor Cullen even did with his drink. He definitely never made tea with it. In fact, you don’t think he’s ever taken a sip out of the cup before throwing it away.

“Then I’ll be adding a grande boiled water to my order,” you tell Emily and thank her before she moves on to the next person in line.

You wait to the side for your food and see Jaime standing there too. He’s wearing a backpack and a faded college sweatshirt thrown over his scrubs, and you’re reminded of how many years left of school you have before you can even call yourself a doctor. You wave to him, and he pulls an earbud out from his ear with a sleepy smile.

“Hey, what’s up?” he greets you.

“Nothing much, just grabbing something to eat before the day starts. I’m surprised to see you here though. What happened to morning rounds?”

Jaime lets out what you can only discern as a mix between a hollowed laugh and a groan and tells you about forgetting his coffee at home. “Don’t even get me started on this morning. My car died on me, so I had to get an Uber. Lo and behold, there weren’t any Ubers around either, so ya boy eventually took not just a taxi, but a taxi and the train. By the time I got here, I realized my coffee was still on the counter at home, and so now I’m here.”

Damn, and you thought mornings were rough for you.

“Sorry to hear that! Did you get in trouble for being late?”

“I called Doctor Cullen myself and told him what was happening. He was so understanding, god bless, so I’m in the clear for now.

At the mention of the doctor, your thoughts instantly go back to blond tresses and a brilliant smile you already know you’ll miss when you leave the hospital for the last time today.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great, isn’t he?” you say a little too dreamily. Jaime gives you a knowing look and you rein it back in, hoping you haven’t exposed yourself already.

“You know, I think he’s going to miss you the most when you leave.” You don’t even get the chance to react when Jaime continues on, “Don’t get me wrong, Lily and I will definitely miss having you around, but the man really took a liking to you a lot faster than he did with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“He always kept us at an arm’s length before you came around. All of that personal stuff you get out of him would have taken him weeks to tell us before, and that’s if we’re lucky. He just seems more comfortable around you,” Jaime shrugs. His coffee is then called out, cutting off anything he wanted to say next. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later!”

You take a moment to mull over what Jaime said. From your perspective, Doctor Cullen has treated you exactly the same way he does with everyone else. You don’t dare to over think what Jaime could be saying – over thinking never leads to anything good. And yet, the damage is done. The seed has been planted and now you can’t help but wonder about what made you stand out to the doctor.

Your own order is called, and you’re pulled from your thoughts with the smell of warm food.

Now armed with two beverages and a pastry bag sandwiched between your fingers, you make your way to a nearby table to wait for Doctor Cullen. Your wait is soon cut short though, as you see him walking towards you out of your peripheral vision. The clouds shift and the sun shines through the windows again. Its golden rays pass over the doctor, and for a second, you swear you could see him shimmering in the sunlight.

You squint strangely and blink a few times. Get it together, you tell yourself. Over thinking is clearly playing some weird psychological tricks on your eyes, and you still needed to be on your A-game.

“Hey you,” he flashes that familiar smile once more when reaching the table you are settled at. “You’re early today.”

“I am. It even gave me the chance to get you your water.” You hand him the cup with a smirk, having made sure to put a sleeve on it earlier because unlike Doctor Cullen, you actually have hands that hold the risk of being burnt.

“Ah, I see Emily has divulged one of my secrets with you. Thank you, Y/N, you really didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist. Seriously, water is free at Starbucks. “Think of it as a small thank you present. It’s the least I could do for the amazing surgeon that let me follow him around for the week.”

“Hmm, I think you may have meant the amazing, extremely kind, highly skilled, and not to mention, quite dashing–”

“Okay! No need to flatter yourself,” you laugh, trying your best to refrain from rolling your eyes. In all honesty, you can’t describe him any better. Add in attractive, intelligent, compassionate, way too humble sometimes, and it would be the perfect recipe to recreate another Doctor Cullen.

From there on, your daily routine at the hospital continues without a hitch. It’s a morning filled with back to back surgeries and question after question thrown at you from the doctor. There is no doubt that he is keeping you on your toes – literally and figuratively. You have to admit though, you are pretty proud of yourself for being able to answer the majority of his questions.

Your feet swing aimlessly while you spin around in a padded chair in Doctor Cullen’s office. Your laptop is open on his desk, displaying a blank document that’s meant to be your personal statement. It has been a little over an hour since he left you here to attend a mandatory meeting and you are starting to get antsy.

Aside from several stacks of files and other various papers, the desk lacks the small trinkets you would expect to see. As a matter of fact, the office itself is surprisingly void of anything personal. There aren’t any pictures of family, friends, pets, not even of a possible wife. There are no decorations on the wall either, and if it weren’t for the leather briefcase leaning against the side of the desk, you’d never believe this office belonged to him. No wonder he spends as much time as possible outside of this dismal room.

As you continue spinning in the chair, you bring up a paper fortune teller made earlier from a sticky note. You choose a color, two subsequent numbers, and flip open the flap to reveal the fortune.

Brunch date with Dr. Cullen.

The things you do to kill time. Your friends would never let you live this down if they could see you now.

Just as you’re about to go another round with the fortune teller, the door opens and Doctor Cullen walks in. The fortune teller goes flying out of your hands and onto the floor next to you as you jump in surprise and halt the spinning.

“Sorry about the wait, Y/N. I’m afraid the meeting took longer than expected,” he says, his words laced with a hint of bitterness. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice you nearly jumping out of your skin. Not wanting to draw attention to the fortune teller on the floor, you leave it there for now and start packing up your stuff.

“I presume you found a way to entertain yourself?”

“Kind of? I tried starting my personal statement again. It’s really not coming together,” you laugh dryly. Too preoccupied with turning off your laptop and putting it away, you don’t notice that Doctor Cullen walking around to the head of the desk where you are until it’s too late.

Oh crap, the fortune teller. Of course, he just has to notice it too and picks it up with a curious expression. You look up, and he’s standing there with it in his hand.

“Did you make this?”

You leap up from the chair and snatch it out of his hand before he can examine it any closer. There is no way in hell you’re letting him open it.

“Uh, yeah... It’s just something we used to make in elementary school – nothing special!” You try to play it off as cool as possible and slip the fortune teller into the small trash can underneath his desk. “So what’s next on the schedule?”

He takes a moment before answering you. You see his eyes study the way your fingers nervously fidgets with a loose thread on your shirt. He seemingly brushes off the interaction that occurred and responds, “Pre-op. I believe this one will be much different than the others you’ve observed this week.”

“What’s different about it?” you ask. Doctor Cullen starts to leave and holds the door open for you.

“You’ll see.” You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking.

He shuts the door and you start walking towards to the surgical department when a hand abruptly pulls you back just a little too hard. You trip over your own feet in the process and in some miraculous, but also really unlucky, sadistic, cruel-of-the-universe sort of way, land in Doctor Cullen’s arms. Goosebumps form up your arms where he’s holding you, and you can’t tell whether it’s from the temperature difference or the fact that your face is only an inch away from his chest.

You are absolutely mortified to say the least. Heat begins crawling up your cheeks and if there was a witness, they would have seen you quite literally jump out of the doctor’s arms.  

“I’m so sorry, Doctor Cullen! I didn’t mean to trip and fall and–”

“No, no, please, Y/N. It was of no fault of yours. I admit, I wholly underestimated the extent of my strength in that moment.” You stare at him, still dismayed at what happened, but it seems you aren’t the only one feeling like a deer in the headlights. “Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?” he asks, smiling meekly.

“It’s fine, these things happen. We’re only human after all, right?”

“...Right.” There’s a moment of silence that goes on for longer than you prefer, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the punchline of some inside joke. You don’t dwell on it though. There’s really only so much social embarrassment you can handle in one day. “Now, if there aren’t any more near-accidents,” he points in the opposite direction and says, “we’re headed to the children’s hospital.”

Oh.

[aion-rsa]

Van Helsing Returns For A Final Season And Adds Time Travel To Its Narrative Palette

https://ift.tt/3af4PjN

This Van Helsing article contains major spoilers for the season 5 premiere.

From the dynamically retooled opening title sequence to the Jack-centric Transylvania storyline, it takes only moments to recognize that Van Helsing’s fifth and final season promises to take fans on a wild ride as it brings to a close its delightfully circuitous tale of horror’s most iconic vampire hunting family. Season premiere “Past Tense” doesn’t represent the first time the Van Helsing family story finds itself in the past, but there seems to be a more concerted effort this time to employ traditional time travel elements as the unanswered questions mount.

It’s been sixteen months since the season four finale, but the head of the Van Helsing clan remains noticeably absent from the story even though her imprint is unmistakable. Fans of the series understand Kelly Overton’s (Vanessa Van Helsing) pregnancy last season limited her participation, and though she doesn’t appear in the season premiere, Nicole Muñoz (Jack) and Tricia Helfer (Olivia/The Dark One) deliver strong performances that skillfully carry the episode. Still, where’s Vanessa?

Before we address Vanessa’s whereabouts, however, it’s the stunning narrative redirect showrunner/writer Jonathan Lloyd Walker and director Jonathan Scarfe (Axel) throw at viewers that suggests a new approach to bringing the vampire apocalypse to an end. What appears to be a truth on Van Helsing doesn’t always play out the way we think it will, but when Jack leaves the Dark Realm and finds herself in renaissance Transylvania, there seems to be only one logical explanation – time travel. You have to love that Jack immediately recognizes the drastically changed landscape and sets out to take care of business. 

Read more

TV

Van Helsing Season 5 Overcomes Production Challenges

By Dave Vitagliano

TV

Van Helsing Season 4 Episode 13 Review: The Beholder

By Dave Vitagliano

Vanessa apparently still resides in the Dark Realm, but it seems clear that she’s the catalyst for Jack’s temporal journey to Dracula’s city of origin.  Of course, Jack’s experience here could turn out to be similar to Vanessa’s meeting with her grandmother Lily in season three,  but for now, we have to consider conventional time travel as the most likely scenario. Needless to say, time travel in the hands of a less skilled writer can lead to a multitude of narrative pitfalls, but with Walker (Continuum) at the helm, the story is in more than competent hands. Still, we have to wonder how Vanessa’s role will play out since it seems reasonable to assume that if she can send Jack to the past, she can leave the Dark Realm at any point herself. So why does she stay?

Once we learn that Count Dalibor’s wife Olivia (Tricia Helfer) may, in fact, be the genesis of the Dark One, it’s only a matter of time before she and Jack come face to face. It doesn’t take long for viewers and Jack to face the quintessential time travel dilemma: if you could go back in time and kill baby Hitler, would you? Traveling to the past to prevent an apocalyptic future has become a science fiction staple, and Jack now faces the ultimate moral decision. “Now I know why my mother sent me here.” Understanding Vanessa’s motivation is one thing, whether she can carry out this gruesome task is quite another. 

While it might be simpler to have Jack kill Olivia and prevent the 21st century evil that plagues the American northwest, other options do exist. “What if you could stop what turns her dark?” Florian (Matúš Kvietik) asks a reticent Jack. Unfortunately, the Transylvanian problem is far more complex than simply eliminating new mother Olivia. Actions have consequences, and if time travel tales tell us anything, it’s that unintended consequences generally rear their ugly heads sooner rather than later. Whether it’s the Grandfather Paradox or the Butterfly Effect, things rarely turn out the way the protagonist thinks they will.

Not surprisingly, Helfer (Battlestar Galactica; Lucifer) seamlessly transitions from the dark, ultra evil creature at the heart of the vampire threat to a loving wife and new mother who unknowingly sells her soul to Michaela and the roots of the Sisterhood. Nonetheless, the plot thickens because killing Olivia and preventing her from becoming the Dark One only takes care of one problem. What about the Sisterhood? Jack and Ivory already killed Michaela in the present, but now Jack can prevent her from creating and expanding the Sisterhood and becoming the Dark One’s bride. Does Jack have it in her to commit what will seem like multiple atrocities to the innocent bystanders who possess no knowledge of the future from which she comes?

Olivia’s role in the coming apocalypse isn’t as cut and dried as it might seem, and when Florian shows Jack the portrait of the count and countess, it’s her last name that stimulates Jack and the fateful decision she ultimately makes. Dracula. Did Vanessa actually send Jack to this point in time with the intention that her daughter could operate in the role previously ascribed to her – mankind’s savior?

Nobody said saving the human race was going to be easy, and we most certainly didn’t expect the Van Helsing storyline to end up in the middle of a Renaissance street fair, but it’s a perfect vehicle for Olivia to meet another major player on the dark side.  “I see two futures diverging,” the fortune teller (Jesse Stanley) tells Olivia, and the woman who will eventually become the Oracle, informs her that two women wish to shape her fate. “Something dark awaits you.” And Jack’s kill list grows taller by the minute.

“I told you; vampires, and I’m the cure,” Jack explains to Florian, but the subtext here implies something quite different than her ability to return victims to the human state. Micheala (Heather Doerksen) wishes to resurrect someone and begins brewing a potion that seems to affect both Jack and Olivia and sets into motion an act which can’t be taken back. We’ve witnessed this watershed moment many times before, and too often the hero hesitates and allows evil to escape. Not this time, however. Jack plunges her dagger into Olivia’s throat. “I’m sorry; I had to.” This is not the first person Jack has killed, but it will be fascinating to watch the effect this murder has on her personality. Still, if she’s to prevent the dark future, there are at least two more deaths to consider. 

“Do not get enchanted by whispers of magic and monsters,” Dalibor (Kim Coates) tells Florian, laying the groundwork for Jack’s revelation that vampires are real and must be stopped. However, Jack’s in a difficult situation since the “I’m from the future,” explanation rarely yields positive results. It’s early, so we don’t know if Vanessa has an exit strategy planned for Jack, but for now, she’s on her own. Is Florian enamored enough of this stranger to overlook the murder of his beloved countess, or can Jack offer some kind of proof that everything she says is true? And how will Dalibor handle his wife’s brutal killing? No one ever said the Dark One has to be female.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Over the course of five seasons, series creators and showrunners Simon Barry, Neil LaBute, and now Jonathan Lloyd Walker have managed to lure some of genre television’s finest actors for guest spots and recurring roles, and “Past Tense” continues this trend. Filming inside a real Slovakian castle takes the Van Helsing world building to another level which works brilliantly with Jack’s journey to the past, and though it’s likely only a brief paradigm shift, the intriguing introduction of time travel into the overall arc helps assuage the momentary loss we feel in the absence of the core characters. Vanessa will be back. The future’s not as clear for Violet, Doc, Axel, Ivory, and Julius who are still out there somewhere.

The post Van Helsing Returns For A Final Season And Adds Time Travel To Its Narrative Palette appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3mVvw2i

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Premonition

The prompt from anonymous was this:

Can I get #18 from the angst list with Cayde x female Reader???? can the reader be a titan awoken guardian tho

Cayde-6 x (Titan+Awoken)Female!Reader

Warnings: brief mention of past trauma, panic attack symptoms, angst/comfort

1,445 words

The cold metal of the railing was pressed against your abdomen. You could feel it through your flimsy sleep shirt, and your hands were clenched around the railing in tight fists. The air around you held a chill that seemed to settle over your bare arms and legs. It felt odd to be out here in such a public place of the tower wearing only a shirt and sleep shorts. You didn’t even have on shoes or socks at the moment. Luckily, it was so early that only a few straggling Guardians or night shift Tower employees had passed through to give you a curious glance.

Any of the ones who stared at you as they passed, hesitated in their steps, angered you. You wanted to snap at them. Shoo them away so you could enjoy this quiet moment out in the cold alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to even turn toward them. Really, you didn’t even blame them for their curiosity. A shaking Awoken standing out by the Tower’s railing dressed in her sleep clothes was probably a sight to behold.

You loosened your grip on the railing only for your hands to start shaking all over again. Quickly, you regripped it and shut your eyes tightly. Was this ever going to pass? You’ve had nightmares before. Hell, it seemed like most of your nights were plagued with past horrors. Sometimes it was facing Oryx. Sometimes it was Ghaul, glaring down at you as he pushed you off the edge of his ship again. Other times it wasn’t even anything you could pin down. It’d just be gunshots and fire and blood.

You had gotten very, very good at ignoring the nightmares.

This time had been different though. This time is wasn’t some awful memory from the recesses of your mind. It wasn’t an enemy you had destroyed or a vague battle you had faced. It had been vivid and clear. It had been Cayde.

Flashes of the nightmare came back to you. Cayde-6 lying broken in a pool of his own Exo blood. Hearing him scream as a shadow covered hand clawed his chest apart. Your eyes snapped open as nausea washed over you again.

“Guardian?” Ghost hummed in concern as he hovered by the side of your head. You couldn’t speak, not with your teeth gritted together like they were, but you leaned your head against him. A silent nod that you were ok, and he didn’t need to worry.

Even though you weren’t ok. Not in the slightest.

A few more moments passed, and you could feel the nausea and pain slipping away. You kept your eyes trained on the Traveler. Watching the orbiting debris circle around the Traveler again and again somehow calmed you. Your heart didn’t ache as much now, and even though the images of this nightmare seemed to be seared into the back of your mind, it was easier to ignore them with your gaze focused on that white orb in the sky. It almost felt as if the Traveler itself was trying to comfort you, your light felt different in this moment. Was it trying to tell you something? If only the Speaker were still here to offer you his thoughts.

“You’re up early.” Cayde-6 set his arms on either side of you as he spoke. The hunter had snuck up on you, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Even when you weren’t shaken or distracted, he could do so. It was one of his many skills. “I didn’t even hear you get up. Just woke up to a cold bed. That’s rude, you know? Leaving me all by my lonesome.”

You wanted to speak. You wanted to say something, anything, in an attempt to move on from this moment, but hearing the smooth velvet tones of his voice. The drawl of his words as he spoke with his mouth right by your ear. It only brought back the nightmare of him screaming in agony.

“Hey.” He murmured and set his hands on top of your tense ones. You glanced down at them and saw he had on his gloves. Cayde must have gotten dressed before coming out to find you. Unlike you, he apparently had the decency to make himself presentable before running around the Tower. It still seemed weird to see him dressed in his usual gear this early on his day off.

Slowly, he pried your hands away from the railing and spun you around. The warm metal of his hands were a stark contrast to the cold metal of the railing. “[Name], you’re shaking. What’s goin’ on?”

You steadied yourself, swallowed the lump in your throat, and forced yourself to lift your gaze to meet his eyes. There was concern painted all over his face, worry and fear, and his glowing light blue eyes seemed to bore into you. That’s what broke you. His eyes, which you loved so much, was the final straw of your already fragile sanity. A flash of his broken face filled your view, cracked glass eyes with no glow or life behind them.

A broken sob left you as warm tears began to roll down your cheeks. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, like Ghaul himself had his foot pressing down on your chest.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Cayde said quickly in a panicked tone. His hands released your hands to cup your face. The smooth leather of his gloves swiped the tears from your cheeks, but they were only replaced by more. “Hey, hey, talk to me, baby. What’s got you so worked up?”

You lifted your own hands to rest against his and tried to steady yourself again. It was easier this time than last. Cayde was an anchor. He kept you tethered to reality. He was why ignoring other bad dreams came so easy to you now because all you had to do was wake up, roll over, and he was there.

He was always there.

The Tower and your Vanguard, Zavala, needed you to be strong, to be the unbreakable Titan that protected the light, but these days you didn’t feel unbreakable. You felt like you were on the edge of cracking, the edge of spiraling into something darker, but Cayde would never let that happen. Cayde kept you centered in who you were.

“I-I can’t lose you.” The words came from your lips as a desperate, pleading whisper. You were begging him. You were begging the Traveler, the universe. You were begging any force or being that could hear you and would take pity. “Cayde, I don’t know what I would do without you. I can’t—I’m not strong enough to-”

“Hey now, I’m not going anywhere, ok?” Cayde replied quickly. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against yours before pulling you tight into his chest. His arms took away the crushing sensation of not being able to breathe. “You ain’t gonna lose me. What brought this on?”

“I had a dream—a nightmare. It was awful. You died in my arms and it felt so real. It felt so real, Cayde.”

Cayde shushed you softly, smothering your worried hiccups and sobs with tender loving words mumbled in your ear. His voice soothed your soul and slowly the sobs began to subside again. He gently rubbed your back until your breathing was steady and soft.

“Feeling better?” He asked.

You nodded once and pulled away to rub the weariness from your face. As you focused back on Cayde you saw his own worry hadn’t faded. You offered him the best smile you could, firm and strong, and cupped his face with your hands, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He leaned forward to kiss you again, “Despite you leaving me in a cold bed.”

You chuckled and shook your head, “Why are you all dressed up already? We’re off today.”

“Oh, I got a mission. Wanted to check on you first.” Cayde tangled his hand in yours and began to drag you back towards your shared space. It’s where most of your gear was these days.

“You need a partner?”

Cayde shook his head and squeezed your hand tightly, “Don’t sweat it. I’ll grab one of my hunters. You should go back to bed, get some good sleep.”

“I’m fine, Cayde. I feel better now with you.” You lifted his hand with yours and kissed the back of his glove. He grinned at you, his eyes glowing with the same softness he would get anytime the two of you were alone. “Tell me about the mission.”

“Well, Petra called. Apparently, we got some sort of prison riot goin’ on…”

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found (chapter 7)

Warnings: foul language, maybe unrequited feelings (sort of, I guess), some daddy Tyler

Tagging: @alievans007 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hemmyworthy

News comes fast. Not in the form of an email or a phone conversation, but with Nik showing up on his doorstep less than eighteen hours later. Given the situation these things are best done in person; no chance of insecure connections or taps on your phone and no extra ears listening in.  They could control the situation at his place; very few people going in or out,  no strangers past the front door, no one taking photographs and assessing the scene.  It would sound like paranoia to the average person. To Tyler it is just common sense.

Still the initial greetings are tense. They haven't being in each other's physical presence in eleven months other than the visits Nik would make to the hospital during those early days of his battle for survival.  These two women in his life had been friends; meeting through a series of consequences and bizarre events and becoming incredibly close.  Drawn together by similar experiences and skill sets that played off each other extremely well.  But there's a chill in there. Tyler feels it.  The way they stand on opposite sides of the room regarding one another; fondness in one set of eyes, suspicion in the other.  He isn't sure what has changed between them or exactly what  happened or when. But that bond they once shared has been severed. Whether it be through something that was said during bedside moments at the hospital or through text or phone calls, something had gone down Perhaps it was Esme's own insecurities. A battle with self confidence since having the baby and not being able to loose some of the extra weight she'd put on.  To him she was incredible; the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and had the pleasure of being with. But to Esme, Nik was the competition.  A reminder of times in his life when she didn't exist. There would always be that lingering 'what if', perhaps even an unspoken worry that there were still feelings between them. That fact he has intimate history with both of them makes things a tad awkward. One was part of his distant past. The other his present and his future.

The 'help' that Nic had brought with her lingers in the front hallway; rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes darting around the room and never making contact with Tyler's.  He's nervous. Awkward. A young guy that barely looks old enough to have graduated high school. Short and stocky with unruly blond hair and  anxious looking eyes, clad in a crisp black suit, white shirt and tie.  He wonders where Nic ever dug this guy up from.  He seems skittish.  Better suited for a library than a hostile situation. More Brad Pitt in Meet Joe Black than Brad Pitt in Inglorious Bastards.

Nik makes the first move; crossing the room in three long strides and taking Esme into her arms, enveloping in her a long, tight hug. For a brief moment the tension becomes unbearably thick. Causing him to clear his throat and uncomfortably and look away; arms crossed over his chest as sits on the arm of the couch.  And out of the corner of his eye he finally sees his wife's stiff body relax and the arms that had remained by her sides returning the embrace.

“Look at you...” Nik holds Esme's face in her hands; emotion welling in her eyes, a soft smile curving her lips. “...motherhood suits you. How are you? You've been okay?”

He wonders how long it's been since they'd actually talked.  The mood is too frigid to suggest they'd kept up any semblance of their friendship.  

He makes a mental note to get to the bottom of it.

The new kid clears his throat noisily. Smooths down the wrinkles in his suit jacket. Straightens and tightens his eyes. His eyes met Tyler's briefly, a twitch of the lips turn up in a smile.  

“I make you nervous, mate?” he smirks, as his wife and Nik make slightly awkward small talk. ''

The kid blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You haven't looked at me since you got here. Not even when you shook my hand. You seem a little nervous.”

“A little, I guess,” he admits. “You're a...well...you're a little bit of a legend, sir.”

“Don't call me sir. I'm not old enough to be your father.”

“I'm sorry. Mister Rake.”

Tyler snorts and shakes his head.  “Not need for that kind of formal stuff here, kid. We're all in the same shit pile.  What are you nervous about?”

“Like I said, you're a bit of a legend, sir...I mean Mister Rake..I mean...”

“Tyler's fine, mate.”

“I'm sorry...Tyler.  You're a legend.  Everyone in the business knows you. We've all heard the stories. We all know your numbers. Something like three hundred men. That you've...you know...dispensed of.”

“Three, four, somewhere around there,” he says. “To be honest, I stopped keeping track a long time ago.  How long you been in the game?”

“Not long.  A couple of months. Nik just has me doing security details right now, but I'm hoping to get out into the field. It would be nice to follow in your footsteps.”

“Be careful what you wish for, kid. These footsteps aren't all they're cracked up to be. Trust me on that.”

“Those are mighty big shoes to fill,” Nik pipes up, as she and Esme finally conclude their tense yet promising catching up. “It will be a long time before you even come close.”

“I need to get out of here,” Esme announces. “I need to get some fresh air. Before I start climbing the walls.”

Tyler nods, curling an arm around her waist as she steps between his legs. Her hands on his shoulders as he presses a kiss to her lips. Followed by her forehead.  He notices the way Nik shifts uncomfortably and averts her gaze.

Esme moves towards the door. Snagging a set of keys from a bowl on the hallway table before showing her feet into a pair of flip flops.

“That's your cue, mate,” Tyler addresses the younger man. “What's the hold up?”

“Right...okay...I guess I'll just...I'll just go with her.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Tyler runs a hand through his hair and over his face, eyes and voice filled with disdain. “That's what you're here for. Not to just stand there, holding up the wall. You bloody well better make sure nothing happens to her. Because if something does, your end is going to be pretty damn painful and pretty damn bloody.”

The kid's eyes widen; a noticeable red flush appearing on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. And he gives nothing more than a stiff nod in response before following Esme out the door.

Tyler smirks. “Think I scared him?”

“I think you may have made him wet his pants,” Nik retorts.

“Where the hell do you find that guy? Little wet around his ears, no?”

“He's a little...green.”

“Yeah, like fresh baby shit.”

“What he lacks in social skills he makes up for in other ways. You don't have anything to worry about. She's in good hands.  And speaking of babies..” Nik finally turns to face him.  “..don't I have a niece to finally meet?”

****

Tyler leads the way to the nursery. Nik notices the differences in the way he moves now; his limp more pronounced, his right shoulder hitched slightly higher than the right as the muscles and tendons overcompensate for the damage that had been done.  There's more scars now. Some thin and smooth, others thick and jagged. And she can't help but concentrate on that one that graces the left side of his neck. The one that has nearly taken his life and seen him spend weeks teetering on the threshold of this world and the next.  But he's the same Tyler; tall and strong, broad shouldered, a powerful specimen to behold. And he'd managed to pack the weight and the muscle back on, and then some.

The baby lies on her back in the middle of the crib. Those brilliant blue eyes wide and focused; mesmerized by the mobile that spins above her. Making soft cooing noises and smiling when she realizes her father is now standing beside her.  Tiny hands reach for him, little legs kicking with excitement.

“She's beautiful,” Nik says, and hopes she isn't betrayed by the emotions she's feeling. It is overwhelming; coming face to face with this tiny being who was conceived during one of the darkest and most trying times in all of their lives.  An innocent, perfect little creature who came so close to never meeting the man that so obviously adores her.  

Amelia Grace.  A beautiful and worthy name.  Classic. Strong.

“She's doing well?” she asks, watching as his long, strong fingers straighten and fasten impossibly small buttons. Such a juxtaposition. How this hands have done so much damage but can still be so gentle.

“Doing good,” he replies.  “Learning new things every day. Growing like a weed.”

“It seems like just yesterday that we found out about her. You were still in the hospital. I remember how scared you sounded when you told me that Esme was pregnant. You were terrified.”

“For good reason. The last time I got someone pregnant, it didn't end very well. Don't think things like that don't mess someone up.”

“I don't think I'd ever seen you like that. Or heard you sound like that.  Everything we've been through together and everything that's happened to you, and I'd never seen you that worried.”

“I was shitting myself, to be honest. I still still pissing through a tube and spending ninety percent of my days knocked out from painkillers. Not the ideal situation to be in when you find out your girlfriend's pregnant.”

“Is that what she was? Is that where the two of you were then? It wasn't just a passing thing? Two people caught up in a moment?”

He'd considered that himself almost a year ago. Things had happened fast. Giving neither of them a chance to really catch their breath. Two broken people finding solace and escape in one another.

“If it were, do you really think we'd be here right now? Having this conversation?” he asks. You think I'd have married her if it wasn't more than that?”

“Part of me wondered if maybe you did that because it felt like the right thing to do.”

“Wondered or hoped?” he challenged, and she gives a small smile.  “Truth to be told, neither of us really knew what we were at the time. We didn't know where we'd end up. But I knew that I loved her. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. And I knew she loved me. And that's all that mattered.”

Nik nods. That explanation pleasing her. At least for now.

“You want to hold her?” he asks, as one of those large, powerful hands runs ever so delicately over the baby's head. “You can go ahead and pick her up if you want. She doesn't bite. That's more her mother's thing.”

She laughs at that and steps closer to the crib. Hesitating, her top teeth grazing over her bottom lip.

“Christ sakes, you're  not going to hurt her. I know she weights all of ten pounds, but you're not going to break her. Here...”  he lifts the infant from the confines of the crib and places her in Nik's arms. “...that's it...just relax....why are you so nervous?”

“She's tiny. I've never seen a human being this small. I haven't been around many babies.”

“You wanted to be her aunt and now you get to do it. You've got to learn to hold her. Just let her lay on her arm. Make sure her back and her head are supported. Would you stop shaking? You're going to freak her out. Bloody well relax already.”

Nik inhales deeply and slowly releases the breath. “I don't think she likes me.”

“Just settle down. You're worrying over nothing. See? That's not that hard, yeah? After you master this, we can work on changing diapers.”

“You're pressing your luck with that, Tyler,” she says,  her eyes riveted on the tiny creature in her arms, her fingers softly combing through that silky hair. “She's just so beautiful. So perfect. She looks just like you.”

“You're not going to follow that up with 'poor kid' are you?”

“Never. She's precious, Tyler.  The best of you and the best of Esme all rolled into one. If you'd told me this is where we'd be a year ago...”

“Surreal, isn't?” his hands move as he speaks; the need to keep constantly busy.  Smoothing and straightening crib sheets, folding a  bubble gum pink receiving blanket. “This time last year I had a chicken in my bathroom. Now I'm making bottles at three in the morning and wiping baby puke off my shirts.”

“I like this side of you,” she muses. “This domestic side.  The one that takes the garbage to the chute and cooks supper and does the laundry.”

“I even clean toilets and windows,” he grins. “But let's cut the shit. That's not the Tyler you're looking for, is it.”

It's a statement more than a question.

“I wish I could say it was. And I was surprised. When you called me and told me you wanted in on this. You're the last person I expected to get back in the game. Why now? You've got a normal life.  You've got a wife and a baby. Is this really the life you want for them?”

“One last time, Nik. This is the end for me.  After this I disappear. I disappear with my family and you lose my number unless it's only the new Tyler you're looking for.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do? I need you to be sure, Tyler. I need you to really look inside of yourself and be sure.”

Sighing, he drops down into the rocker by the window; hands clasped behind his head and his eyes on the ceiling as one foot methodically moves the chair.  “Let's get one thing clear. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for Ovi.”

“I know.”

“The kid needs me.  He doesn't trust the guys you've got watching them. And I'm sure they're decent guys. I'm sure they can pack a punch if they need to. But they're not me. Ovi realizes that. I think you do too.”

“And you can handle it? Physically speaking?”

“I'm not a hundred percent. I won't lie and say I am. But I'm at least at eighty percent and that's eighty percent more than what you had before I called you.”

“I can have you on a flight in forty eight hours.”

“Not just me. Esme and the baby too.”

“Tyler...”

“I remember that tone.  That's the tone you always used on me when you thought I was saying something stupid.”

“Not stupid. Foolish. Dangerous. Do you really think that's a good idea? Didn't you learn anything from what happened in Dhaka? Hasn't Esme seen enough?”

“She's a big girl. She can handle it. She'll be fine.”

“Things could go wrong. Things could go very wrong.”

He smirks. “They always do, don't they?”

“Then why bring them into this? Why take that chance?”

“They were already in this, Nik. They were in this the second I made my decision. They either come with me or we all stay. That's the way it's going to be.”

“Shit...Tyler...” she mutters.  “...this isn't a good idea. This...”

“I didn't listen to you a year ago when you told me to leave the kid in the street and I'm not going to listen to you now. This is the way it's going to be, Nik. It's either the three of us or it's none of us. Take your pick.”

She sighs.

“They're safer if they're with me,” he argues.

“I can have people posted here with them. I can...”

“Who?” he interjects. “Some guy that doesn't look like he's old enough to shave yet? I'm not trusting some guy who looks like he hasn't even reached puberty yet to take care of my family. They're better off with me. You get on us that flight. All three of us. And you make sure that everything is there that we need. Baby stuff. A crib, blankets, all that other shit. Make it happen, Nic.”

“This is foolish, Tyler. This isn't going to end well.”

He motions for her to hand him the baby and Nik carefully passes the infant over. Watching as he presses a kiss to his daughter's forehead and then places her against his chest.

“They know, Tyler. They know you survived. They know you're alive and they know your name. They know where you live.”

A shiver passes through him, but he maintains a calm and stoic front.   “I figured as much. How long have they known?”

“A week. Maybe two.  We've tried to keep your location quiet. We tried to keep your private life just that.  But we could only do so much.”

“They have anyone here?”

“Not that we know of.  But Asif had many friends. Many allies. And if these kids turn to them, there's no telling how far their reach will be.”

“Do they know about Esme? And the baby?”

“They know everything, Tyler.”

He nods slowly.  Foot moving the rocker even harder. His eyes dark and stormy as his chin rests on top of his daughter's head.

“Get us a flight, Nik,” he says. “We don't have forty eight hours. I don't care how you do it. Just get us a flight.”

[stained-glass-fragments]

[ Stained Glass (Fragments) Con. ]

When the blinding white light faded and color seeped back into her vision, Farona saw green---green grass, green trees, green foliage----familiar green, all around her.

Payon.

More specifically, she had been transported to Archer Village in the northern section of the town. A few of the old archery targets and boards were still raised near the tool dealer's shop in the upper right, half-shrouded by trees, and birds sang cheerfully in the treetops, frolicking and flitting in the early rays of dawn.

Her eyes inevitably strayed over the mouth of the Payon caves on the far left. The entrance was blocked with wards that the naked eye couldn't see (and accompanied by a sign that read "Do not enter"), as no guards were yet on duty outside of the caves. They would not allow adventurers in for another few hours yet.

...She still knew the schedule. And if things were different, she might have taken up her old post on patrol duty and wait for the others to arrive, catch up with her old comrades and exchange stories of the time they had been apart.

And come to think of it, this was also the the place that she first met--

"WAUH!"

A mere second later, she was on her knees on the ground, having been bumped from behind abruptly.

"Oh, pardon me," Yune voiced from behind her. She could hear a ghost of a chuckle in his tone. "You really didn't move from that spot even knowing that I was warping in after you?"

Her cheeks took on a hint of pink. She had been so caught up in the unexpected surroundings that she completely forgot about anything else.

Farona blinked as an outstretched glove appeared next to her and looked up, trailing the arm up to the smiling face. Another eerie familiarity came over her, making her heart skip a beat. If things had been different, if things had been like they were before...

His gloved fingers flexed once, closing and opening again. "Come now, my dear. I don't bite. ...Well, actually, I suppose that's a lie." Yune flashed his fangs, as if to make a point of it.

Refusing the offered hand, she hoisted herself back up and dusted her skirt off. He all too calmly retracted his hand with a one-shouldered shrug, as though he'd expected her not to take it from the start. The smile didn't waver.

Not wanting to dwell any of those unnerving thoughts, she forced her attention back to the situation at hand. This was a really strange place for him to have a warp directly to. Slowly, her gaze traveled back to his unreadable face.

"...Why did you bring me here?" she finally asked.

"Bring you here?" he returned the question, eyebrows raising just a bit over his sunglasses. "I was headed here. You're just tagging along now. Correct?"

That note of smug challenge was back. She could see it even with the thick sunglasses and ever-present smile on his lips---like he was just daring her to say otherwise.

Yune was reminding her that she was being whisked up into his plans and endeavors now---voluntarily. She wasn't pulling the strings. He was.

Although Farona couldn't help but wonder if there was ever a time that he hadn't been pulling the strings. His original offer to travel with her seemed like a kind way to fulfill her own wishes of leaving Payon, but now that he revealed he knew who and what she was all along...

She just didn't know. There were too many unanswered questions. And now that he brought them back to Payon, back to this place in particular, they only continued to pile.

"What do you intend to do here, then?" she reluctantly corrected herself. It wouldn't do any good to make things tense between them yet or pick a fight.

"Hmm," he appeared to mull the question over, arms tucking behind his back. "There's something I ought to retrieve from inside the caves. Care to join me?"

Farona blinked. Wasn't he aware that they couldn't get in?

She sighed. "The caves don't open to adventurers and parties for at least three hours yet. If you want to get in, we'll have to wait."

"Nonsense," he brushed her off, briskly walking past her, the tips of the bunny ears flopping.

With a stab of aggravation, she turned to follow after him, boots stomping on the ground. "Hey! Yune! Wait! You can't go in there! It's blocked off! There are magic barriers that will--"

He turned from the front of the cave to face her and she stopped in her tracks a few feet away. The smile was gone from his face.

"You really have no idea of what I'm capable of, do you?" He raised a hand to the open mouth of the cave. "Magic barriers? Child's play, my dear."

"You shouldn't---!" she interjected quickly, taking a unsteady step forward. "Those are dangerous and put up for a rea--"

Farona had no choice but to shield her eyes when a flash erupted from where his hand met the wards. But instead of Yune receiving a shock from magical lightning and being blown back away from it, the crackles of electric magic parted down the center where his gloved hand was, fizzled, and burned out.

She stared. That barrier had been put into place by a group of high wizards. From what she had been told, along with the other knights set on patrol duty here, the skills were advanced, complex, and tampering with the magic in any manner was a serious offense.

Her mind couldn't comprehend how a priest---even a high priest---undid the magic like it was nothing. And she knew that Yune Hiraze was far from a "normal" priest, but the knights had dealt with multiple cases of people trying to break into the caves late at night. And that included entire groups and parties hoping to have the dungeon to themselves in the off hours.

You didn't walk away from this kind of magic with just a twinge of discomfort or a burn on your hand. The sheer power incapacitated entire parties.

Her stunned eyes shifted to Yune, who had turned to the side to face her.

"That's where you were standing."

"Huh?" the knight blinked several times, still overwhelmed by his display of making quick work of an impassable magic wall that had been trusted for years.

"The day I found you," he elaborated, the curl of a smile lifting one side of his lips. "You were staring off into space. And you jumped to attention quite amusingly when your superior showed up."

Her brows drew together, trying to recall the events of that day. It wasn't unusual for her to get bored at her post, especially while waiting outside for the last patrol to return. But if it was when the captain caught her in a dazed moment, it was much earlier in the day than before her break and before the little acolyte boy had run out in a panic. At least a few hours prior to when Yune showed up to assist her in the caves.

"You didn't say anything then," she blurted her thoughts out unthinkingly. "I didn't even see a priest nearby."

"Don't you think it happened a little too conveniently, Farona?"

His voice had lowered suddenly, making the skin above the edges her gloves tingle. He wasn't just sending her down a trip through memory lane. There was something he was trying to get across to her.

"Lo and behold, a horde of zombies appears in the town in the middle of the day!" he continued with flourishing movements of his arms, as though retelling a grand story. "The entire guard is called into the heart of town. That is, save for one person instructed to keep an eye on the caves in the north. And it just so happens that trouble brews within the caves at the exact same time!"

Her heart had begun to beat a little faster. Now that she thought back on it, that had been strange. At the time, her thirst to prove herself had blinded her to just how bizarre and unlikely the situation was.

"That's when you showed up," she voiced cautiously, unnerved by his gleeful expression. "When I was in the caves fighting Osiris off to save those teenagers. Did the acolyte tell you about it, too?"

He was silent for a long moment, and then uttered, "No."

"So you just happened to come by at the right moment?" she asked skeptically, one hand finding her hip.

"Not at all," he replied simply, shaking his head. "I already knew you were there. I already knew you would go in there."

Her expression fell to complete confusion again. "What the heck's that supposed to mean?"

For the moment, he said nothing. Even with the shield of his sunglasses blocking his red eyes, she could tell that he was toying with her. Yune was holding some very important truth just out of her reach and dangling it in front of her until she finally caught it with her own two hands. He wanted her to realize it herself.

And she didn't like it. She had a bad feeling about this.

"You were foolishly loyal to these humans," he muttered through a strained smile. "I could tell after just a few hours of watching you interact with them. If you thought someone in those caves was endangered, you would run in, regardless of what was awaiting you."

Her head was spinning in efforts to keep track of everything.

He knew about Osiris before she did?

He knew that someone had used a bloody branch...?

Something in her insides lurched almost painfully, a gasp falling out of her lips.

No, he didn't know that someone had summoned a boss monster. The truth was...

"You used the bloody branch," she whispered softly in disbelief.

[darling-archeron]

Beneath the Dark: Chapter Two

What would have happened if Feyre had come to Prythian much earlier? Feyre Archeron has left her mortal life behind, and accepted being demi-fae. She has found her place in the Night Court's Inner Circle. But when her and Rhys attend a ball hosted by Amarantha Under the Mountain, they are in for much for then they bargained for.

Masterlist

Feyre 

I needn't have worried about talking with her immediately. Amarantha completely ignored me, turning to Rhysand. I was grateful for it. Let him set the pace while I got a feel for the dance.

“Why, High Lord Rhysand. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.” Her words were silken as she held out a hand. It was an effort not to frown at the eyeball encased on her ring, its erratic movements. “How have things fared in Night?”

It had been thirty years since she had arrived at the Night Court, eager to see what horrors she would behold in Hewn City.

Rhys kissed her hand, his face unfortunately close to that damn ring. Even though I knew it was all a pretense, I had to shove down that unnamed feeling in the pit of my stomach. “The pleasure is mine, General. The Night Court continues to thrive. What of Hybern?” There was no true smile, no humor or sensuous flirtation behind his words. Only the cool Lord of Nightmares remained, a small razorblade smile at the corner of his mouth.

Amarantha smiled again, her attention completely on Rhysand. Perhaps I could have walked away with her none the wiser. But I took the moment to “Hybern is doing quite well. But you and Tamlin are the only ones who haven’t set up alliances with us. What can I say that will get you to change your mind?”

“Must we talk politics so early in the evening? This is a night of revelry.” Cool, calm words.

“Ah, but the evening will only get merrier as we go along.” Her cadence was calm, at ease. If I hadn’t known how she had butchered mortals during the war, how her legion had captured Rhys….how she had tried to woo Tamlin, I likely would have been convinced by her acting.

“In that case, I can only tell you that I will consider it.” Rhys replied.

Her eyes narrowed for only a moment. “The same thing you said last time. And what of Lord Tamlin?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don’t speak for the Lord of Spring. Ask him when he arrives.”

The general raised her eyebrows. “Oh, are things tense between your courts? A pity – though I suppose it makes sense, given the wings pinned in his study. Rather obtrusive things, even the smaller ones take up so much space.”

A sharp lash of rage flew down the bond – the anger Rhys couldn’t hide. Not directed at me. I wanted to strangle her – for what she had done to humans years ago, for what she said now. My hands stiffened at my sides as I struggled to keep them from balling into fists.

Rhys was a more skilled actor, and didn’t even give her a slight frown. “The do-gooders in Spring have always been dull – I rarely associate with them. But I’m on agreeable terms at the moment.” An absolute lie. Tamlin likely wanted to kill Rhys for his supposed kidnapping of me. Rhys likely wanted the same for the atrocities committed to him.

Rhys continued, unbothered. “As for his choice in décor – I don’t particularly concern myself with the design of Tamlin’s manor.”

I brushed a mental hand down the bond, waiting for Rhys to open his shields a crack for me. “There were no wings in the study or any of the rooms I was in, Rhys.”

I could feel his anger lessen, a feeling of thanks traveling down the bond as he closed off his shields again.

Amarantha only raised her eyebrows. “Does Tamlin find himself as forgiving towards you? It was your father who murdered his.”

There it was. The reason Amarantha allegedly held a grudge against Night and had wanted Tamlin so badly. She said it so flippantly, as though Tamlin’s family hadn’t killed Rhys’s mother, father, and sister.

Rhys shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t speak with Tamlin. You’d have to talk to him yourself, General.”

She at last nodded, apparently appeased. Then, she turned her attention to me. “And here I thought I had met all of your court. Who is this?” With her black eyes…. predator’s eyes on me, I felt the shell of fear in my bones again. You are a wolf.

I made my words smooth and rich, the way I had seem Rhysand do so many times. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you, General Amarantha. I’m Feyre, Rhysand’s emissary.” I dipped into a bob of a curtsy, loathing that I had to submit to this vulture.

“The pleasure is mine, darling.” She cooed. “And where are you an emissary to?”

“Wherever Night decides to raise hell, of course.”

Amarantha threw her head back and laughed - no. Not a laugh. It was a raven’s caw that flew from her lips. “I think I like you, Feyre – what family do you belong to?”

“You will find I belong to nobody but myself, General.” I felt Rhys’s amusement down the bond, and if my answer irritated her, she didn’t show it.

“Valspian.” I offered, making it up on the spot. As pleasing as it would have been to give a sarcastic answer, it wasn’t worth the risk of finding about the Archerons. Unless she knew all of Prythian’s surnames, I would be safe.

She smiled slightly. “I’m not familiar with that family. But since you are Rhysand’s emissary, I have no doubt we will be seeing more of each other in the future.”

I mirrored her expression. “Certainly.”

With that, Amarantha turned her attention back to Rhys, not deigning to give me a response. Message clear, I was dismissed. I chose to use it to my advantage rather than letting the slight get to me. Better for her to underestimate me, to think I was merely another official to be forgotten.

I spent the next hour flitting between politicians, throwing meaningless phrases out as they tried to coax information out of me. Most wanted to know about Rhys, but some…. some wanted to know just what had transpired between me and Tamlin. At one point I was cornered by a fuming Winter Lord. He demanded to know why we had turned down his requests for trade, what we were hiding.

Everything. I thought.

I resisted the urge to curse and tell them off, instead laughing and spouting some coy phrase.

Eventually, the Day Court arrived, bringing a sizable entourage led by Lord Julius. Prythian’s oldest High Lord, known for his solemn disposition and wisdom. A man of the people who frequently shunned the benefits of a life of wealth. Indeed, he was dressed in a robe the color of parchment that reminded me of ones worn by scholars. The gold embroidery on its sleeves and collar was the only sign of its lavish make.

Julius wasn’t one of excess, and it seemed that a majority of the court attempted to replicate that look. Either because of their own beliefs or to follow him, I couldn’t tell. His couriers seemed to revolve around him in a way. Nothing was done without his approval. The master they respected and answered to.

Though the Day entourage was surprisingly somber, it didn’t put a damper on the rest of the celebrations. Members from all courts mingled, and the Court of Nightmares had been behaving all evening. As the night wore on, the music grew louder – and then the seventh Court arrived.

It looked as though Tamlin had brought the manor’s entire staff, along with all the nobility. Indeed, as I ran through the list of nobles I knew in my head, I found every face in the crowd, recognizable even with the masks.

I avoided looking directly at Tamlin, instead focusing on Lucien, who stood by his right side. He wore a fox mask that covered most of his face, including the majoring of the puckered, red scarring. The price he had paid for delivering Tamlin’s refusal. But I could see that he still had two eyes – though one was different, with almost unnatural movements. Interesting. I couldn’t read Lucien’s face – cool, disinterested, perhaps. And on Tamlin’s left side….

Ianthe.

Unlike everyone else, her face was bare, though shadowed by her raised hood. It was an effort not to snort. I had spent enough time listening to her self-praising, sanctimonious spiels enough times to guess what sort of excuse she had concocted to avoid covering her face.

My eyes finally drifted to him.

Unlike the other denizens of Spring, his mouth was a grim line. He wore a golden mask – one that was the same color and Amarantha’s. It was an effort to stay where I was as the court dispersed, Amarantha greeting him. Yet somehow, I couldn’t turn away as I watched the two embrace, Tamlin stiff the whole time. It stirred up a feeling in me I couldn’t name. Not anger, certainly not jealousy, but….

He was the male I had loved for so long, so desperately, until that love turned sour. I didn’t love him anymore, didn’t feel any kind of passion at all after what he had done to me. He had been good, been Tamlin until…. until he wasn’t.

I finally let myself turn away from him, engage myself in conversation with a young lady from Dawn who wore a fawn mask. One of the few people I had spoken with who didn’t have an ulterior motive. No, she seemed content to idly chatter away.

She frowned at my pause. “What’s the matter?” She asked.

I nodded, angling myself away from the Spring delegation. “Nothing. I only recognized someone in the crowd. You were saying?”

Eventually, I excused myself, wending through the crowd and dodging a couple passionately kissing against the wall, their breathing heavy. I made my way to a waiter who carried flutes of bubbling champagne on a tray. Unlike mortal drinks, they sparkled a thousand different colors, the rainbow contained in a drop. Though I had earlier promised myself I would stay sober…. drinking would help me blend in anyway. But a few feet before I reached my goal, my path was blocked by a burly figure.

My breath caught as I met his eyes. I had forgotten so many things about Tamlin. The shine of his eyes in the light, the exact color of the hair I would never again try to paint. Though his ever-present bandolier of knives still gleamed. Leave it to him to come to a ball armed – he didn’t know there were far deadlier weapons in the room.

Perhaps he had forgotten parts of me too, or maybe he was shocked at how I had changed. I was no longer the weak girl banging on the manor’s windows, begging to get out. I saw him look me up and down, taking me in. My newfound strength, and the tattoo on my arm I no longer wore gloves to hide. “What has he done to you, Feyre?” He hissed.

I furrowed my brow. “He hasn’t done anything, Tamlin. Did you expect me to remain the same after you locked me up, left me to drown? You killed the mortal-raised girl you knew, and this – “I gestured to myself. “Is what remains.”

I forced myself to shut out the memory of him walking away as I screamed behind him, begging to get out. How I had pushed myself into darkness until Mor had carried me away.

“Feyre. Come home with me tonight. I know I did some things I shouldn’t have – we both did. I can take you to the Day Court, get them to break whatever curse Rhys is holding over your head. I am willing to call in any debt, make any bargain. I will kill Rhys for that he’s – “His coaxing turned dark in a way I was all too familiar with.

I shook my head, cutting him off. “I told you once, Tamlin. I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me. But I am not that person anymore, and if you threaten the Night Court again, I won’t hesitate to return your threats and deliver.”

He narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by Amarantha’s smooth voice.

“I would like to take a moment to thank all you for being here tonight.” She stood on a raised platform in the center of the room, holding a flute of champagne. A small, tipsy titter escaped through her lips. Around the room, everyone quieted down, the music coming to a sharp halt.

It was time for the toast. I needed to find Rhys. Turning away from Tamlin, I started to step away – only for his hand to close around my wrist.

I whirled back around, every muscle tense. His grip was tight and unyielding, and my hands had balled to fists at my sides. I would not let myself shake.

“This isn’t over, Feyre.” He said softly, hand tightening. A few fae nearby glanced at us, gazes ranging from concerned to amused. They still saw me as his pet, in need of coddling.

“Yes, it is.” I hissed, voice even. I open my fisted hand, palm open, and wrenched my arm away from him. The simplest of the self-defense moves Cassian had taught me.

I turned away before he could try anything else, not letting myself breath until I knew the crowd had swallowed him up. I pushed my way through the crowd, trying not to look too hurried. Finally, my eyes landed on Rhys. He was a spot of darkness against the vivid extravagance of the evening, standing by one of the huge, carved pillars.

Snatching a glass of wine from one of the bored-looking waiters, I sauntered through the crowd and made my way over to him.

“These last fifty years have passed in the blink of an eye thanks to the hospitality of everyone in the room. It is my greatest hope that Prythian and Hybern will be able to begin a new chapter in harmony.” Her eyes gleamed.

Rhys held a glass as well, appearing to be entirely focused on Amarantha’s words. I reached out to his mind, slipping in through the crack left open for me.

Amarantha continued. “My hope, and the king’s as well. He sends his finest wines for us to feast on tonight, to delight in the bounties of his lands. More shipments will arrive in the following weeks, and it is my understanding that Prythian will send off theirs as well.”

Rhys reached out to me. “I’m working on getting through her shields.” His voice was strained, distracted. “She’s placed more shielding on herself than I anticipated, especially considering she isn’t a daemati. If she looks suspicious, find some way to distract her.”

“We have made such progress, and I am so thankful you have given me a chance to make amends for my actions.”

Though her words were light, her hand drifted up to stroke the bone necklace she wore. Perhaps not so tipsy after all. Had she noticed Rhys’s maneuverings?

But she only continued on with her speech. ““It has been my pleasure to meet so many of you, and I hope we all get to know each other even better in the years to come.”

“Rhys, are you making any progress?”

“These shields …. it’s like tunneling through sand. When I think I’ve broken through them, more await. Hybern’s likely spelled her with something from his book.” His voice was quieter than before.

“Rhys, do not lose yourself to her mind.”

“I can tell I’m making progress.” Softer yet, fading.

“RHYS.” I shouted his name, pulled on that mental bond to bring him back. “I don’t need you getting lost trying to get through her shields. It’s not worth it.”

Physically, his hand twitched as he came back to his senses.

Around us, the air seemed to grow heavy, something hanging over us all that I couldn’t decipher.

“I was getting close, Feyre. I’m not wasting the opportunity.” Words sharp, stilted.

I could tell that he was going to go in again, make another attempt. My instinct screamed at me to help him but – it was a risk.

Amarantha looked around. “I’d like to offer a toast. To beginning a new chapter.” She raised her glass, and at that moment seemed to glow with some sort of ungodly power.

Rhys inhaled sharply, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Casting my mind, my power across the room. I reached for Amarantha’s shields.

Externally, everyone raised their glasses, champagne sparkling under the bobbing faelight. “To beginning a new chapter.” Rhys and I both spoke the words, somehow of a volition that didn’t quite seem our own.

I the glass to my lips, tasting the alcohol as it went down.

I reached out to touch her shields –

Then – a flash of light and I was yanked out of her mind.

Rhysand

It was as if something inside of me had shattered, that thing that kept I could feel something pulling at my power, ripping the magic away.

Shit. Shit. There had been some dark magic at work, some curse to entrap us here.

I stumbled forward a bit as I was pushed out of Amarantha’s shields. She was taking our power.

The flute slipped through my fingers, and I could distantly feel the champagne splash onto my pants as the glass blossomed into a thousand pieces onto the floor.

I fought to bring my concentration back to the surface. My magic was slipping away like water down the drain, leaving me feeling light-headed. I fought back against that unstoppable pull, trying to halt it, but the power slipped through my fingers as though I had no control over it at all. Shouts of confusion and horror rang out, six other High Lords experiencing the same thing.

“Rhys?” Feyre spoke out loud, words frantic. “What’s going on?”

I couldn’t answer her, too distracted. She was taking our power. The power that would protect Velaris, keep my people safe.

I cast my magic out like a spear as far as I could, and it hurt in a way it never had before, the pain like flames licking at my bones, but it reached back to Velaris. Even as my magic was tearing away from me, I reinforced the wards, fortifying them so no evil could breach those walls. Magic of this strength needed a tether, so I reached for the four souls I trusted more than anyone else, save the one beside me.

“Amarantha had cursed us and taken our power. Protect Velaris and do not leave the city. I love all of you.”

It had only been a few seconds, but I could feel it breaking away, tearing something vital inside of me. My voice, my very soul, joined the symphony of screams that begged for it to stop but –

All at once, the fire raging through me burned out. Leaving a husk of the mighty magic that had once resided in my veins. I might as well have been an Illyrian youth, powers bound for the Blood Rite.

I was heaving deep breaths, my arms braced on a table. As the world around me came back into focus, I heard Feyre calling my name. Nearby, Thesan stood with his fingers bracing his forehead, reaching for his missing power.

Above it all, that wicked caw of a deceiver’s laugh.

[gamerszone2019-blog]

Remnant: From the Ashes Review - Smoldering Shooting

New Post has been published on https://gamerszone.tn/remnant-from-the-ashes-review-smoldering-shooting/

Remnant: From the Ashes Review - Smoldering Shooting

It’s not difficult to pick out Remnant: From the Ashes‘ many influences. It mimics the format and grueling difficulty popularised by From Software’s Souls series, pitting you against increasingly complex bosses and teaching you through failure. It mixes up its combat encounters with AI direction similar to Valve’s cooperative shooter Left 4 Dead to make skirmishes exciting and unpredictable. Third-person shooting ties these two ideas together in a surprisingly cohesive way, which makes Remnant: From the Ashes a joyous action-adventure through a far less compelling world.

The world as you know it has been overrun by The Root–a force of sentient fauna with glowing red roots commanded by a single hivemind–driving humanity to the brink of extinction as they search for a miracle to end the nightmare. Washed up on a dark and gloomy island and torn down to the brink of death, you are the hero that one of humanity’s final settlements, Ward 13, has been searching for. You’re let loose on the world overrun by monsters to search for the Ward’s former leader in the hopes that the knowledge lost with him might help expose the core of The Root’s power and give you a fighting chance against the insurmountable foe.

Although its opening moments hold promise initially, Remnant’s world isn’t interesting beyond the surface. Its characters stick too closely to familiar tropes and feature little to no development as you fight their war for them. The distrustful mechanic will happily craft new items for you but never shrugs off her off-putting demeanor, while her partner has nothing deeper to share beyond his initial backstory, for example. Inhabitants in the Ward congratulate you on your actions outside of its walls, but it never feels like you’re progressing your relationships with any of them. This lack of personality makes Remnant’s big revelations fall flat, too, and by the time it starts collecting all of its stray stories into an understandable thread you’ll probably not care enough to take much notice.

The sheer visual variety of its world is more exciting. You visit four main areas outside of Ward 13, with each new one being strikingly different from the last. You start out in the desolate streets of an abandoned cityscape, exploring its dimly lit sewers and engaging in tense firefights on street corners. From there, things get far weirder. You travel to a blistering hot desert with oppressive metal labyrinths underneath just before you cut away the brush of a thick, dark forest illuminated by bright neon fauna. Remnant’s visual themes are all over the place, which doesn’t help its already confusing story. But while disjointed, the visuals are extremely well presented and beautiful to behold.

Remnant’s gameplay is recognizable thanks to its blend of familiar genres and tropes. On paper, the combination of Dark Souls-style high-skill combat with the ranged-focused gameplay of a third-person shooter sounds incompatible, but Remnant brings its own flair to its influences that ties them together in an interesting way. Procedural combat encounters are at the core of this. Enemies don’t have fixed placements in areas, with Remnant instead using a system to dynamically adjust both their positioning and density every time you enter an area to consistently provide a challenging skirmish. The unpredictability adds an enticing layer of tension to each combat encounter, where even small mistakes are punished by quick deaths at the hands of hordes of smaller, weaker enemies.

It’s initially frustrating to not be able to learn enemy placements and patterns, but Remnant’s forgiving approach to death balances this out. Although enemies hit hard and death is just a handful of mistakes away, you don’t lose tangible progress when you die. You don’t drop items or lose experience; instead, you simply respawn at your last checkpoint (large glowing red shrines similar to Dark Souls’ bonfires), with the route ahead re-rolled and changed to present you with a new challenge.

The emphasis on ranged combat changes the pace you might be familiar with from games of this ilk. You’re given the choice to get as up close and personal as you choose with short-range shotguns and submachine guns or remain as far as possible with slow-firing but powerful sniper rifles. Each weapon type makes you consider the encounter they’re best used for, but for the most part Remnant’s combat favors aggression. The number of enemies it throws at you and the cramped design of its dungeons make longer ranges difficult to work with, while highlighting the devastating stopping power of medium- to short-range weapons. This undercuts a lot of the weapons you’re able to purchase and craft, especially when taking into account the grind required for some resources you need to upgrade them. It was easy for me to stick to one loadout for the majority of my playthrough, incrementally improving damage instead of experimenting with new weaponry. Despite the dynamic combat, the stagnant nature of Remnant’s loot works against it.

Weapon mods alleviate this to an extent. Mods give your weapons an alternate firing mode, ranging from simple healing effects to devastating AOE attacks that can inflict a number of status ailments on enemies. Most weapons let you exchange mods freely, allowing you to experiment with a combination across your two equipped weapons to find a synergy that works best for your playstyle. The number of mods you can both find and craft is plentiful, but their variety is what makes them impressive, making experimentation fun. Their effects are even more important when playing Remnant with friends (up to two other players can join your game), where the collective group build is important to counteract the increased difficulty associated with group play.

In both the case of weapons and mods you can craft, boss encounters play the biggest part in providing you with the most exciting options. Each boss drops a unique item that can be used in a recipe for either, bestowing you with either the unique abilities of the foe you just overpowered or a weapon to mark your momentous achievement. Both of these require rarer resources to craft, and even more to upgrade, which makes investing in them a difficult decision to make. But it’s impossible to not curiously venture back to your Ward after each boss encounter to see what new toy awaits, and even more satisfying to take it out into the world and fall in love with the power that was recently used against you.

Bosses also provide the best moments of Remnant’s combat, pushing you into new strategies that can force you to reconsider your current loadout. Some bosses make good use of ranged attacks, sticking as far away as possible and using small tells to telegraph dangerous attacks that can quickly kill you. Others are overwhelmingly aggressive, chasing you down and closing gaps that make it difficult to get shots off in between a flurry of dodging rolls. Although some bosses share some behavioral traits, each of them features unique attack patterns and abilities that make each encounter dangerous to tackle and equally satisfying to overcome. The order in which these bosses populate the world is also randomized, making new playthroughs different to an extent. It’s a confusing choice in practice, though, preventing you from predicting what boss-specific gear you can depend on at certain points during repeat playthroughs.

Confusing accurately describes Remnant: From the Ashes a lot of the time, especially when its combination of established ideas doesn’t mesh. But for the most part, the experiment is a success, resulting in deeply satisfying combat against creative and challenging enemies. Remnant struggles to effectively transfer that success over to an engaging loot system and an interesting story to wrap it all up, but when you’re blasting away foes with weapons crafted from the remains of your latest boss kill, it’s hard not to do so with a wide smile on your face.

Source : Gamesport

[nandireya]

Tale As Old As Time

So…I mentioned to my Kallura buds that I had this idea for a space version of Beauty and the Beast I’m also using it to dust off my old HTML skills…it’s been so long

Tale As Old As Time Prologue Once upon a time, a young prince lived in a shining castle… Well, to be fair, he wasn’t a prince and he didn’t live in a castle, it was more a shack in the desert… …and though he had everything his heart desired… EVERYTHING might be a bit of a stretch, but he did have a knife, and a bad attitude…and a killer hover-bike! That thing was awesome! …the prince was spoiled, selfish and unkind… Yeah, that bit’s actually pretty accurate. But then, one winter’s night, an old beggar-woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Yeah, he was actually kinda captured being all noble and stuff. And there was no gift. Unless you consider agonising torture a gift. Repulsed by her haggard appearance… I’m sure THAT at least was true… …the prince sneered at the gift, and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old women’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. We’re kinda getting off track here. This bit, yeah, not really what went down. No talk of inner beauty or transformations. That witch stayed her actual haggard self. I mean, quiznak, that’s even her name! Sort of… The prince tried to apologise… I’m pretty sure he spat in her face… I did not! I head-butted her in the face and broke her nose. Seriously? You really do have an impulse control problem, don’t you? …but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart and as punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Yeah, jerk-face or not, he totally didn’t deserve what they did to him… Ashamed of his monstrous form… Oh, yeah, for sure… …the beast concealed himself inside his castle… Literally, he went into the ventilation system at times… Lance! If you don’t stop interrupting I’ll shove YOU in the ventilation system! …with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. Really? Try me. The rose she had offered, was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then, the spell would be broken! If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time! As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast? Now let our story begin…

They may have captured him but they would never get into Black. He’d seen to that. He had ordered the lion to put up her force-field, not to let it down under any circumstances. He had left Shiro’s bayard and his Mamora blade on board, there was no way he was letting them get their hands on either of them. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t come out fighting. He sprinted down the ramp, it quickly slamming shut behind him, the energy-shield crackling and humming to life as soon as he was clear. He took a flying kick at the closest soldier and took up its weapon, opening fire as the rest charged at him. He knew he wouldn’t last long, there were just too many of them. But he was going to take as many of them with him that he possibly could. And as they began to overwhelm he took comfort in the knowledge that his teammates, his friends, his family, were safe. ~~~~~~ He awoke, he had no idea how much later, a cold metallic surface behind him, shimmering bands of energy around his wrists and ankles securing him to it. He wasn’t alone. Two of those creepy masked druids flanked the door. His armour had been removed, gloves and boots included, leaving him in only the black body suit. A third figure who had been hidden from his sight behind the upright table he was bound to came into view. It was strangely pretty for a Galra, if it wasn’t for the colouring Keith would have doubted the being even was a Galra. He, something told the bound paladin that he was indeed a male, despite the fine features and long, silver hair, was holding his helmet in a way reminiscent of Hamlet and the skull of Yorick. Keith had no idea who he was. He didn’t care. He wasn’t giving this overdressed jerk anything. The door swished open and a hunched, hooded figure entered. This one he knew. Haggar. “Behold!” The pretty Galra said, theatrically holding the helmet aloft. “The Black Paladin of Voltron!” Haggar’s expression didn’t change. “This is not the Black Paladin.” She said evenly. “Is that hood effecting your vision?” He scoffed. “Do you not see the helmet?” He held it up again. “Is it not the Black Lion that we currently have under serious look and key in the bowels of the very ship? Both black. Ergo. The Black Paladin.” He gestured at Keith. “I don’t care what he’s wearing or what he was piloting.” Haggar snarled. “I know the Black Paladin. I am on quite close, intimate terms with the Black Paladin.” She stalked towards Keith as she spoke. “He was my masterpiece.” She curled her lip as she looked upon the pale-skinned, dark-haired boy. “This is NOT the Black Paladin.” She said haughtily, turning her back on him. “Unless…” She turned back, eyes narrowing. “You lost him.” She surmised. “Probably the same time we lost our Emperor. And you stepped up.” She leaned in close. “So which one were you?” She mused. “Red, green, yellow or blue?” His only response to her question was to throw his head, the only part of his body he could actually move, forward, his forehead connecting solidly with her nose. He smirked as she staggered backwards, her hands going instinctively to her face. The pretty Galra chuckled. “Oh, he’s a feisty one.” Keith could hear the grin in his voice, as Haggar pinched her nose, studied the blood on her fingers for a moment, before flicking it off. “The Red, then.” She said, stabbing him quickly in the side, sharp nails tearing through cloth and into flesh. He winced as she pulled back her hand, far more of his blood dripping from her nails than he’d brought forth from her nose. “The Emperor has quite an interest in you.” Keith frowned slightly at her use of present tense. Zarkon was alive? Incapacitated most likely, but alive. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his expression neutral. They’d lost Shiro for nothing. She crossed the small room, stepping up to a console in the corner. She let his blood drip onto what looked like a small sensor pad. It was quickly absorbed, and quickly analysed going by the cruel grin that spread across the witch’s features. “Interesting…” She purred, cold eyes focusing on the young paladin. “VERY interesting…” The pretty Galra walked over, twirling the helmet in one clawed hand, curiosity obviously getting the better of him. “Really?” His eyebrows rose as he glanced at their prisoner. “He doesn’t look-” But Haggar cut him off with a wicked smile. “Just imagine what I can make out if you.”

[marriagelawrp]

« THE HOMEMAKER »   ❝ LO & BEHOLD YOU’RE SOMEONE’S WIFE, AND YOU BELONG TO THEM❞

Full Name: Priscilla Mary Franks

Age: Twenty-two

Gender: Female

To Marry: The Stripper

Occupation: Unemployed

Ethnicity: French & German

Faceclaim: Lili Reinhart

    ✕ BACK IN THE DAY, WHEN I WAS YOUNG ✕

Priscilla was born to John, a plumber and Rachel Franks, a housewife on the 23rd of April 1995. Her parents were forty-one when she was born, three months before her mother’s due date. She had to stay in the hospital for a month, before she could go home with her parents who were over the moon to finally have a little girl. They already had five sons, named John Jr., Boaz, Moses, Seth and Caleb who were between the ages of twenty and five years old when she was born.

She grew up in a loving family, she really did, and her childhood was a happy one. Her brothers always looked after her, protected her and were always there for her. Her parents adored her and gave her everything she wanted, if they could afford it.

They also instilled in her the Catholic values and beliefs they so cherished and she learned to love them as a small child. She had a beautiful singing voice and eventually, she joined the church choir. She loved getting dressed up every Sunday, she loved listening to the beautiful stories of the Bible and seeing her friends at church. To this day, she adheres to her Catholic faith, goes to church and prays three times a day.

The Franks’ Christian values weren’t all that were instilled in her. Her father’s conservative views on what a woman’s role was, were also pumped into her from a young age. She was taught how to cook, clean, iron… was taught how to do everything a good woman was supposed to do. Her father also controlled what she could and couldn’t wear and certainly did not permit her to date.

From the outside looking in, most people would think that what Priscilla was going through as a teenager, would spark rebellion because she was controlled by her father but really, she didn’t know any better and she was quite happy. She loved church, she was good at cooking and didn’t mind helping her mother around the house. She loved beautiful dresses and wasn’t all that interested in boys. She had no desire to rebel.

That was, until her father started to protest her plans to go to college. She had always thought that just like her brothers, she’d go to college, but her father had other plans for her. He wanted her to find a nice young man at church – he even gave her some suggestions – and get married. She wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of marriage, but she wanted to wait a few more years. She wanted to study something, so she could earn her own money and contribute to a family. She even threw an uncharacteristic temper tantrum. It was her mother, who always was the peacemaker at home, that convinced her father to let her go to community college. Her father decided that the best option was to study accounting, and so she did. That way, she could work for her father’s plumbing business. It was her father’s way of controlling her, deep down she knew that, but she was so happy that she could go to college that she didn’t protest.

Against her expectations, she loved accounting, because it was structured and because it was so satisfying to her when in the end, everything just fit in her calculations. She went to college, but still slept at home and rarely got to attend a party but she did sometimes get her parents’ approval. She wasn’t a party animal, but she always had a nice time. It was through those parties, that she realized that she was quite different from the other girls. It wasn’t just her faith, it was mostly that she didn’t understand why they were fawning over these supposedly hot boys. They looked nice, they were fun to be around but nothing more. It took her until the start of her last year of college to realize that she didn’t notice the boys, because she was too busy looking at the girls.

That realization shook her to her core. Not only was that against her religion, which she cherishes with all her heart, but it was also because her family would never accept that she was attracted to women. That just wasn’t going to go well for her at all, and so she didn’t tell anyone and pushed it down. She wouldn’t speak of it, ever. That didn’t mean she stopped thinking about it though, and through some LGBT Christian online forums, she found views on Christianity and sexuality, that she could understand and agree with. It is very new, but she has managed to reconcile her faith with her sexuality in the last six months. She hasn’t officially come out yet, and it something that scares her but she knows it will be necessary because, she made an impulsive decision that will out her in the short term.

That faithful decision was made when the form from the government came, which she had to fill in. The government would find her a spouse and unlike many others, Priscilla didn’t really mind it that much. She’d always known her spouse would be chosen for her, it didn’t matter whether it was her father or the government. What was the difference? The only thing she was surprised by was that the questionnaire asked which gender she was attracted to. She had automatically assumed that all women would be paired with men, and that was something she didn’t really want but she had accepted that. Now, she suddenly seemed to have an option. The time she stared at that box was far longer than necessary and she even skipped it until the end and then, before she folded it and put it in an envelope, she crossed ‘women’. She chose to tell the truth.

It took her a long time to really understand why exactly she did what she did but upon reflection, there was one difference between the government and her father. At least with the government, she could be married to someone of the gender she knew she was attracted to. That didn’t mean that she’d like the woman that was chosen for her, but at least there was a small chance that there would be some sort of connection, whether it be romantic or sexual. She hasn’t admitted her attraction to women to anyone though, which means that revealing who her spouse is, will be her coming out towards the people she knows.

And the one coming out she has had, hasn’t gone smoothly at all. Her father has seen the letter she got back from the government, telling her who her spouse was going to be. Her fiancée’s name was clearly female, and her father hit the roof. She didn’t say anything other than ‘I must have made a mistake, father, I’m sorry’ but he didn’t care. He is now petitioning to get his daughter’s spouse changed, even if that isn’t legally possible. Her mother hasn’t said much, but Priscilla can see in her eyes that she knows it wasn’t a mistake and it is surprising to Priscilla that she doesn’t see disapproval or disappointment. At least there is that.

Now, Priscilla is working for her father’s company, doing his accounting and still living at home, even though their relationship is tense. Her father knows that she meant what she wrote on the form, but he isn’t ready to acknowledge that, he may never be, but Priscilla sees a way out of this situation through marriage. She really wants to try and make this arrangement work, even though she is terrified of people learning about her sexual orientation. All in all, she really has always dreamed of being a wife and a mother. She just hopes the other woman will want to give it a real go as well.

✕ THE STORY ABOUT MY LIFE IN THE PRESENT ✕

✕ WHERE THEY LIVE ✕ You were raised by a working class family with very traditional, conservative, and mostly outdated American marriage values. Because of this, you still live at home with your parents and will do so until you are married. Your family was originally from the Midwest but the virus epidemic forced you all to move to New York City when you were young, in order to to stay safe.

✕ THE JOB THEY HAVE ✕ Your parents have been supporting you under the belief that the responsibility of supporting you will be passed on when you get married. You have a number of hobbies and skills you have mostly honed at home and with some community college classes, and you have sometimes earned a little money for helping out family friends, but you have not yet held down a paying job.

✕ THE MARRIAGE LAW ✕ With nearly eighty percent of the population dead because of a virus outbreak, the world is in dire need of repopulation. The government stepped in and created a marriage law, giving people eight weeks to marry a stranger chosen to them by the Government. Your letter came this week, and you have eight weeks to marry The Stripper.

     ✕ THE IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN MY LIFE  ✕

THE WIDOW - He used to be your parent’s accountant, and when he left to take over his wife’s business, your family maintained loyalty by patronizing the business. You are a regular customer and sometimes hang out there when you want a little time away from home.

THE TROUBLEMAKER - You landed in a little bit of trouble because of him a few years ago and although it was a minor, you still haven’t forgiven him for it.

THE STRIPPER - Your parents are under the impression that your provider will be a working husband, but you have been privately questioning your sexuality for some time and reflected this on your registration form for the law. This is how you ended up matched with The Stripper, whom you now have 8 weeks to marry.

                      THIS CHARACTER HAS A FLEXIBLE FACECLAIM                              & IS CLOSED FOR AUDITION

[gamerszone2019-blog]

Remnant: From the Ashes Review - In My Sights

New Post has been published on https://gamerszone.tn/remnant-from-the-ashes-review-in-my-sights/

Remnant: From the Ashes Review - In My Sights

It’s not difficult to pick out Remnant: From the Ashes‘ many influences. It mimics the format and grueling difficulty popularised by From Software’s Souls series, pitting you against increasingly complex bosses and teaching you through failure. It mixes up its combat encounters with AI direction similar to Valve’s cooperative shooter Left 4 Dead to make skirmishes exciting and unpredictable. Third-person shooting ties these two ideas together in a surprisingly cohesive way, which makes Remnant: From the Ashes a joyous action-adventure through a far less compelling world.

The world as you know it has been overrun by The Root–a force of sentient fauna with glowing red roots commanded by a single hivemind–driving humanity to the brink of extinction as they search for a miracle to end the nightmare. Washed up on a dark and gloomy island and torn down to the brink of death, you are the hero that one of humanity’s final settlements, Ward 13, has been searching for. You’re let loose on the world overrun by monsters to search for the Ward’s former leader in the hopes that the knowledge lost with him might help expose the core of The Root’s power and give you a fighting chance against the insurmountable foe.

Although its opening moments hold promise initially, Remnant’s world isn’t interesting beyond the surface. Its characters stick too closely to familiar tropes and feature little to no development as you fight their war for them. The distrustful mechanic will happily craft new items for you but never shrugs off her off-putting demeanor, while her partner has nothing deeper to share beyond his initial backstory, for example. Inhabitants in the Ward congratulate you on your actions outside of its walls, but it never feels like you’re progressing your relationships with any of them. This lack of personality makes Remnant’s big revelations fall flat, too, and by the time it starts collecting all of its stray stories into an understandable thread you’ll probably not care enough to take much notice.

The sheer visual variety of its world is more exciting. You visit four main areas outside of Ward 13, with each new one being strikingly different from the last. You start out in the desolate streets of an abandoned cityscape, exploring its dimly lit sewers and engaging in tense firefights on street corners. From there, things get far weirder. You travel to a blistering hot desert with oppressive metal labyrinths underneath just before you cut away the brush of a thick, dark forest illuminated by bright neon fauna. Remnant’s visual themes are all over the place, which doesn’t help its already confusing story. But while disjointed, the visuals are extremely well presented and beautiful to behold.

Remnant’s gameplay is recognizable thanks to its blend of familiar genres and tropes. On paper, the combination of Dark Souls-style high-skill combat with the ranged-focused gameplay of a third-person shooter sounds incompatible, but Remnant brings its own flair to its influences that ties them together in an interesting way. Procedural combat encounters are at the core of this. Enemies don’t have fixed placements in areas, with Remnant instead using a system to dynamically adjust both their positioning and density every time you enter an area to consistently provide a challenging skirmish. The unpredictability adds an enticing layer of tension to each combat encounter, where even small mistakes are punished by quick deaths at the hands of hordes of smaller, weaker enemies.

It’s initially frustrating to not be able to learn enemy placements and patterns, but Remnant’s forgiving approach to death balances this out. Although enemies hit hard and death is just a handful of mistakes away, you don’t lose tangible progress when you die. You don’t drop items or lose experience; instead, you simply respawn at your last checkpoint (large glowing red shrines similar to Dark Souls’ bonfires), with the route ahead re-rolled and changed to present you with a new challenge.

The emphasis on ranged combat changes the pace you might be familiar with from games of this ilk. You’re given the choice to get as up close and personal as you choose with short-range shotguns and submachine guns or remain as far as possible with slow-firing but powerful sniper rifles. Each weapon type makes you consider the encounter they’re best used for, but for the most part Remnant’s combat favors aggression. The number of enemies it throws at you and the cramped design of its dungeons make longer ranges difficult to work with, while highlighting the devastating stopping power of medium- to short-range weapons. This undercuts a lot of the weapons you’re able to purchase and craft, especially when taking into account the grind required for some resources you need to upgrade them. It was easy for me to stick to one loadout for the majority of my playthrough, incrementally improving damage instead of experimenting with new weaponry. Despite the dynamic combat, the stagnant nature of Remnant’s loot works against it.

Weapon mods alleviate this to an extent. Mods give your weapons an alternate firing mode, ranging from simple healing effects to devastating AOE attacks that can inflict a number of status ailments on enemies. Most weapons let you exchange mods freely, allowing you to experiment with a combination across your two equipped weapons to find a synergy that works best for your playstyle. The number of mods you can both find and craft is plentiful, but their variety is what makes them impressive, making experimentation fun. Their effects are even more important when playing Remnant with friends (up to two other players can join your game), where the collective group build is important to counteract the increased difficulty associated with group play.

In both the case of weapons and mods you can craft, boss encounters play the biggest part in providing you with the most exciting options. Each boss drops a unique item that can be used in a recipe for either, bestowing you with either the unique abilities of the foe you just overpowered or a weapon to mark your momentous achievement. Both of these require rarer resources to craft, and even more to upgrade, which makes investing in them a difficult decision to make. But it’s impossible to not curiously venture back to your Ward after each boss encounter to see what new toy awaits, and even more satisfying to take it out into the world and fall in love with the power that was recently used against you.

Bosses also provide the best moments of Remnant’s combat, pushing you into new strategies that can force you to reconsider your current loadout. Some bosses make good use of ranged attacks, sticking as far away as possible and using small tells to telegraph dangerous attacks that can quickly kill you. Others are overwhelmingly aggressive, chasing you down and closing gaps that make it difficult to get shots off in between a flurry of dodging rolls. Although some bosses share some behavioral traits, each of them features unique attack patterns and abilities that make each encounter dangerous to tackle and equally satisfying to overcome. The order in which these bosses populate the world is also randomized, making new playthroughs different to an extent. It’s a confusing choice in practice, though, preventing you from predicting what boss-specific gear you can depend on at certain points during repeat playthroughs.

Confusing accurately describes Remnant: From the Ashes a lot of the time, especially when its combination of established ideas doesn’t mesh. But for the most part, the experiment is a success, resulting in deeply satisfying combat against creative and challenging enemies. Remnant struggles to effectively transfer that success over to an engaging loot system and an interesting story to wrap it all up, but when you’re blasting away foes with weapons crafted from the remains of your latest boss kill, it’s hard not to do so with a wide smile on your face.

Source : Gamesport