#its OUR setup now comrade

[mirrorpriest]

Creator Reader dropped into Mondstadt

[the description of mondstadt’s wilderness doesn’t fit what’s in game but shhh i’m working from imagination here, POV also gets a little fucky in here bc i started with key scenes i wanted to hit in the story and then started writing for reader immersion]

The waterfall does little to wash away the buildup of oil and grime in your hair, hardly budging the dirt caked to your skin. It’s so different from the warm showers and fragrant soaps you are used to. The cool of the water at least feels good in your mouth, washing down the berries you had been desperately scavenging for the last few days. They were sweet and sour at first, a refreshing treat when you could find them, but the more you ate the more upset your stomach became. You can hardly bear the thought of another handful, but you haven’t seen another person in so long. Only the occasional white bird or wild boar kept you company. You are left to wonder how far from civilization you are. Will anyone find you before you waste away?

Perhaps it’s fortunate, then, that you will die in such a beautiful place. You had never taken the chance to appreciate nature so thoroughly, but the weather in this strange land is cool and temperate, the breeze always carrying the scent of something fresh and light you can’t quite place your finger on. Your head is clear, for once, of any trivial worries like catching the train or when your next shift will be; how much money you’ll be able to make or who at the drug store finds you unattractive. But that’s only because now you are worried about what you’ll catch from drinking the pond water, when you’ll be able to find your next meal, if you’ll ever see your loved ones again. What you wouldn’t give to be able to listen to your mother retell the same stories from her youth you’ve heard a million times. One day, you had simply woken up here. And, perhaps one day, sooner than you would hope, you will fall asleep here for the last time.

So lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the creatures watching you from the trees until their bodies break through the brush, dark and furry against the green, green foliage. They emerge as one, ambling forward with graceless movements. Your eyes, once upturned to the rushing water, cautiously watch them approach. They stand on two legs, but look nothing like any person you’ve ever seen. Like any beast you’ve ever seen. Your arms fold into your chest, body shrinking at their attention. If not for the matching masks upon their faces, they would be staring unabashedly.

But they are the first sentient beings with the ability to help that you have seen in days, the first thing to find you amidst the thick of the forest, and you smell the burn of a campfire on their fur and tattered clothes as they draw closer. They don’t shy away as you move through the water, waiting at the water’s edge to meet you. The closest one, indistinguishable from the others, steps closer on clawed feet that distort under the clear water. The closer you move, the more monstrous their features seem. Fur covering their bodies, clawed fingers, pointed ears that fold back as you approach, but they make no move to attack. Heads folded down solemnly.

You reach out a cautious hand, finger outstretched to trace the paint across this strange creature’s mask. It stays eerily still, leaning forward for your touch, when the silence is broken by a loud, guttural cry. The furry creatures spring into action, scrambling to turn towards the distant cry, when a large sword comes from the brush and knocks them all back into the water. You startle into the pond, stumbling backwards into the waist-deep water.

There is the swing of metal and the strange cries of the masked creatures, a man in black knocking them all back with little effort. This man speaks in a language you don’t recognize, but you can tell his tone is stern and unyielding. It’s so sudden in the calm of the forest, the first voice you’ve heard in so long, that it rings in your ears. The creatures hardly have the chance to fight back, some raising flimsy, hand-crafted weapons, before their bodies are scattered along the ground. The loud clomping of a heavy creature comes up behind the man, you turn away from the carnage then. The sound of a heavy body taking blows and disgruntled screaming follows, it forces your hands up to cover your ears. Suddenly you long for the worry of finding berries and cleaning away dirt over the worry of who will be merciful towards you in the end. You can’t tell which creature you were close to touching, now among the indistinguishable bodies that litter the bank of the pond. The area falls silent once again. The strange man, who felled the beasts you hadn’t even the chance to meet, stands among the falling clouds of dirt, his brow pinched and mouth open around his heaving breath. His eyes watch you like a hawk, searching your face for… Something. You feel yourself, once again, shrink away at his gaze. His chest is broad, rising and falling in great puffs, and his large hands still clasp the claymore in their grip.

He speaks words you don’t understand, his great weapon vanishing in a shudder of light, as he takes a tentative step closer to you. He’s remarkably pale, made even moreso against the dark clothing he wears. But you know you have no choice but to meet this man halfway, reaching out a hand to be pulled from the water.

To see the water cascading down your skin, glimmering like the brightest gem. Shining and unblemished, the sun reflecting all around you in a way he hadn’t ever allowed himself to imagine. It would be blasphemy to imagine your skin so bare. Flesh like smooth, tumbled stone. This red-haired stranger coaxes for you, a hand reaching towards you, upturned. Contrary to the brutish way he dealt with those strange creatures, he gently wades into the water to take your hand, swinging his long coat around your shoulders. Up close you can see the flush across his cheeks that rivals the red of his hair. You allow this man to lead you from the water up onto the bank so you can retrieve your sullied clothes. You try to ask him where you are, but, again, his brow pinches: this time in confusion. He mutters something low to himself, instead offering his elbow to you. At least this gesture you understand.

You don’t know how long he leads you, keeping his pace measured to your own, before the tree line breaks and you come upon what looks like a farm. The dense forest gives way to grapevines stretching as far as you can see, all carefully line up like dominos, bursting with bright red fruits that make your stomach curl uncomfortably. You’re so desperately hungry for something other than fruit, but above that you are so desperately hungry. You realize what a privilege it is to be picky about what you have to put in your mouth.

The red-haired stranger allows you time to marvel over the rows of grapes, gently coaxing you towards the large manor in the whole big center of it all. It’s only when you’ve moved closer to the large estate that you realize there are other people here, they mill around comfortably and content to live a slow life of vineyard labor. Completely unaware and unknowing to a stranger almost starving to death in the forest they reside.

There are many young women rushing around when the man leads you up the manor steps, but they all stop to dutifully bow their heads at him. They speak the same strange language, quickly snapping to attention when their eyes fall on you. Suddenly you realize how utterly drowned and dirty you look among these perfectly prim maids with their pressed white aprons. You bashfully lower your gaze to avoid their eyes, missing the recognition and, ultimately, the reverence there. The man speaks in a stern voice, almost startling you with how firm his voice suddenly is, gesturing towards a maid who stands above the rest. She is lovely and pleasant, curled brown hair and a practiced smile on her lips. She nods at his words, motioning to take your arm from around his. You sheepishly allow her to lead you into the large manor, fingers folded around the clean black sleeve of her uniform like a child.

She carefully and slowly leads you through the manor and up the steps, unaware of the overstimulated rush to your brain as you try to grasp all that you are seeing and smelling and hearing. Your attention tries to focus entirely on the satisfying click of her polished heels, your aching feet climbing step by step with her’s to a certain door among all the others. Behind it is a lavish bedroom, a bed so tempting you almost move to collapse on it. She cooes soothingly to you, words you don’t recognize but can distinguish as motherly reassurance. You decide to trust her, if only because her brown eyes are warm and clear.

This maid leads you to the bath of the lavish room, instantly removing her arm from your grasp to bustle about. You don’t recognize any of the concoctions or bottles she grasps, focus wandering to your own disheveled appearance in the mirror, until she turns the tap of the large bathtub and there’s a rush of water that quickly steams the glass. It makes your heart leap happily against your ribs, even if you are still quite embarrassed, to think you will finally be getting a warm wash after so long. So ashamed of your own dirty appearance you can’t bring yourself to mind as she helps you remove your soiled clothing, your own skin cleaner than the outfit you wear.

Her hand is steady as she helps you into the bath, lowering you into the steaming water that quickly reddens your skin. But your muscles ache for relief, your sense of self aches for cleanliness. You expect her to leave, but the diligent maid sets to work immediately as you relax. She kneels upon the fluffy cushion beside the bathtub to pour a creamy, fragrant mixture into her palm, thoroughly warming it with her hands before smoothing it along your scalp. She carefully works the mixture and her fingertips through your hairline, massaging the muscles at the base of your head and working up. She presses with measured strength, nails wearing away the build up of skin and sebum from your follicles. You allow your head to loll back into her reliable hands, comforted into complacency.

Adelinde washes at your scalp with a firm touch, the suds dribbling down your strands to fall into the bath water. Her attention is drawn by the slight hairs trailing from the base of your hairline and disappearing down the nape of your unblemished neck, soft and intimate. Her fingers move diligently in a practiced and familiar way, as a carpenter would refine his millionth wooden chair, clearing away all the oil and dirt that had gotten trapped along your scalp and behind your ears. The weight of trying to survive for days in the woods comes crashing down, worked away by this caring maid and her sure hands. Her touch is lighter than ever with you, careful to not tug or nails to scrape along your skin. You are, after all, especially precious company. She brings a pitcher of clear water up to rinse away the soap, her other hand gently tipping back your forehead to avoid your eyes. When she’s satisfied you’re clean, Adelinde works a thicker mixture into your hair, trailing her hands down to the ends where she wicks them of excess water. The conditioner smooths down all the roughness of the accumulated days, soothing your stressed strands back into their natural position.

You don’t notice the other two maids that have arrived until Adelinde helps you out of the tub, standing at the ready for orders to tend to you. One of them has long dark locks held appropriately back by her uniform headpiece. The other is distinguishable by the gemstone on her collar, it shines unnaturally bright. So obvious among the standard outfit of all the maids you’ve seen. Adelinde turns her head just the slightest away from you to address one of the young ladies, who immediately springs away to somewhere past the bathroom door. The other moves around you as Adelinde leads you to sit on the stool before the bathroom mirror, this young lady twitching hesitantly and unsure under the careful watch of the head maid. This new maid seems unsure whether she’s allowed to touch you, hands folded carefully upon her apron. If only you had the means to reassure her.

The maid with the gemstone collar weaves her fingers through your hair, a powerful breeze moved by her fingers and caressing each strand. She moves delicately, careful not to tug too harshly on your scalp. The smell of fresh dandelions and open fields moved by her very will. You want to startle away, look for whatever blowdryer you’re sure she has to be using, but your body still aches and hunger claws away your stomach and reason. You tilt your head back into her touch, the fidgeting of her nervous fingers soothed at your pleased hum.

It's an hour, maybe two, before your hair is dry. The minutes weave together as you blink back sleep, eyelids heavy under the gentle, warm breeze that blows across the skin of your scalp and neck. When you glance in the mirror to look back at the young maid, she catches your eye and gives you a bashful smile, power from her fingers petering out until the breeze has left nothing but a tingle across your nerves. Only when Adelinde orders the maid away and moves to take your hand do you remember she's there.

She leads you, careful and sure, back into the bedroom where you assume you'll finally get some rest, but instead you find clothes laid across the bed. The idea of getting dressed and doing anything else already makes your aching muscles feel weary, but you don't bother to protest lest their hospitality withers away. Not that she would be able to understand you, anyway. You should feel bashful as she dresses you, would if the situation were different, but this maid's touch feels sterile. Like she's dressing a marble statue instead of your body. All your humanity swept away with the dirty water. There's a gentleness to her touch, barely grazing her knuckles across your skin as she buttons the pressed shirt, that borders on cautious. The careful way these maids, even the strange man, have handled you almost puts you on edge. You've never been cared for so tenderly even by those that love you. Surely... Surely, this isn't just because you're a guest. You wish you had the means to ask why they are acting so attentively.

When you step out into the hall together a heavenly scent floods your nose, an impatient rumble coming from your stomach. You can't hurry down the stairs fast enough, trying to restrain yourself to the polite pace Adelinde takes. You're led into a lavish dining room, perfectly fit and furnished for the stately manor, where the red-haired man waits. He's standing, at attention the moment he sees you enter, waiting politely for you to take your seat. As if you were a most important guest. You shuffle on your feet, in borrowed clothes and covered in borrowed scents bestowed by his borrowed maids, hastily sitting when the waiting butler pulls out your seat.

Now... Well, now you wish you hadn't sat down. You are served by the polite and practiced staff, while the red-haired man watches you with what you feel to be an undeserved respect. Plates are set before the both of you, filled to the brim with the most beautiful food you've ever seen. A generosity of choices, from buttered vegetables to succulent meats. You've never seen food so worthy of being called art. Though you two can't converse, he seems content to simply watch you. It makes you slow your eating despite the painful twist of hunger in your stomach, sitting up straighter to appear more worthy of such effort. This man has been so strange since he first laid eyes on you.

You hope he's just altruistically generous when it comes to people in crisis, but you can't help feeling there's something you're missing.

[shallowseeker]

There is...one more Cas-adjacent car to discuss, but I don't quite have it all straight in my head.

LOOK! It's not the same tan sedan, but it IS interesting. (4x03 & 13x01) Isn't it? Let's ramble:

////

Look at this cute little tan sedan that Dean drives in 4x03 In the Beginning!

This is one of his very first interactions with Cas, and our first on-screen date car drive.

They've interacted very little at this point! Previous appearances with Cas n' Dean were 1) their first meeting in the barn and 2) the very tense middle-of-the-night meeting in the dream kitchen.

Anyway, this is the vehicle Dean drives throughout the episode. It's our first car ride with Earth and Heaven teaming up.

///

Dean is ghostly as he bears witness to the tragedy of Samuel Campbell's death (stabbed in the gut, just as Mary was before she burned), Deanna Campbell's death (broken neck), and John Winchester's death (broken neck).

Azazel is killing all of Mary's support system to better weaken her resolve and entrap her in a deal.

Young—afraid—alone—distressed. Mary would have taken any deal, surely.

(Mary's Fate is not unique, exactly, but it's definitely got its own signature. It's an off-rhyme parallel in Supernatural. She did not, in fact, barter her soul, or go to Hell, as John and Dean will eventually do. No, she unknowingly Rumpelstiltskin'd her second child.)

Mary looks sadly over her shoulder at Dean, who was unable to help her. Then, John breathes in air with a shuddering gasp—returns to life.

Dean gasps, too, and Cas returns to his side. They disappear together, leaving only mysterious tan sedan in their wake.

Mary turns to look one last time, and we now have the setup of the scene: John—Mary—tan Cas Car (lights on)—black Dean Car.

///

Mary’s voice was so small when she asked if Azazel would revive her parents, “M-my parents, too?”

(Of course Azazel said no. Mary has to take what she will get, and she may have made a terrible mistake, but she knew enough not to barter her soul.)

So, Mary gazes at her father—the protector—lost as he failed to protect her, just as she will fail to protect Sam. (Oh, and her mother? She's dead, too. Mary's world has shrunk. And the world is so, so much scarier after your father dies. He’s supposed to be invincible.)

This failing of his child will haunt Samuel Campbell beyond the grave and entangle him in a demonic deal of his own. (Just as Cas, too, will be drawn into an Empty deal for Jack, post-resurrection.)

///

"I'll tell you one person that you're not gonna save. Your Granpappy."

Deanna, very nearly victorious in her bid to go for the gun on the ground, gives herself away with a grief-stricken scream:

We've seen this ghost before. The demon comes through the door. It kills the protector. Then it seeks to kill the second line of defense, before moving onto the rest of the vulnerable family members.

///

Now, we come to 12x23 All Along the Watchtower and 13x01 Lost and Found. And well, it hurts.

Nothing is one-to-one in Supernatural. All parallels are based in the specter of missing bonds and of lost love—whether that's a child, a comrade, a sibling, a parent, or a lover. It's a symphony of harmonizing pain. :(

So, in 12x23/13x01, Cas dies. Dean and Sam are stunned speechless.

In 12x23, it's Mary who leaps into action, and Dean can only stand, a paralyzed witness to Jack's twin fate of The Lost Parents. (Jack's mom, Kelly? She dies. Dean can't save her. Jack's chosen father, Castiel? He dies, too. Dean can't save him either.)

(Both Deanna and Kelly die with their eyes open.)

But Mary is triumphant. She is a Doomed Child fighting back. She protects Jack from Lucifer, even though she could not protect Sam from Azazel. (Echoing this, Crowley serves as an inverse: he spurned his mother's protection from Lucifer and bit off more than he could chew to further the security of his career/position. His death, surprisingly, tears Rowena in two and unfreezes her heart.)

///

But thanks to Mary's heroic efforts here, her own kids are spared this time, and Jack, too. (From here, Mary will go into another world where she never made her deal, and she will make peace with her past.)

Of course, Dean bears witness to his own off-rhyme parallel fate to Mary, The Death of the Lover, at the hands of a Luciferian figure. Cas falls at his feet, and Dean falls to his knees.

Dean is also like John. He can only watch as his loved one's sacrificial debt comes due, with no hope in sight, like how Mary's sacrifice came due--those cosmic consequences.

(And later, Jack, in a painful echo of Azazel, will resurrect The Lover but become destined to kill Mary.)

Later, still in North Cove, Dean pleads with God on the landscape of his broken dreams—Washaway beach, (a cruel nod to the beach trip he will never take), a valley without people or friends in it, and a car.

Like Mary, he looks over his shoulder to find a mysterious tan sedan (but its lights are off & it's enshrouded in darkness).

And there's nothing for Dean here. No miraculous resurrection. No deals that can be made. Not for Dean. Dean's happiness, and the happiness of his loved ones isn’t important enough. The universe turns a blind eye. The father doesn't care if he lives or dies, and his happiness certainly never mattered to Him.

It isn't fair.

His voice shakes, and his lip trembles. "Please. Please, help us."

But God's not listening. "He doesn't give a damn."

///

And we're left with a similar setup to Mary's tragedy, another off-rhyme: we return to the lakehouse and we have...a black Dean car. A tan Cas truck, at cross positions to one another, as they were in 4x03.

But like John, Dean is now left with just Sam n' Jack, and he's ill-equipped for parentally supporting either of them.

///

But Dean just keeps looking and looking and looking. Hoping.

He looks like he's about to faint, actually.

(A kitchen. A dining table. An empty chair at its head.)

But this is how it goes with Cas. Dean tries to stop him from walking away, and in reality, he's powerless to stop him from going anywhere.

Having faith when miracles happen and when they don't? What good is it? It just hurts more.

[huayno]

berserk ramblings! that's your warning

source: i read berserk one (1) time a couple years ago and talked a lot about it with people who also lovehate this manga (hi nat)

going into berserk i carried the impression that griffith had planned the eclipse from the beginning, and was all riled up to hate him, only to be thrown off when it became apparent that was not the case.

whether you already knew about eclipse in all its horrible detail, or just saw femto presiding over a demonic ritual in black swordsman arc in the beginning, the question hanging over golden age is: which direction will the betrayal come from? how will this camaraderie be lost? it's already an implicitly deterministic setup that nudges the reader into hindsight bias, and strengthens this with a parade of freaky, powerful beings declaring that all events are accounted for by causality. this is a mislead.

golden age griffith is not a stellar guy. he already considers himself to be superior, he sees the hierarchical position he wields through his charisma and competence to be just and natural, he's comfortable using other people as instruments. but his aim more subtle than just angling for a crown: he's a utopianist. the same moral calculus that allows him to let his loyal followers fall in battle for him is the same calculus that leads him to sleep with a pedophile so that fewer of them will die. this genuine concern (only casca knows about the actual bargain) and the allure of his vision is why they follow him. he even has some qualms about eliminating his political enemies, or at least he cares about guts' opinion of it. hold that thought.

griffith has no idea that he's in possession of a magical amulet that can trade the lives of his comrades for godhood. he loses it, it returns against all odds at a fatal moment. he doesn't even intentionally activate it—his blood makes contact with the behelit after an aborted suicide attempt. the godhand repeatedly emphasizes that the sacrifice is both his secret will (but it isn't, or they wouldn't have to convince him) and inevitable (which puts his will into question). this unsettling pattern plays out with other apostles we see throughout the story: they're made the sweetest offer at their lowest point.

the demons unearth griffith's suppressed awareness that there is only bloody path to his dream, but he didn't have to choose his dream. it wasn't the dream that sustained him while he was being tortured but guts, the first person he ever wanted as an equal. at the crucial moment he's again reminded that guts was the only person who could make him forget about his dream, but at the same time, he's already saying the words. the thought that he'll be left with an already substantial pile of corpses, with no castle and no guts (who will lead the band of the hawk and abandon him in his reduced state) is too much to bear.

guts, on the other hand, is just as fatalistically marked for death by this choice and chooses to keep himself and casca alive despite all the evil ghosts trying to drag them to hell. casca will not be a character again for a couple hundred chapters and guts has his own [incoherent ranting] but in this respect he's griffith's counterpoint.

skip to millennium falcon, griffith got reborn (again) as a god. what's he up to?

still on the same shit. now he has his glorious kingdom, with sycophants replacing his dead comrades, his surviving friends despising him, a (still despite being a god) politically necessary marriage to a woman he feels nothing for, atoning "good deeds" for civilians he doesn't give a shit about. shining pillar of light! tea with the pope!

DEEPLY swagless. sensui and itsuki (oh yea this was about an anime villain poll) snatch the win no contest.

hopefully i've made his juicy little dilemma more interesting, even if his grand motivation is decidedly unsexy. you can argue that it should be a nah duh, but "banding together to install our bro the wise and just as king" is a pernicious staple of fantasy narratives (kingdom. kingdom.) and there is merit into staking it to more compelling interpersonal drama and then ruthlessly shredding it into confetti. bonus points for not setting up guts as an opposing Great Man of History, 5 million negative points for [incoherent ranting again].

so i didn't even get to the eclipse [redacted] and the twenty nine different ways it wrecked the story or how chapter black stacks up but this is long enough. if you read all this i'll bequest my monster perfect editions to you in my will. goodnight!

[anarysoberon]

Estinien watched the hyur woman and her comrades as they searched the streets of Radz-at-Han. He knew they were not of this realm. Their garb and mannerisms gave that away almost immediately. As the woman wandered, he turned just over his left shoulder as Urianger came up beside him. They both watched the group silently for a bit. It became evident that though they bore weapons, small in size, they weren't a threat to the people who called the Thavnairian city home.

"It does not appear that they are to cause harm," Urianger said quietly.

"Maybe not, but they are definitely not of our realm," Estinien replied.

Just then, the woman turned and seemed to look directly into Estinien's eyes.

"Urianger, can you find Alphinaud and Alisaie? Send them out to intercept the woman, they're going to be perceived as less of a threat," Estinien said, backing away from the ledge he had been perched upon.

Urianger left silently as Estinien's attention was caught by a male dressed similar to the woman, but his appearance was both foreign and familiar. The beings ears alone would give the elezen of the realm a run for their money. A few minutes later, Alphinaud and Alisaie calmly approached the woman and they started off to Mehryde's Meyhane. The being with the long ears and another hyur followed. Estinien made his way to see Vrthra.

Kathryn Janeway looked at the brightly colored city streets. She had no idea how she, Tuvok, and Ayala ended up in this place, but at least it seemed they were not under any type of threat from the people who rushed past them.

"Tuvok, why don't you find out what this place is and where it is. Ayala, can you find out who the government officials are or whatever the setup is?" Janeway turned in a slow circle taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of her new surroundings.

The Lieutenants took off to retrieve the information she asked for. As she set off to learn what she could, Kathryn felt as if she was being watched. As she looked up, she saw what appeared to be the shadows of two people. Their shadows were genderless in the brightness of the sun at their backs. Captain Janeway was becoming more frustrated as people looked her over and seemed to scurry away in fear.

When her frustration was at its peak, she saw two children making their way to her. Their hair was white as snow, their skin fair, their eyes a captivating shade of blue. One was clad in blue, the other in red. Their strides spoke of confidence, their matching cadence made her immediately regard them as siblings and well-to-do. They both stopped an arm's length from her.

The one in red, now more obviously female, immediately crossed her arms over her chest and gave Kathryn the once over. The male in blue smiled weakly, casting his sister a sideways glance. He bowed slightly before he rose and spoke.

"We are Alphinaud and Alisaie Levellieur," he began motioning between he and his sister. "Welcome to Thavnair, Radz-at-Han more precisely, you seem lost. How can we help you?"

Janeway immediately noted that he was as well spoken as his sister was intimidating. The Captain's mind was buzzing with questions. As she began to answer, she saw Alphinaud's ears. Trying to hide her light derailment of thought, she smiled.

"Hello Alphinaud and Alisaie. I am Captain Janeway of the science and exploration ship Voyager," Janeway began. "My two comrades and I were sent here by mistake," she continued. She turned to see Tuvok and Ayala returning.

"But you haven't a clue where here is, have you?" Alphinaud asked.

"Not even an idea of where to guess," Janeway responded as the two men rejoined her.

"Well then, why don't we make our way over to Mehryde's and have a little chat?" Alisaie asked with emphasis on 'little'.

Tuvok subtly nodded his approval to the captain.

"After you." Janeway answered, attempting not to be snarky in return.

The twins set off followed by the three lost travelers.

[leejafythe]

Fixing You - https://archiveofourown.org/works/39132561

Leeja kept looking around and over her shoulder as she and Thancred made their way back to Camp Broken Glass. “Are you alright? You’re a lot more nervous than usual” he frowned and squeezed her hand tightly. 

“Something is messing with senses, I don’t know what it is. I can’t tell if its the overwhelming aether but my echo hasn’t triggered, I can’t focus properly and–”

“Are you sure it’s not just stress, darling? You’ve had this before” she sighed and gently bumped her head against his arm. “I am not dismissing your symptoms, we both know that, but we both know stress plays a big part” he put his arm around her gently. 

“I know. I know stress is a problem and I’m trying to be better with it but given the gravity of the situation, I think I can get a pass for being stressed.” Thancred chuckled and they continued on their way.

They both stopped as something behind them caught their attention. By the time they both turned around, they were surrounded. They both freed their weapons and stood back to back “congratulations, you get to be my dance partner, love” she smirked and grabbed his hand quickly and channelled aether through her body into his, linking the pair, as she quickly setup her dance to begin her attacks as Thancred did his best to pull all the attention onto himself while Leeja did her best to take down as many of the tempered Garleans as she could without killing them. However, they didn’t seem to understand they were trying to help, not if their fresh wounds were anything to go by. 

Leeja cried out as the swipe of a gunblade caught her face and neck, rendering them to bleeding. Thancred wasn’t fairing much better, despite his various mitigating attempts. Leeja growled angrily “get them in a line in front of me and then stand back, this ends now!” She dashed back slightly and waited as Thancred pulled them into position. She waited a single heartbeat before channelling her Crimson Lotus “move now!” She hardly gave Thancred enough time before she triggered the attack, taking out all of the tempered quickly. 

Once her attack finished, she crashed to the ground, panting hard and unable to heal her wounds properly while Thancred spoke on his linkpearl quickly before realising. “Send Urianger as well, quickly.” He crouched down and took over putting pressure on the wounds with the rags Leeja was already using. “Are you not about to heal yourself?” She shook her head.

“Too much energy went into Crimson Lotus. Don’t have the energy to heal myself” she murmured the words slowly. 

“Rest, Urianger is on his way and we’ll get patched right up. Let me take over holding these but you need to stay awake.” She looked him over and noticed his own injuries. “I’m fine, nothing serious that my armour hasn’t absorbed.”

Her ears flicked as she heard the sounds of approaching footsteps. “Urianger and others are here.”

“Thancred? Leeja?” Urianger couldn’t see them and sounded worried.

“We’re here, behind the rock. Can you come and heal Leeja first? She’s got a wound to her face and neck that won’t stop bleeding” he poked his head out from behind the rock.

“Aye. What happened?” He knelt down, noticing the blood soaked rags and focused on healing the injury quickly.

“Got ambushed. ‘M struggling to…” she bit her lip and lowered her voice. “My senses aren’t as sharp and I’m struggling to discern my surroundings. ‘S too much aether, I can’t focus.”

“I don’t have nearly as sharp senses but I didn’t sense anything wrong until it was too late and by that point, running wasn’t an option” Thancred stood and watched the tempered be taken away.

“I know Y’shtola’s having the same problem, it’s why she’s staying in camp” the wounds knitted together the best they would and the bleeding stopped. “Thanks, Urianger.” Leeja rose to her feet slowly, feeling achey and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get back to camp, we can inform our comrades of what happened here, rest for a bell and get back to it. I should be fine to finish healing our wounds as well when we get back” she slipped her hand into Thancred’s and they made their way back with less of a delay. 

G’raha and Alphinaud immediately made a fuss of them upon their return. “What happened? Are you both alright?”

“We’re fine, a touch tired but we’re okay. Just need to rest for a moment” Thancred waved off their worrying quickly. “Come, let’s go warm up and finish patching the last of the damage” he tugged Leeja away gently as she grabbed her pack. They were given the privacy as they entered one of the smaller buildings.

“Coat off, love. Let me take a look” she pulled out her small medical kit as she sat down.

“Oh no, I’m fine. It’s you I worry for, your armour isn’t nearly as resilient as mine. Leather is fine to a certain degree but you took a fair few hits” he sat in front of her and shrugged his coat off. Leeja did the same and grimaced at the feeling as several cuts and bruises were pulled on. Thancred grabbed the kit from her lap and opened it on the table. “This is why. It makes me wonder why you don’t just wear your paladin armour.”

“Because plate is heavy and I can’t fight properly in it. And before you ask, no I cannot wear my gunbreaker armour as it’s back in the Rising Stones. I only have my paladin gear because someone insisted I brought something protective with me” she carefully removed the damaged chest piece and hissed quietly as it peeled from some of the wounds. She shuffled the leather pants down her legs, revealing the long slash on her thigh.

“I apologise for caring about your safety” he smiled a little. “This is going to sting and no, punching me isn’t an option” she pouted playfully. She hissed and hit the table hard as Thancred pressed against her thigh with the cotton boll and rubbing alcohol.

“At least it isn’t my previous dancer gear” she grit her teeth hard.

“No, that would would have been much worse since it offers you very little protection.”

“Doesn’t need to if I’m quick enough to evade attacks” she breathed out slowly as he carefully placed a clean dressing over it and covered it with a bandage, tearing it with his teeth as his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her thigh. Thancred smirked a little at the quiet moan he heard leave her throat.

“Not now, later. If we have time” he purred the words and kissed her quickly. She felt her face flush at his words, making him laugh. “Let me check your back and arms, I know how terrible you are for admitting your back hurts.”

“Aye but it’s not my fault. It’s a pride thing” she yelped as he pressed down on a bruise. “Arse.”

“Case and point, darling. You’ve got no terrible wounds on your back but your shoulder needs covering.” Leeja slid the pack back toward him with her less damaged shoulder and flinched when he began to clean it up. 

“I am getting you back for this” she groaned hard and bit down on her fist, fangs digging into her skin and piercing it ever so slightly. She felt him secure the dressing and watched him sit back down in front of her.

“Take it off, I’m checking you for injuries” Leeja stood and pulled the leather trousers back up, securing them once again and wincing as it pressed against the wound. 

“I am more bruised than anything, darling. You are fussing for no reason” Thancred indulged her, removing his chest piece and placing it off to the side after noticing the fresh cracks in it with a slight frown.

“I’ll repair it before we leave, don’t want you going out in damaged gear.” She took his arm in her hand and traced it lightly with the tips of her fingers. He looked a little confused for a moment before the warm flow of aether followed in their wake. He felt the stiff muscles relax and the bruised skin feel better. She repeated the action on his other arm before standing and moving behind him. “Take slow, deep breaths. This might feel strange and I apologise if it does. Do you trust me?” She leaned down and kissed his temple, resting her head against his for a moment.

“Of course” he breathed out softly. She placed her finger tips on his back and channelled the aether through them once again, trailing them down his back slowly. Every bruise, graze, break and fracture became non-existent as her aether found its way to each injury and healed it. He felt the spasm of the muscles ease and the tension leave at the same time. “Stand up for me, love” Leeja kissed his shoulder gently and removed her hands. Thancred stood and he felt her hands on his lower back and groaned softly as the tense muscles relaxed and the ache faded. She moved around to his front and placed her fingers just under his collarbones, channelling the aether again and slowly pulling her fingers downwards, fanning them out slowly to reach more of his chest. Thancred sucked in his breath sharply as she hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Sorry, I’ll be careful” she looked up at him and gave him an apologetic smile. Leeja’s fingers gently traced each muscle slowly, her aether seeping into his skin and helping to speed along his healing. Thancred leaned his head down and rested his brow against the top of her head lightly as her fingers glided slowly over his abs and down to his hips before stopping. “How does that feel now?”

“Much better” he tipped her head back gently. “Like the embrace of a warm blanket on a cold evening mixed with an incredible massage” he smiled softly as she chuckled lightly.

“Ah, the famous silver tongued bard hasn’t lost his charm, has he?” She teased him gently.

“I should hope not” he kissed her gently. “Thank you. We should probably rejoin everyone.” Leeja hummed slightly in disappointment as she grabbed his chest piece.

“Let me fix this and we can go.”

[verkja]

Pt. 7

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The company runs into some bandits; Radomil worries about the immediate future for once.

CWs: Blood, injury, death (of unnamed enemies), semi-graphic violence, knives, brief captivity, just a smidgeon of torture, references to suicide. Despite all that, this isn’t a particularly rough section. It is SFW. Chapter summaries here.

Words: About 2K

Radomil had wondered why the road to Phaenglane was so clear of bandit activity, and now he knew: There was just one very large, very well-organised bandit group a day’s march from the city. The mercenaries encountered them around noon; the only reason it wasn’t a complete disaster was that the bandits weren’t expecting them, and so hadn’t set an ambush.

Currently, Iesto was holding the front line alone, while Radomil and Rhedyn fought from a short distance away and Mures cast spells from an elevated spot further back. The scout had set up a choke point between a cliff and a large tumble of fallen trees, seemingly the result of a landslide. Bandits periodically tried climbing over the trees, but the two mid-range combatants ensured they couldn’t attack Iesto from the side.

Radomil circled around the tangled logs, hoping to surprise the bandits from another angle. They had a wizard with them - not too skilled, it seemed, and unable to hit Iesto directly without risking friendly fire, but still inconveniencing them by intercepting some of Mures’ spells. Radomil thought he could probably catch the man by surprise, and began readying a chain of runes to do so.

The chain dissolved when an already-formed chain of similar runes looped around his wrists and pulled. He gave a surprised exclamation and stumbled sideways, into a sort of hollow in the mess of logs. The chain contorted, splitting in two and then rejoining to tie his hands behind his back and tug them against one thick tree.

He spat twigs and traces of blood out of his mouth - the chain had been indiscriminate in its path into the hollow - and shook his head to clear his eyes of bark scraps. Blinking rapidly, he saw a bandit standing across from him, a faint golden glow around one hand indicating she was responsible for his predicament.

‘Got time for a little chat?’ she asked, grinning. In the hand that wasn’t glowing, she held a slim, diamond-shaped knife.

‘I’ve got somewhere to be, actually,’ he replied. Surreptitiously, he tugged at the chain behind him; if the bandit had made a mistake, or was a weak caster, there might be a flaw he could exploit. He found nothing.

‘We’ve got a nice setup here,’ the bandit mage told him. ‘Merchants have to come through this area to reach Phaenglane from the north, and with a group this size we can pick off even well-armed caravans. We could use another wizard, though. Sound appealing to you? Banditry isn’t really that different from mercenary work.’

‘Why’re you asking me and not our other caster?’ Radomil tried to analyse the bandit as he stalled for time. She wore mainly leather, but it was soft, not hardened into armour; the design didn’t look optimised for fighting. Probably not a spellsword, then, and he noted she’d called him a wizard as well. From where she stood, his sword was hidden behind his head and back.

‘Maybe you’re new enough to the mercenary life not to know this, but dark sorcerers are bad news,’ she said, twirling her knife. ‘Something about messing around with forbidden magic, probably - they get too big for their boots and next thing you know, they’re slaughtering your comrades to raise an undead army.’

‘Interesting - I didn’t know that. You’re right, I’m pretty new to this,’ he said, hoping the egregious lie didn’t show in his voice. The more ways in which he could convince her to underestimate him, the better. ‘Maybe you’ve got a point.’

‘I do. Unfortunately, I can’t exactly take you at your word if you do feel like joining us,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be too bad. Just have to show you who’s in charge.’

‘That would be you, I gue-’

He bit the word off as she tossed her knife into his shoulder. It lodged just below his collarbone - far enough out to miss the cluster of nerves controlling his arm, fortunately, but also deep enough to cause significant pain.

‘Feel free to struggle - I could use a bit of practice on a moving target,’ she said, pulling a second knife from a sheath on her hip.

Radomil exhaled through his teeth. While far from ideal, his situation had a number of good points to redeem it. For one, the bandit leader probably wouldn’t injure him too badly if this was just a gesture of dominance before recruiting him. For another, the fact that she apparently led the whole group meant that if he could -

Another knife, placed almost perfectly across from the first, interrupted his train of thought. He made a noise of mixed pain and anger.

Okay. Okay. If he could take her out, it might turn the tide of battle in the mercenaries’ favour. Based on the sounds he heard from outside the tangle of logs, the fight was very much still in progress. And she appeared to -

He yelled as a third knife lodged itself immediately beside the first one.

‘You’ve made your point - this isn’t necessary!’

She smirked. ‘See, that’s why I’m doing this. I decide what’s necessary and what isn’t. You just follow orders.’

A fourth knife stuck into him next to the second. Luckily, it appeared that was her last. Radomil tried to breathe evenly as she strolled towards him, still smiling.

‘How about another round?’ she said, reaching for a knife handle.

He snapped his foot up and kicked her in the knee. There was a crack; the bandit leader screamed, falling back a step and bending to clutch at the broken joint. Radomil swung his leg as high as he could and slammed his heel down on top of her head. She dropped to the ground and lay there, unmoving. The rune-chain binding his wrists dissolved.

With a wince, he pulled his arms to the front and reached up to extract the knives. He should have let her take at least two of them out before attacking her, he reflected irritably, grimacing - that way he wouldn’t have to move one shoulder while there were still blades sticking in it.

He got all four out and pulled off his shirt, wadding it up and pressing it to his shoulders to stem the flow of blood. Rhedyn could take care of his injuries after the battle; for now, perhaps he could move the leader’s dead or unconscious body with magic, to show the other bandits that -

The logs across the hollow from him imploded. Radomil leapt backwards, his thoughts violently derailed for the third time in as many minutes.

Mures stood in the now-open space, holding a sphere of energy in one hand and staring wide-eyed at Radomil. Rhedyn was a few steps behind him; she looked alarmed.

‘Hello,’ said the spellsword, dumbfounded.

‘Are you alright?’ Mures’ hand was vibrating slightly with the effort of restraining the sphere, which seemed to contain the captured energy of the implosion.

‘Mostly, yes. Uh -’

‘Move to the side, will you?’

He did. The sorcerer extended his arm and released the sphere of energy, which shot forward and struck the remaining half of the fallen trees - the side to which Radomil had, until recently, been chained. It exploded.

That ended the battle. The few bandits who survived the shockwave and cloud of razor-sharp wooden shrapnel, mostly those near Iesto, surrendered in short order. Rhedyn cleaned and bandaged Radomil’s stab wounds while Iesto and Mures looted the battlefield.

They continued a short distance onwards and then made camp, although the sun was still high. The fight had delayed them enough that they likely wouldn’t reach Phaenglane before nightfall, and in addition to Radomil’s hurt shoulders, Iesto had picked up a nasty slash to the face. It would probably make an impressive scar.

The early stop left Radomil with a problem. Two days ago, he’d gone looking for Mures while the other mercenaries dealt with a sprained ankle, intending to see if he might want to continue travelling together after Phaenglane. While he’d still been concerned about getting close to the sorcerer, discussing his dream with someone who’d seen it had been unexpectedly cathartic, and he thought the tradeoff was worth it. Besides, he liked Mures.

He’d abandoned that plan upon finding the sorcerer and, as far as he could tell, barely managing to talk him out of killing himself. At least he hoped he had managed it. He didn’t know why Mures had wanted to do that, in part because there was no shortage of potential motivations. The spellsword had briefly wondered if his prophetic dream could be responsible, but the other man’s actions didn’t line up with that. The fact that he’d apparently thought asking for a hug was unreasonable, in addition to being more than slightly heartbreaking, suggested his motivations were probably less existential and more personal.

Without understanding why Mures felt the way he did, he couldn’t be confident that the sorcerer might not decide to slip away and kill himself after all. He’d thought about asking for details, but didn’t want to push in case he made things worse; it had only been a few days, and they weren’t honestly that close. For the same reason, he hadn’t brought up the idea of continuing to travel together, although he wanted to even more now for the sake of helping his companion through… whatever it was he was going through.

They’d spent the remainder of the day after the bridge situation travelling and had gone to sleep almost immediately upon stopping; they’d travelled for most of the following day as well. This had made it easy for Radomil to keep an eye on the sorcerer. In the evening, he’d practised with his sword because he knew Mures liked to watch that, and they’d gone to sleep again shortly afterward.

Practising wasn’t an option today, thanks to his injuries, and hours of daylight still remained. Worse, Mures seemed quite likely to wander off - he was currently pacing at the edge of camp, stiff posture indicating some kind of bad mood. Radomil frowned. He didn’t want the sorcerer to feel trapped or intruded upon by asking him to stay in sight, but stalking him if he did leave camp was worse.

An idea occurred to the spellsword as he glared at his inconvenient stab wounds. Digging through his pack with a wince, he extracted his rune-book and flipped it open to a half-finished page.

‘Could you give me a hand with something?’ he asked Mures the next time the sorcerer passed by.

‘What is it?’

‘Here.’ He held out the book, displaying the unfinished page. ‘Do you know anything about using runes like this? In circles?’

‘Yes, but it’s not my specialty. You probably know more about it than I do.’

‘Probably, but I’ve run up against a wall with this one. Can’t figure out one of the words for the circumference.’

‘What’s the circle supposed to do?’

‘Sëŋ is the central word. It’s meant to affect a wide area, probably a building, and create an atmosphere of welcome or hospitality.’

‘Hm.’ The sorcerer hesitated, then sat on the ground beside Radomil, leaving an arm’s length or so between them. ‘What rune does the word have to start with? Is that dān?’

‘No; it’s tåwā.’

Mures snorted. ‘Your handwriting is even worse than mine.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ the spellsword protested, grinning. ‘I’m the only one who normally has to read it, and I can. Well - most of the time.’

‘Do you have a list of the words you’ve tried already?’

‘Yes - here.’

‘I can’t read this.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Radomil squinted at the writing. ‘...alright, you may have a point.’

It took them a little under an hour to decipher Radomil’s scrawled notes and finish the rune-circle. They both felt rather silly upon realising that the name of the rune itself would serve to complete the thing.

After that they worked for a while on another circle. Mures wasn’t as quick at constructing the collections of runes as the spellsword, but he was still pretty good, and he had an encyclopaedic knowledge of all three runic scripts. Radomil found himself appreciating both the assistance and the chance to collaborate with another spellcaster; he’d asked for the sorcerer’s help mainly to have an excuse for keeping him around, but it had turned out better than he’d hoped.

They stopped for dinner and then wrapped up the second circle. Radomil played a bit of music, waiting for Mures to get into his bedroll before he did the same. Despite the rough start, he reflected, the day had gone surprisingly well. He just needed to figure out what to do when they reached Phaenglane.

Preoccupied with the problem, he fell asleep before his thoughts drifted down their usual dark path.

___________________

There is a sort-of illustration for this piece here, showing Radomil in the log hollow with knives in his shoulders.

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Our Nightly Confidant 4

War Games

Warriors needs fresh air.

The hand resting in the crook of his elbow is soft, but its grip is threatening to cut off the blood circulation to his hand. The pain has steadily numbed as the ladies exchange thinly veiled insults about this or that province and this or that financial ruin.

He used to like this.

The attention, the admiration, the glory! When did it start to taste like ash in his mouth?

If his queen heard that thought, she'd have another one of her brutal truths for him. 'When war stopped being a game and became a duty.'

When he realized that not even being the Chosen Hero of Courage would shield him from the game. That it made him twice the target every other soldier was. When the bodies of fallen comrades couldn't go past the numb exhaustion that took him every evening.

“Lady Farosh, Lady Ordonas, if you'll excuse me for a second...” he says, flashing them his flashiest smile.

Lady Ordonas brings out her fan to hide her rosy cheeks and agrees with an obvious giggle. Lady Farosh, whose fingernails are on the verge of piercing skin, delays her reply by the barely polite amount of time.

“Oh, Captain Link, you cannot abandon me so swiftly,” she tries, eyes flickering to her father, an esteemed general in discussion with Impa.

“But of course not, only a second to freshen up.”

The instant she releases him, he pulls away and bows. Though, despite his instincts screaming at him, he doesn't run a straight line for the glass doors of the Queen's ballroom. Lady Farosh would take it as an insult. He weaves through conversations, dropping the minimum expected of him here and there, snarks at a Legend that looks ready to murder Lord Lonnayru (and Warriors wishes him to succeed), never touches a drink or bite offered that he did not pick for himself, and eventually reaches freedom.

The cool night air is a balm on his skin as it strokes his hair and face.

Even the small, military tents he's slept in during the campaign didn't feel half as stifling as that ballroom. And some of the tents, he couldn't even stand up inside!

Above, the moon shines its silvery glow down to the garden's fountain. With the ball in full swing inside, no one walks the peaceful path of stone amidst the roses and the arches. Shame. It's a beautiful place. His first stroll there had been a pleasant experience, though not his first conversation with his queen. Impa had chased away the rest of the escort and glared the patrolling guards into submission. Any attempt to bargain had been met with stony silence and a dare to prove themselves worthier of the Queen's protection than her Sheikah general and mentor.

Warriors stops by the hedgerow. If he focuses, he can see the spot where Zelda sat down, where she picked a rose for him, and pinned it on his breastplate.

They had had hopes for the future. Have. He still has hopes. Don't get him wrong. But he's a little more tired than he used to be. Where had the time gone?

'Captain Link, I must introduce you to my daughter.'

Must. Must. Must. Always a 'must', never a 'may'. Duty traps him and the wild beasts know it. They sniffed his blood long ago, and he can only ever bandage the wound so much before it becomes infected.

Traipsing around with the heroes of previous eras is a blessing and a reward that Hylia offered him. A thank you, he feels, and perhaps the beginning of an apology.

“You shouldn't be out there on your own, Captain Link.”

Those are normal words, spoken with careful reverence. Nothing about them should bring his walls up this quickly. But Warriors is no longer accosted by the common soldiers. Hasn't in a long time.

The cracks on his heart spread just a little further. Deeper.

“Someone might try to hurt you, sir.”

The reverence is gone.

And the spear points straight at his chest.

He doesn't have time to bring out his sword.

A snarling mass of fur tackles the traitor, and by the time Warriors can react, the cry of fear stops abruptly. In its stead is a steady gurgle, a fading wheeze. A limb that thuds against the garden grounds.

Warriors doesn't flinch. He's seen worse.

Once his prey has been deemed sufficiently mauled, Wolfie turns to him, muzzle dark with blood, and worry clear in his eyes.

“Good boy,” he says, absentminded, a hand ruffling through the beast's sinfully soft fur.

It's a testament to his companion's state of mind that no warning growl responds to the familiarity. Warriors doubt he would hear it anyway. He's staring at the dead body.

The guard was young. Maybe... Hyrule's age. He must have hated the war, if he'd gone to the front lines. Hell is hardly enough of a description for the dance of bodies and hacked limbs. He had probably lost a brother or a father or a cousin to the fighting, if he was earning his keep in the Queen's castle at that age. Maybe Impa had taken pity on him.

“Simple-minded fools who can't resist basic mind magic,” Warriors repeats, a wobbly chuckle in his voice.

Wolfie noses his hand, and the little shock of cold and wet jolts enough that he can avert his eyes from the traitor. Defeated, the events of the night all playing on loop, he drags himself to a secluded spot by the hedgerow. One from which he can see people coming, with his back to the branches. Wolfie plops down next to him.

“Mind magic. What I wouldn't give for that to be the case,” he confesses to the wolf-like companion. “Hylia. I'd take cowards over this. I'm not asking them to fight my battles for me. Not even fight by me. Just...”

His fingers curl into his scarf. Holds onto the lifeline.

“I just want to be able to turn my back on the people I protect. Is that really so much to ask for?”

Soft fur fills his sight. He ought to resist the urge. An officer must be strong. Cannot let the soldiers down. Fear spreads like wildfire. One spark, and the whole army goes up in flame.

He knows this.

He knows, and he sobs anyway. Farore, please, just for an instant, allow him to be weak.

He buries his face in Wolfie's shoulder, relishes the warmth and protection that comes from the sacred beast. It doesn't matter that some blood splatters might stain his official knight armors. It doesn't matter that for a split second, he doesn't scan his surroundings for exits, potential ambushes and traps. He gives the taut ropes of tension inside him just enough relief.

Until he pulls back.

Sniffs twice, wipes his face once and plasters the charmer smile.

“I'm alright, Wolfie... I'm alright.”

Wolfie doesn't buy it. Makes an inquisitive little whine. A question.

His hand trembles in the fur. “I am. I will be.”

Wolfie turns, quick not to notice one's tears. Strange for a wolf, but he doesn't pounce on their weaknesses. They trust he never will.

Silly as it sounds, there's more than a few noble daughters in that ballroom that could take lessons in civility from Wolfie. At least, in his presence, he doesn't feel like a bloody piece of meat dangling in front of a pack of wolves. Now, that's irony.

“You know... you kind of make me miss Midna.”

Warriors jumped back when Wolfie suddenly straightened, his eyes laser focused.

“Yeah, I know her,” he said, feeling a hint of a real smile. “We have a statue for her in the Temple of Souls. Hell of a woman.”

His hands went to his sword the second his ears picked up a low growling noise, only to realize it had come from Wolfie. Was... was their canine companion protective of the Twilight Princess? Or, Hylia forbid, jealous? Goddess, that was too cute.

“Shh, don't alert the others,” Warriors said, hands held in front of him in mock surrender.

Wolfie, with very Hylian-like intelligence, puts a paw first on his muzzle, then scratches one of his ears. It's a good point. He'd know first.

Warriors relents before Wolfie starts nipping. He remembers Time's mud bath. “She mentioned you too. Called you her favorite pet.”

He hadn't know what disgruntled looked like on a wolf before, but now he had the perfect picture. No wonder Midna had loved to tease him.

“She went into battle with this shadow spell. Wolf-companions.”

Wolfie's interest shifts into disguised wariness. There are hints that he might like to pull back a bit, but Warriors' hand remains firm on the back of the wolf's neck.

“Called her main one Rinku,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows. “Reminds you of something, huh?”

Wolfie blinks. Then blinks some more. He's almost completely frozen, like he has no clue what to make of that information. Or is trying to choose the right way to react. And when he does, Warriors bites down on a burst of laughter.

The puppy eyes. The good boy smile. It's worrying how they almost work.

Almost.

Warriors keeps a sly grin on his face and waits. He's in no hurry to return inside the palace.

It takes another change of beat in the music coming from the ballroom before Wolfie gives, and shadows swallow him.

“Since when?” Twilight says, sighing.

Warriors' smirk is immensely punchable, he's aware. He loves to live dangerously.

“Are you implying that I would deliberately play dumb so that one of my fellow Hero of Courage would act like a dog when he doesn't need to? That I knew from the very beginning and asked Wild to take pictures for posterity? For shame, Twilight.”

A vein twitched under Twilight's jaw. “No, I wasn't implying that. I was saying you're an asshole, Wars!”

Warriors fails to dodge the lunge, half-paralyzed by muffled chuckles. The momentum throws them on the grass, and there's a split second of disorientation before his back hits the ground, and a weight lands on his chest. A heavy weight. Goddesses be good, the farmer lifestyle paid, huh?

“Twilight, move your fat ass.”

The mullish expression on his brother's face would have made a raging moblin sweat. “No. We're still doing this. I have a great track record, and I'm not letting you narcissistic goatfiddler break it by being your usual self. Talk.”

His eyes widen in alarm. “Really? This is the setup? Me, suffocating, and you, thinking of a place to hide my body. What is this, a deathbed confession?”

“You could have had the amazing emotional support of everyone's favorite wolf. But noooo, you're too good for that, so spill. Better be fast, because I had double serving of Wild's chili. Gives me gaz like thunder.”

“You. Wouldn't. Dare.”

The silent glare he receives is all Time.

Warriors squirming renews. “Farmhand, I will skewer you on the Master Sword myself if you don't-”

“Why would you go off on your own like that? We were all in the ballroom. You could have gotten any of us.”

“Let's not reverse the roles here,” Warriors hisses, one eyebrow raised. “I'm not the one playing double-life around our group. You can't talk about trust when you constantly hide in plain sight. You want trust? You tell me why.”

The boyish, almost light air between them breaks. Guilt blooms on Twilight's face. He can't meet Warriors' gaze and doesn't even try.

“... It's Dark Magic.”

“I couldn't care less. I've fought amongst noble fighters with dark magic and against monsters with the opposite. Next.”

Twilight's ears droop slightly. It's dog-like, and amusingly fitting for a moment of hesitation. Every second that passes without a word hammer the fact that 'dark magic' is the surface excuse for Twilight's shifty dealings about their group. Warriors tries not to be angry. Twilight did just save his life with that very secret.

“I've had...” Lips mull the words for a few seconds. “Mixed reactions.”

Warriors feels himself frown. “Mixed how?”

“You know me, the country boy, raised in the small farmer village lost in the woods. Country bumpkins, the lot of us... You ever heard what they think of wolves?”

His breath hitches. Slow dread creeps on him. He hates the ease with which images come to him. He's never seen Twilight's hometown, never met any of his family, but he's suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of a mob of pitchforks and pickaxes held high, of dogs barking through the woods as a grey wolf scampers. Narrowly avoids a bear trap snapping its deadly maw on thin air instead of a limb. Overhears angry grumbling about making a pelt out of his skin.

They should be farmers, but he sees old faces instead. Soldiers. Commanders. Officers. Brothers-in-arms he's long trusted. Thought he could trust.

“W-what do they know about those majestic beasts?” he says, jokingly because he's afraid to let the mask slip an inch. (It'd fall a mile, shatter too hard for him to ever glue back the pieces.)

“My father threatened to skewer me,” comes the quiet admission, less than a whisper.

Warriors' heart squeezes. “Twilight.”

“Didn't know it was me though,” Twilight adds, failing at even a small smile. “To him, I was just this wild animal circling the village right after most of the children had been stolen. He... he only threatened me. Just words. Nothing like what you had to deal with.”

“The words are the worst part for me,” Warriors hears himself say. “I hear them in my nightmares, even if I forget what they tried to do. Couldn't tell you who came at me with a spear, with a sword, with a dagger. But I see their eyes in the mirror, the hate as they died.”

“The fear. The 'Get back, beast!' and the screams.”

“'It's your fault!'” Warriors repeat, the same tone that echoed in his head. “'You should have died instead!'”

Twilight's face twists, and there's a split second when Warriors thinks his heart will give out. Even the shadows of Twili magic can't compare to the darkness that covers the blue of his eyes. But Twilight turns his head to the side and spits in disgust.

It hits the traitor's cooling corpse.

“Bastards,” he says, venom lacing his tongue. “Should have made that last.”

He says, with blood all over his face , Warriors thinks dryly.

It's a sharp contrast, that violence on him. Twilight has always had that air of earnest, straightforward honesty. One look at him and strangers will put their trust in him without hesitation. He lacks the battleworn scars (at least where it's visible), is old enough to be taken seriously and his bumpkin accent breeds familiarity with most commoners they meet. Warriors himself has to deploy all his charms to get the same results, and he's still being glared at by a lot of the men.

They peg him a charmer, and not without reason.

“I don't like it either,” Warriors says, quiet.

“What?” Twilight replies, an eyebrow raised.

“The knight act, you know.” And before Twilight's mouth can drop – “At least, some of it. The game. The doublespeak. The mask. It all feels pointless sometimes.”

“I... really?” Twilight's baffled words hurt, just a little.

Warriors scoffs. “Yes, really. I'm not meant to play knaves and daggers. I'm a soldier. An officer. I'm meant to be out there, defending the kingdom I love. Inspiring the people to fight back against darkness, to stand up for their lives. To be at the front of an army, to lead as one amongst the great... it's incredible. It's what I was born to do, I know it in my bones. The act is necessary. But by the Goddesses do I wish I could live without it.”

He sees the way his meaning worms itself past Twilight's gaze, understanding dawning on him. “No matter where one goes, huh?” Sheepish ruffle of his own hair. “Is it something in the water?”

“Like they'd lower themselves to drinking water,” Warriors sneers, a smirk hidden underneath. “Wine only, my good sir. And only the finest year, from the finest yard. Vintage, my good peasant, it's all the vintage that shows breeding.”

“They do know that for everyone else, breeding is something you check for your horses and your dogs, right?”

“I... couldn't tell. I've stopped listening a while ago. I just nod and play my handsome part. It is the only use for a Hero once the King of Evil has been defeated, it looks like. I don't know if I even should call myself a knight anymore.”

“Wild was touched, y'know?” Twilight says, looking up to the moon. “When you called him an honorable knight,” he adds with a sigh. “He's always associated his life before the Calamity to knighthood, to that incredible soldier that had trained for a decade before facing his destiny. Someone whose shadow he chased for months, not realizing it's his own. You might have been the first to call his current self a knight.”

“He is!” Warriors near jumps to his feet. “Wild may be unorthodox, but he is a loyal, devoted man that served Hyrule to the best of his ability despite having lost everything but his life to the cause. Most generals in my army could not even measure up to his standard.”

“Should have seen the look in his eyes when I mentioned it.” There's a hint of sadness beyond the pride and joy of this memory.

He hates the curdling feeling that brings forth. “Remind me to knock a couple of heads together next time we visit his Hyrule, would you?”

Twilight's chuckle is fond, gentle. “Yeah, that's what I meant. I never thought to tell him in those words. To me, he was always good enough. But you saw that side of him too. You know what it's like to want it. I can't relate that well to this, but... well, anyone under your command has to look up to a guy like you.”

Hands ball into fists. Eyes drift to the corpse. “Not everyone does. Obviously.”

Twilight bumps shoulders with him. “I'm sorry, pretty boy. I'm sorry these assholes think they have any right to blame you. To resent you. You're an amazing leader. Much better than me. I... I honestly admire you and your skill.”

Warmth settles in his stomach. He can't... For a second, he needs to blink away tears.

“So he admits it.”

There's a wry, wolfish quality to Twilight's grin. “You speak a word of it, and you'll meet an unfortunate fate, Captain.”

“As if anyone but my Queen could make me fall in battle,” he laughs, pushing Twilight's shoulder, hard.

“Careful there.” His brother's grin sharpens, and the returning shove almost sends Warriors crashing into a bush. “You might touch my cursed stone, and then you'd be stuck as your true self. What would your queen think if she saw a plague-ridden rat try to command her armies?”

Laughter bubbles in his chest. “Be happy to send the rat to infect the goat-loving hillbillies before they spread out of their mudholes! Imagine the half-goat, half-hylians that would invade Hyrule!”

Twilight's gauntlets fall to the ground. Knuckles are cracked. “A'right. Someone needs an asswhooping.”

He could not stop smirking if the Goddesses ordered him to. “Bring it, dog-boy. I'll put a collar on you.”

Taunts, past this point, become superfluous. The breath they would waste could be better utilized trying not to die (lose) against this moblin (his brother) and his freakish strength (no, really, he pushes giant metal crates on ice, the goron-born idiot). The honor of Hyrule rests on his victory.

At some point, they roll over in the fountain.

This does not, in fact, stop their roughhousing.

                                                    ***

 “Should I ask why you both have black eyes and split lips when no one noticed any monster for miles?” Time wonders at his seconds-in-command. “While we were attending a ball?”

“No,” they growl with a ferocity to chill bones.

“Not fair!” Wind protests, to the nodding of most. “Why did they get to have all the fun?”

Ah, youth.

[memorys-skyscraper]

Took several attempts to get to the character select screen and ~20 minutes in queue but we made it

time for Endwalker pt 1

(this is a fucking novel)

LET TATARU COME WITH MEEEEEEE, cant believe she’s front and center on the poster and she doesn’t even get to come with WHAT is the deal

oh jesus, it’s him, the rat man is our narrator for this one. who summoned grandpa back, wasn’t me this time

the fucking reaction I just had to hearing Answers, holy shit

oh hello ma’am, was that you singing? i love your work. oh okay she’s literally just hydaelyn we’re not beating around the bush on this one

alright Yshtola coach us in committing immigration fraud, let’s go

also can we stop calling Graha “Graha Tia”, like I get that we need to remind everyone that he’s not a mega-chad Nunh but like, we get it

“name and occupation” uhhhh????? I don’t have a fuckin job?????? I’m an artisan ok I’m an omnicrafter

OH THANK GOD KRILE PLEASE HELP ESTINIEN IS TOO FUCKING STUPID TO LIE ON THE SPOT LMAOO, he is such a good addition already, “you’re paying me right” lmaoooooo

not Krile dropping the G and calling him Raha omgggggggg

LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOOO GRAHA AND KRILE FOLLOWING ME AROUND OMGGGGG, this is the best fucking feature I LOVE this

“the average Sharlayan tends to regard seasoning and flavor with...a certain indifference” yes krile drag the white people, also Sharlayan is lovely and the inn room is adorable

oh hell yeah boy’s trip to Thavnair let’s goooooooo

love to embarrass Estinien, me n the boys are down for the fuckin count lmaooooooo, personally I do the curl into a ball on the ground that Urianger’s got going on when I get pukey

I love big elephant man, what a sweetie

no FUCKING way they did NOT fucking make FANDANIEL be fucking AMON???? THIS IS THE BEST, like yeah this midboss from syrcus tower is a main antagonist now lmao, THIS is the shit I play this game for

and like of fucking COURSE, of COURSE Fandaniel’s dramatic ass would be the same person as the dude with the most flamboyant hat and over-the-top mannerisms whose boss fight is literally set in a theater, like the fact that this was obviously the plan from the start and not some random ass-pull just for the shock factor is what makes this kind of thing so effective

god this shit is just. so fucking good. this game fucking rules. the way it leverages shit from two, three expansions ago, payoff for things I didn’t even know were setups, like. FUCK yeah Estinien just knew this kid was Vrtra’s eye in a body immediately, of COURSE Vrtra knows who Estinien is. OF COURSE

poor krile trying so hard to talk to hydaelyn when she literally just showed up on a boat unprompted to chat with me, its clear who the favorite child is

LMAO YSHTOLA “oh we need to remain undetected? well I don’t know vanish, so BOOM you’re frogs, go get em”

Comrade Erenville, standing up for workers’ rights, identifying the real toads and the fakes, legend

hm. hm hm hm. hey hydaelyn who did you bring back to the source with minfilia. quick question. just real quick who was it.

FUCK YOU ELF DAD, EAT SHIT “restricted section of the library” who the fuck?? even says that shit??? god you fucking suck

WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!! KRILE WITH HER HOOD DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!! WHO IS THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

mama leveilleur!!!!!! she really said “kids come to the house for your presents, i don’t give a shit what your dad said, cmon”, casually walking into their fucking museum of a house with 10 servants standing in the foyer waiting

awwwwww they get their new fits from mama!!!!!!!! i didn’t even realize Alisaie’s is a romper with a belt & jacket, stealing KH1 Sora’s look lmao, also literally making Alphinaud a sage bc “these fuckin guns were custom made and expensive as fuck, tired of letting them rot in storage, they’re yours now”

THATS RIGHT MAMA, ASK FORGIVENESS NOT PERMISSION, FUCK FOURCHENAULT

oh my god this cutscene of dinner in my room is so fucking CUTE I die, graha slamming that bigass burger and complaining about being short, alisaie stealing his cookie, im gonna get cavities this is so sweet

THERE he is, no thoughts head empty murder man with the dumptruck ass

oh my GOD “I basked in the afterglow” ZENOS go take a cold shower my guy you’re too horny

ok im gonna run the first dungeon again bc smn isnt lv 82 and this quest requires it (bc I ran it the first time as drk bc fuck Thancred) and then gonna take a nap lmao

[linklethehistorian]

Randou and the Sins of Season 3's Fifteen Adaption (Part 48/???)

Bones' Biggest Changes & Greatest Failures — The Tragedy of Arthur Rimbaud (27/?)

In his final years, the thing that Mori’s predecessor valued most in his men, from what we were shown and told, was pure brute strength that could overwhelm and crush any and all of the Mafia’s enemies, with no strategizing or defensive measures necessary, and our eternally freezing frenchman was most decidedly not it, by any possible definition; given that it took many, many years before the foreigner himself was even able to recall that his special ability possessed the power to subsume the dead and use them in battle, his trademark subspace was thus, at the time, understood only to have been built primarily for defense, to the best of anyone’s knowledge — something which, in the Godfather’s eyes, would have been practically useless.

Still, I doubt if that was the only reason why he was so rejected by the old man as a potential candidate for anything other than cannon fodder; no matter whether it is blatantly apparent to you by this point in the article yet or not, considering that Randou was, by default, just about as far from an eager warrior as one could hope to get, it’s only natural that this would have made his life of even less value to said previous leader than it was already; after all, even if he had happened to possess the most ideal ability in the world, so long as his conscience would still continue to drive him to shy away from engaging in violence and cruelty as much was humanly possible for someone in his position, it would not have been of any consequence or use to the corporation. No, indeed, if he was not willing to become a murder machine that would kill ruthlessly and indiscriminately under his superior’s orders, then the only way to make effective use of him in a similar manner would be to throw him headfirst onto the front lines, where he would have no choice but to either defend himself and his comrades by participating in the fight, or lay down and die, letting everyone else that he could potentially protect die with him.

Even after he was eventually released from this personal Hell by Mori’s ascension to the throne, though, his trials and struggles were still not entirely over. Undoubtedly, his recognition by Mori for his gift and the promotion to associate executive that he received thereafter made his life much easier and more pleasant, as it afforded him greater opportunity to live it at least a little closer to the way he wanted by giving him a boss who appreciated him for his talents and largely respected his wishes, understanding that his skill set was, on the whole, best suited to things other than killing; however, these were not the only personal hardships he had to face in this sort of job — merely the only ones which anyone could make go away for him.

As heartening and constructive of a thing as it may be in all other senses, in a cutthroat world such as the one he was now in, Rimbaud’s purity could only serve to put him at a significant disadvantage to everyone else in his field in all too many ways, whenever it came down to his own self-preservation, or being able to properly assess his allies and foes completely objectively.

Now, I absolutely do not want you to get me wrong on this; in no way am I suggesting even in the slightest that Rimbaud isn’t intelligent or insightful enough to deduce these sorts of things about the criminal underworld as a whole, or even to recognize some more subtle signs of danger, because despite how it might initially sound, that is definitely not the case nor the issue here. If anything, the hyperspace user has actually proven himself to be extremely clever to those ends under the right circumstances, in light of not only his aforementioned statement during the setup of the party about the prevailing force behind violence and conflict in the world, but also his keen instinct towards Dazai’s sinister intentions in setting up the supposed ‘celebration’ — to say nothing of the fact that he had even pieced together enough information from their short time together to suspect Chuuya of being Arahabaki whilst someone like Dazai remained entirely clueless about it until the reveal.

Indeed, looking back upon it all, it cannot but become all the more clear that the only thing which was likely holding him back from being just as masterful as Dazai in every sense was one very simple, yet key truth — that Osamu was very cynical about the world around him and more than capable of thinking diabolically and selfishly even on a regular basis, whilst Rimbaud was not.

Had Randou possessed even half of the brunet’s skepticism, ruthlessness, and self-interest, then he doubtlessly would have risen to his high station as associate executive long ago, under the old boss’ reign, and effortlessly gotten away with his supposed traitorous acts against Mori — no longer held back by the inherent honesty that gave birth to the singular, fatal flaw within the otherwise careful forethought and planning that went into his elaborate “trap” for Arahabaki, nor the morally-fueled hesitance or countless acts of compassion that inevitably led to his defeat and death; however, this was just not who he was or could ever be, even in situations where his life might very well depend upon that capability that he lacked, and so he instead remained the exact opposite of it all as ever before, paying many a price and facing many a struggle over all of the difficulties and disadvantages that came along with that path he so diligently walked.

Yes, for all of the effort the animated adaption may put into convincing its audience of the contrary, the truth of the matter will always remain that nothing Randou had ever done was truly selfish at heart, nor did he hold any disregard or lack of respect for the absolute preciousness of life and all those who lived it; as I have said time and time again, he is a kind soul with an optimistic and loving heart that wants only the best for others, even at the cost of his own happiness, and the only motive he truly had behind his ‘scheme’ was that of recovering enough memories of a tragedy he survived to find and save the person he considered to be his best and dearest friend from what, to him, he imagined to be a life or death situation — no matter the cost to himself.

This way of life is not just a facade, as the show will foolishly try to tell you; it is simply the kind of person he is, through and through, and that in itself is where the trouble comes in the most for him; because he has no other side but this in the way he acts and perceives things, this means that it can often be difficult for him to put himself in the shoes of others who do not think in the same way — even if he might know for a fact that they think very differently from him, and comprehends the general, bare concept of what compels them — without projecting at least a little of himself and his own code onto them and what he sees within them.

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[arlingtonpark]

SNK 128 Review

Attack on Titan/Terminator crossover when?

The last two chapters were an inexplicable low point for the series. Quality storytelling zoomed by us and jumped right out the window.

It was like the opposite of how most fans viewed the early days of the series. In those days, the story was good, but the art was atrocious. Now the art is great, but the storytelling is atrocious.

Characters said things without explanation, events happened without explanation, there might have been a teleporting horse or two at some point. I don’t know, but it was bad.

Now, I’m happy to say this chapter is SNK back in full form. This was peak Attack on Titan.

…For good and ill.

Let’s start with the good.

One of the best things about this series is the action. The action is almost always great, and a big reason why is that Isayama isn’t afraid to go big.

There were lots of big moments in this fight sequence.

Mikasa crashing through the window, Armin shot full of bullets, Annie and Reiner, Kiyomi beating Floch’s ass. It all made for an exhilarating read.

Isayama also understands how to pace an action scene.

Unlike every other part of his story. This was an obligatory potshot sorry not sorry.

There’s a beat to the sequence. Big moments punctuate lengths of relatively calmer action.

Mikasa crashes through the window and saves everyone. Next big thing is Armin getting shot down, but in between the two moments is Mikasa and everyone fleeing the thunder spears. It’s something of a reprieve between major plot beats.

There are reprieves like that between all the major moments. Isayama is inexplicably uneven with applying these principles to the whole story, but he typically does it well in action sequences.

See: the last two chapters.

Relatedly, another great thing about the chapter is the stakes. This is also to do with the pacing.

There’s a great escalation to this chapter.

Armin and Connie try to trick Floch because they want to avoid a fight, Floch doesn’t take it, Kiyomi fights back unexpectedly, Mikasa steps in, they flee for their lives, Armin is taken out, Annie and Reiner step in with their titans, and Connie kills in cold blood.

The stakes get higher and higher. That’s what good pacing looks like.

And on a more macro scale, we get an update on Eren’s progress and it’s worse than we thought. He’s already reached the mainland. Millions are probably dead.

That’s a big thing to drop on us just before a make or break action sequence.

Stakes have been risen.

Ok, now for the bad.

First off, Magath.

I mean, he’s saying things that make sense, but you can’t just have a character do a 180 with no build up.

Magath is talking like he’s thought a lot about this. Sure would have been nice to see some of that thinking.

The fatal flaw for this chapter is that it’s just a retread of the Uprising arc. All this action is cool and well done, but at base, it’s all stuff we’ve seen before.

Once again, we’re faced with a brother vs brother kind of conflict. People who should be comrades in arms are forced to turn their arms against each other. The only difference is that this time the government our heroes rebel against is a bit too in love with fighting for survival.

This could have been an interesting contrast. Attack on Titan has usually been emphatically supportive of fighting for survival. The OG Uprising happened because the government refused to fight and the Survey Corps decided they had to overthrow them.

This time, the government is so in love with fighting that death means nothing to them. Floch kills people just for talking back to him. I’m sure he’ll gladly die if he thought it’d help his race.

This was a great opportunity for the series to explore a new angle on its usual themes.

To some extent, the series has already touched upon this. That’s why Eren is a 3000 lbs. dino-titan right now. He took the SNK mantra too close to heart; now he’s a lumbering monstrosity bearing down on innocent lives.

So put this down as a missed opportunity to expand on that.

Instead of that, this chapter is spinning its thematic wheels, stuck in Uprising-era thinking.

“O, woe is me, must I really turn thine arms on my fellow countrymen? Must the world be so cruel?”

That is the conflict of this chapter in a nutshell.

Totally a retread of the Uprising arc.

The final scene, where Connie has to kill a compatriot in order to save Armin’s life, is exactly the same as the scene in Uprising where Armin had to kill the soldier threatening Jean.

Same setup. The killer, Armin in Uprising and Connie in this arc, has expressed reservations about harming his compatriots even to achieve his goals.

That person finds themselves in a situation where the life of a comrade is threatened by a compatriot.

They have no choice but to take a gun and shoot the compatriot in the head, killing them in cold blood.

The moral is the same too: sometimes, you have to kill to survive.

The character writing suffers because of this.

For some reason, Isayama decided be wanted to make the exact same point again, but he didn’t want to put any fresh spin on it.

Thus we are served with the absolute disservice of Jean, Connie, Armin, and Mikasa forgetting the Uprising Arc ever happened, and the lessons they learned from it.

Their experiences from Uprising are directly and obviously applicable to this current situation, but it never occurs to them. It’s honestly stupid of them.

That’s a problem with Isayama. It’s really hard for him to present a viewpoint genuinely opposed to his own in good faith.

There is no debate in this manga. Characters disagree sometimes, but one side is always obviously wrong and one side is always obviously right, and you can tell because the wrong side is always struck silent when confronted by the right side’s #truth.

I get that the point is that they don’t want to kill their compatriots, but still, Jean, Connie, Armin, and Mikasa…are adults, right?

They should be able to articulate a strategic vision that doesn’t entail killing people, even if it’s just to avoid doing something they don’t want to do, shouldn’t they?

In fact, I’ll do that right now.

“We want to be at full strength when we face Eren, so we should avoid a fight at all costs.”

I came up with that on the fly! -flexes-

When Reiner tells them to just hang back and let the warriors fight, Connie rightfully points out they’re basically being infantilized, so I guess that Isayama’s point is that they are being childish, but still, their characters should be past that point.

(Mikasa gets points, though, for coming closest to a smart rationalization.)

The strongest example of this character regression is Connie’s outburst. Connie is pressed on avoiding a fight and he explodes on them.

“You know we’re here in order to save people, right?! So, why are you making it sound like we’re going to have to slaughter all these people on the island?! How did it turn into this?!”

Da fuck is he talking about?

How, indeed.

No one is talking about slaughtering everyone on the island. Where is this even coming from?

Well, maybe that’s the point. Isayama, flawed writer that he is, can only think of Connie’s reluctance to kill his compatriots as deranged, so he’s having Connie talk like a deranged man.

Yeah, that would make sense, if only…

Annie: You’re right.

No, he’s not! What are you doing!?

Look, maybe I just have the wrong perspective on this, but I think Annie is completely fucking wrong.

It’s true the warriors are the only ones with a personal stake in this. They’re fighting for their homeland’s survival; the 104th is not. So she’s right, the warriors have no right to make them kill their fellow countrymen.

But that lack of a right goes deeper than that. The warriors have to right to force the 104th to help them at all.

And you know what that means?

It means no one is forcing the 104th to be here.

The warriors can’t ask them to fight their compatriots because more broadly they can’t ask them to fight Eren. They chose to stand against Eren anyway.

Choosing to fight Eren very clearly extends to fighting his pissant lackeys.

The warriors cannot ask them to fight the Yeagerists because that is an extension of not being able to ask them to fight Eren. Naturally, them choosing to fight Eren means they’ve chosen to fight the pro-Eren Yeagerists.

So, ok, our heroes are forced to dirty their hands, and the series wants us to think about why that is. Why did it have to come to violence?

K, I’ll bite. Let’s think about this.

Let’s dive in deep on this. Why does this violence keep happening?

And don’t say it’s because of the cycle of violence Isayama talks about.

I’m talking even deeper than that.

Why does the cycle happen in the first place? And what perpetuates it?

It happens because people always forget the past. They don’t remember history.

Ok. And why don’t they remember?

They don’t remember because of a complex web of factors, some personal and others structural.

Think about it this way:

Right now, brothers are killing brothers. Why? To get an answer, why don’t we look at another time when brother killed brother.

In the 1860s, a war was fought in the United States. Many states tried to destroy the country to preserve their fundamentally racist way of life.

Brother killing brother. Why did it have to come to that?

I think Abraham Lincoln said it best.

“On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago [1861] all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it, all sought to avert it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war—seeking to dissolve the Union and divide effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And the war came.”

This is from a speech he gave in 1865, a month and a half before his death, and a few weeks before the end of the war.

The war happened for structural reasons and personal ones.

For both sides, war was acceptable as a means to an end because of the incentives of the moment. The situation was structured to make war an option.

At the same time, there were personal factors involved. It’s not that the war would have happened no matter what personalities were involved. Indeed, the right man at the right time can make a big difference.

Why did Connie and Samuel have to fight?

Part of it is because there’re hotheads like Floch calling the shots.

Floch is the absolute worst man for this moment.

But so far, this has been purely descriptive. Ethically speaking, one side is clearly in the right.

Lincoln nailed it in his speech:

“Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And the war came.”

One side countenances war, while the other merely tolerates it.

So why do you think this had to happen?

I’ll tell you what not to think.

“Violence is one thing you can’t take from humanity.”

Thinking about it in terms of violence and being violent, as Yelena does, is lazy.

There are reasons why the world is cruel, but that’s actually a good thing, because if the world is so cruel for a reason, that means we can change the world and make it less cruel.

And that, if you squint really hard, is another theme of Attack on Titan.

[aion-rsa]

The Batman Trailer Breakdown and Analysis

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

The Batman trailer is finally here, accompanied by Nirvana’s “Something in the Way.” The two-minutes-and-a-half of footage presents a nightmarish new take on Gotham and the Dark Knight, an impressive feat considering only 25% of the movie has been shot so far, according to what director Matt Reeves said during the DC FanDome digital event.

Matt Reeves’ Batman reboot explores the early days of the Caped Crusader’s career, about two years into it, and focuses on a younger Bruce Wayne who is haunted by his past as well as a new villain who’s leaving victims all of the city for him to find.

We see in the trailer as Batman is hunted by a serial killer who is leaving him letters at every crime scene, teasing that the movie will feel more like a detective story than the usual action take. The trailer also gives us our first look at several villains, including Penguin, Catwoman, and a gang that seems to call back to a group first introduced in an animated series.

While the trailer makes quite a few things clear about this new Batman movie universe, there are a few lingering questions left in the promo’s wake. So we’re going breaking down the trailer to see what’s really going on in The Batman. And if there’s anything you spot in the trailer that we missed, let us know in the comments!

Before we get started, take a look at the trailer again:

Okay, let’s get started:

The trailer kicks off the character reveals right away, giving us our first look at The Batman‘s version of the Riddler — at least I’m pretty sure this is him. The riddle-obsessed villain isn’t really known for wearing a full facemask with glasses over it, but as you’ll see throughout the trailer, this movie seems to play like an extended fever dream full of grotesque baddies set against an almost overbearingly dark Gotham City.

This is the perfect version for this new take on the Riddler, who seems more like a serial killer here than the grinning megalomaniac we know from the comics, video games, and Batman Forever. In fact, Paul Dano’s Riddler looks about as far the opposite of Jim Carrey as you can get.

The trailer definitely sets up the Riddler as the main villain of the piece, a killer obsessed with getting to the Batman by leaving behind corpses and messages for the Dark Knight at his crime scenes. Above, we see one such victim, his face wrapped in tape with the words “No more lies” written over it.

Uncovering a lie seems to be a major aspect of the movie, as its a message the Riddler repeats to the Batman several times in the trailer. It suggests the Riddler knows something about the Caped Crusader that no one else does. Does the villain know that Bruce Wayne is the masked vigilante? Or does this lie run much deeper than that?

The fact that the Joker movie also dealt with the idea of the Wayne family’s hidden past — in that case, that Thomas Wayne may have had an illegitimate son — and that this movie could have at least one potential connection to last year’s Taxi Driver-inspired character piece makes me think the Riddler knows a secret about Bruce’s past. The Riddler, who seems to be speaking to Batman throughout the video, tells the Dark Knight at the end of the trailer that “he’s a part of this,” meaning whatever the villain is doing was designed to punish Bruce for something.

Reeves has said that his take on Batman is more of a detective story than an action movie, and this trailer definitely delivers on his promise. We see Jeffrey Wright’s Jim Gordon investigating the crime scene the Riddler leaves behind at the start of the trailer, while a forensics team takes photographs and gathers evidence.

One piece evidence is a green envelope left behind for Batman. Inside is a card with a riddle that I can’t quite make out, but it’s undoubtedly meant to lead the World’s Greatest Detective to the next clue in the Riddler’s twisted game. We also see that the Riddler has also picked up a few things from the Zodiac Killer’s book of riddles, as he leaves behind a code for the Bat to crack.

A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shot of a framed newspaper at the crime scene gives fans of The Dark Knight and The Long Halloween a nice easter egg to mull over. We already knew John Turturro was set to play crime boss Carmine Falcone in the movie but now we know that his comrade in crime/rival Salvatore Maroni also exists in this universe and has been busted for transporting drugs at some point before the start of the movie. Was Maroni one of Batman’s early targets? Maybe we’ll find out.

Here’s an excellent look at what the top half of the new Batsuit looks like. It’s pretty much a suit of armor, although the cowl and cape seem to be made out of leather. And as we already knew, this Batsuit has a collar, which is a pretty neat addition to the usual suits designed for the movies.

This scene also confirms that by year two of Batman’s career, he’s already on good terms with Gordon and the GCPD, although something tells me that relationship ain’t gonna last very long…

I have no idea who this is, but I’m going to guess it’s The Batman‘s version of Commissioner Loeb, the corrupt head of police that preceded Gordon. Since the movie is getting a GCPD-centric spinoff on HBO about the corruption inside the police force, I’m going to assume this version of Loeb will be a bit closer to the power-hungry chief introduced in Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli’s Batman: Year One.

We also get a look at the new Batcave, which is about as minimalist as the Dark Knight’s secret lair can get. In fact, it looks more like a garage than a secret underground science lab/high-tech surveillance station. It even looks like this version of Bruce spends more time working on his Batmobile than on his computer piecing mysteries together. Can you even call that a Batcomputer? It looks like a workbench with a dual-monitor PC setup. Does this dude even get wi-fi inside his underground mechanic shop?

Bruce is at someone’s funeral for someone I don’t recognize when a car comes crashing through the church. Inside seems to be a man with a bomb and a letter for Batman strapped to his chest. Does the Riddler know Batman is attendance already or does he think this latest scheme will lure him there?

Either way, we also get our best look at Pattinson as Bruce. It’s interesting to see a version of Bruce who doesn’t sport slicked back billionaire hair. Instead, Pattinson wears more of an emo slick — very fitting for the mood of this trailer.

We get our first look at Zoe Kravitz as Selina Kyle doing what she does best: stealing. Reeves said during DC FanDome that this version of Selina hasn’t quite morphed into Catwoman at the start of the film and is instead still being shaped into the master thief we know and love.

The trailer shows us a brief snippet of Selina taking on Batman, suggesting that the characters will be at odds with each other in the movie. But could this be the start of a love-hate relationship like what we’ve seen in past takes on this duo? This should be interesting.

We also get to see Colin Farrell’s absolutely incredible transformation into the scarred Oswald Cobblepot, who, according to Reeves, is still working his way up the crime ladder in this movie. He’s not yet the powerful crime lord known as the Penguin, but it sure seems like he causes plenty of havoc for the Bat nonetheless.

Here’s why I mentioned that Joker connection earlier. The gang of face-painted goons that challenge Batman in the trailer sure look inspired by the Clown Prince of Crime. My initial reaction was that The Batman was doing the Jokerz, the Joker-worshiping gang introduced in the Batman Beyond animated series, but what if these guys were actually inspired by Arthur Fleck’s actions in the ’70s-set movie?

We know that by the end of Joker, Arthur has a cult following rallying around him, despite the fact that he’s admitted to murdering quite a few people by that point. His followers, who don their own clown makeup and masks, see Arthur as a freedom fighter, someone fighting for justice in a corrupt city where the rich have it all and the poor have nothing. It wouldn’t be surprising to see that Arthur has become a symbol all these years later, inspiring the next generation to go out into the streets and cause their own chaos.

I know WB has said that both The Batman and Joker exist in their own universes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the studio was suddenly anxious to tie these two movies together after the massive success of the latter. If Pattinson ever does take on the Joker, you can bet your Batarangs that WB will try its very hardest to make it the Joaquin Phoenix version of the villain.

Anyway, we eventually watch as Batman beats the ever-living shit out of one of these clowns. It’s a bit…much.

While Batman and the GCPD seem to be on good terms at the start of the trailer, things have certainly taken a turn later. We first see Bats getting into a scuffle inside an interrogation room surrounded by cops and then later escaping a building while police officers shoot at him. That second shot actually seems to recreate the famous panels from Year One where the Dark Knight escapes an abandoned building surrounded by the GCPD with the help of a swarm of bats, a scene that also inspired an action sequence in Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins.

Why are Batman and the GCPD suddenly at odds? It’s possible this is part of the Riddler’s plan to destroy the Bat. Has the villain framed the Dark Knight for something? Or has Batman gone too far in his search for justice?

The new Batmobile is front and center towards the tail end of the trailer. It’s a very cool and surprisingly realistic take on the Batmobile unlike what we’ve seen in past movies. This muscle car definitely looks like something Bruce would have worked on himself inside the Batcave.

Finally, we get a look Batman sans mask. There’s no elegant bachelor under the cowl in The Batman but a beaten down, soot-covered man who looks more troubled than any other Bruce before him. Pattinson’s Bruce almost looks more inspired by The Crow than Ben Affleck, Christian Bale, or Michael Keaton before him. It definitely looks like he’s taking the character in a new direction.

We’ll find out for sure when The Batman hits theaters on Oct. 1, 2021.

The post The Batman Trailer Breakdown and Analysis appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[drumsreview]

The best Drums ever

Today we look at a selection of what we feel are top contenders for the eight best drum kits of 2020. Seasoned drummers probably have a dream kit in their minds, and we would be willing to bet it results in a combination of brand names.

So with this in mind, we are taking a closer inspection to see what each kit comprises of and, really offers up. We have used a lot of criteria to judge this one, as a drum kit is ultimately a percussive array with individual parts and the quality of each piece needs comparing.

Most of the cymbals in these sets may not wow, but that is to be expected; usually, those who manufacture great sounding drums struggle with their crashing comrades in comparison.

First up is a fantastic 5-piece from Pearl, it is a full basic kit and available in 4 gig-ready setups with a selection of 4 different durable wrapped finishes. The bass drum, toms, and snare are all made from 9-ply poplar with triple flanged hoops. The drum dimensions are as follows 22 x 16” (bass), 1 x 8” & 12 x 9” toms, 16 x 16” floor tom and a 14 x 5.5” snare. The snare and rack toms are pre-tuned so you will only have to fiddle with the bass and floor tom.

All stands, bass pedal throne, and tom holders are included. Despite its affordable price tag, it features some professional upgraded parts. Such as a chain drive bass drum pedal and geared locking stands, which are reinforced, and double braced for longevity.

The 14" hybrid hi-hat cymbals are crisp; the 16" crash cymbal hasn't wowed some people. This kit is on the quieter side, which makes it ideal for those who have to be conscious of neighbors.

The throne is probably suited to pre-teens, if we have to poke holes in anything, it would be the initial upgrade. The whole kit, in general, has a slightly smaller footprint making it ideal for apartments and younger learners.

  Gammon Full Size

Another option we took a look a look at was this fab full-size adult drum kit from Gammon. It is a very low-priced option, but once again comes with everything you need to set up quickly straight out of the box.

The drums are all made from real wood, the Lug bass drum is 22 x 14" and comes with a chain-driven pedal. It has a 5.5 x 14" snare, and the floor tom is 16 x 16". The rack toms are mounted with adjustable tilt memory locks and are 12 x 10" and 13 x 10".

The cymbals are once again where this kit fails to satisfy, but it does make for a valuable student model. The hi-hats are 12 inches and the crash/ride is 14" in diameter and as we said to leave a lot to be desired for a trained ear.

Next on our list is a new and improved full-size model of the EXX705/c which, if the budget allows makes for another top choice from Pearls Export series. It is unsurprising to see another entry with their name on given their standing within the drum manufacturing industry.

It is a step up in price; we lose the additional cymbals, so we would have to source our own. However, in terms of product quality and drum sound, the upgrade is significant.

The shells are a 6-ply poplar and mahogany mix, which provides a louder resonance as well as being stronger. The quality of the covered wrap is an improvement too. The hardware included is from their popular 830 series. It features an advanced Opti-Loc Tom suspension system.

In direct comparison to the starter Pearl reviewed above, it has a 2 inches bigger bass drum and floor tom size (22 x 18" and 16 x 16") and incorporates Pearls superior shell technology (S.S.T.). It also comes with an upgraded pedal, the highly popular P930 Demonator.

4. MAPEX Mars Series Crossover  

This five-piece drum shell pack won't leave you disappointed. It comes with a 15-inch by 6.5-inch snare drum, a mounted tom, two floor toms, and a kick drum. The MAPEX Mars now has a new SONIClear bearing edge to increase contact between the drumhead and shell. This creates a more centered pitch. Tuning becomes effortless, which means this drum kit is especially good for beginners who find tuning intimidating.

A loss of energy can give the drums a choked sound, but this kit's suspension system increases resonance and preserves vibration in the shell, which makes for excellent sound quality. You can easily use the MAPEX for gigs.

Style-wise, you can pick the one that speaks to you, as the MAPEX Mars comes in four different colors: Smokewood, Bonewood, Zebrawood, and Bloodwood.

Why We Liked It - The MAPEX Mars Series Crossover is an excellent choice for both beginners and experenced players; whether you're just learning, or you've mastered the art of gigging, you can do so in style with this drum kit.

  5. Gretsch New Renown  

Hot off of the new Gretsch Renown series, is this fresh-faced three or four-piece kit, preserving the classic Gretsch vibe but with an updated aesthetic and sound-enhancing customization.

In true Gretsch perfection, they feature a maple mix, pairing Northern American Maple with a softer southern growing kind. Drum edges have a smooth 30-degree finish and are sealed with their exclusive silver sealer interior finish.

Just about everything on this kit is heavy-duty, from its die-cast hoops to the authentic lugs that adorn each drum. The 4-piece consists of a 22 x 18" bass drum, 16 x 14" floor tom, one 10 x 7" tom, and one 12 x 8" tom.

They are far more costly than a typical entry-level kit. You are going to need to add a snare and at least a pair of cymbals before you can crank out a few tunes, but they make for an impressive set of drums.

[tenorbox0-blog]

Modifying the world will take heart.

The three years since hentai flash games's original release, I have thought about this nearly every day. Its luxurious style gracefully captures its own spirit of rebellion and breathes life to its own lively combat system. The evocative, slamming sound track perfectly encapsulates the e motion of every minute. The down-time spent Tokyo together with your pals delivers you nearer to all these, and invigorating your combat for what is appropriate. These properties feed right to some fearless story that unapologetically puts its foot down towards the injustices which signify our own culture. Even the extended version, free online sex games, brings the heat all around. But beyond an array of fantastic gameplay refinements and characteristics that improve an already-rich RPG includes a momentous fresh narrative arc hammered over the initial storyline and paid down in full at the end. 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P5R delicately intertwines the daily arrangement of alive as a high school pupil and also a supernatural-powered vigilante combating evil in an alternate dimension. Because the social sim factors and RPG dungeon crawling are stitched together effortlessly, you grow attached into the very world you are preventing to shift. This is a format that is the series base since Persona 3, plus it is at its most effective in P5R using a scope of possibilities and new minor UI factors that help communicate your options. Carefully choosing just how to devote your own precious nights and days by simply balancing faculty lifestyle, customs, and your own duties as a Phantom Thief throughout the calendar season makes the mundane enjoyable. You'll spend time together with personalities to learn on that which drives them witness their growth as they internalize and over come their traumatic pasts. One of your relations are kind-hearted adults exhausted by means of a system that has neglected adolescents and them haunted by their own previous and dreading their own future. These are quite human stories which usually hit close to dwelling and also inspire in their own little way (though some are inherently awkward). And those connections with your Confidants bestow powers you carry into battle. P5R would make the Confidant process simpler with fresh scenes, in the kind of calls, to help position them up quicker, effortlessly granting the opportunity to view these stories that are alluring. It's critical because there really are some brand new Confidants to bond with as well. The primary brand new opportunities are using Goro Akechi, who is now somebody you choose to shell out time together with, which finally leads to a better comprehension and improvement of this time approximately. 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Demonic shadows lurk since you are able to metaphysically crush the distorted wants of abusers who've uttered your buddies and several others--and also you do this using a hyper-stylized, convinced swagger. With most Palaces includes with a fresh bash manhood and story ribbon concerning what directed them to join the cause. All these aren't just tragic back stories to the interest to be dramatic, however --it's the best way to are to comprehend their fighting soul till they eventually become a beloved comrade. Dealing with these story-critical Palaces in no way loses its allure, as their trippy, ingenious designs and enemies appeal you into the wild struggles across. On occasion, the first assumption of Palaces is subverted to great impact; some times evil-doers aren't the only individuals who want a change of heartdisease. It further compels one to search exactly what goes ahead. Beyond an array of superb gameplay refinements and capabilities that improve an already-rich RPG comes a more straightforward new story arc seeded over the unique narrative and paid in full by the end. Palaces contain some smaller but smart alterations in P5R, as well. Re-arranged dungeon designs accommodate Joker's brand new grappling hook, so letting you swing to brand new places. They often lead to May Seeds, a collectible that replenishes SP and mildew into useful accessories. Returning people may also see that some dungeon designs are streamlined, producing mining smoother. Mementos, the Metaverse's collection of procedurally generated floors, also has some much-needed overhauls. Transferring around to progress within such twisted subway depths as the Morgana bus had been book, but grew repetitive from the game. P5R yells in fresh mechanisms such as collecting blossoms and stamps to cash in for items that are useful and perks to improve struggle benefits. And essentially the many welcome change is that, as an alternative of exactly the exact same song all through, fresh tunes play at deeper degrees. Aside from stealthily browsing these surreal dungeons, you'll be spending a bunch of time engaged in P5R's lively turn-based overcome. It is swift and fashionable, and builds on the sturdy foundation of Shin Megami Tensei, which has you focusing on exploiting elemental weaknesses and bringing extra turns. Typical enemies might also be fodder the moment their affinities are vulnerable, however rougher ones, mini bosses, and supervisors tap to combat's insecurities. P5R levels more onto battles, like the absurd Showtime strikes that possess two party members companion up for a high-damage combo that initiates in clutch circumstances. Even the powered-up Baton move mechanic is much more essential as it can certainly promote damage and rejuvenate H P and SP. And boss battles finally have different phases that pose brand new, demanding problems that require one to feel subtly, testing your hands of their combat procedure. The winding swagger of this all extends to the eloquent and effective UI which can help maintain up combat's speed that is fast. Every thing unfolds in such a quick and ridiculously stylish manner you can not help but fall in love with it as well as the Phantom intruders who pull all these flashy moves. Even in another variant of the match, executing onscreen attacks and viewing them unfold hasn't lost one piece of its charm. Never has a turn-based beat technique been so thrilling. hentai flash games is many things: some collection of little motivational tales, an ambitious harrowing travel with some fantastic friends, a magnificent visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to actions. But P5R is not right here to merely look pretty. Under the mask of its own unrelenting style and magical silliness are the friendships that you inherently form and encourage you to adhere to along with struggle through to the best conclusion. In their persona awakenings to this minute that you view them completely comprehend their targets, your fellow Phantom robbers eventually become your journey die within this heavy-hitting story. In concentrating on perpetrators of sexual assault, worker exploitation, and vile authoritarianism,'' hentai flash games draws a crystal clear line from the sand--people like this have zero place in our society and also deserve no mercy. That is no middle ground, no compromise to be made, so no more both sides-ism. Your crew's personal drama occasionally escalated to the wider concept, but perhaps not without illustrating why you're fighting so tough to change things. Even when doubt about their vigilante ways begins to creep incharacters work , stick to their own beliefs, also understand that there was not really a choice in the situation. Admittedly, P5R is often subtle like a brick. It truly is simple to nit pick wherever its producing falls into being overly simplistic or perhaps a bit rote--but it's improved in several instances , it can still be primitive sometimes. It's not particularly nuanced in its storytelling, but but it cann't have to function as. In staying evident day in its storyline, the messages and characterizations are unmistakable. Additionally, it is so crazy for me personally that the match's almost-caricature villains have become significantly less and less far-fetched in only the three years because the original release--the blatant abuse of power, so their wrong-doings laid nude, and the masses shrouded in seeing them confront consequences. In conclusion to the original storyline arc only strikes differently now, and the game's magnificent battles have become increasingly cathartic. Transitioning into the Royal-exclusive next session, there's a tonal change that's effortlessly executed. Stranger things start to occur, at a strangely unsettling method, specially during the seemingly merry winter. Here, P5R takes a twist toward genuine moral quandaries. Within this semester, there is somewhat more to learn about your buddies, also there's one final Palace . Which can be, without a doubt, the optimal/optimally one in the entire match. These new incidents have been beautifully captured with fresh Royal-exclusive tunes that shorten what has been an iconic, yet genre-bending sound-track. The mysteries within just will shock youpersonally, and fascinating revelations about characters propel them very well outside that they introduced themselves to really be. 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These new incidents have been attractively recorded with brand new Royal-exclusive tunes that shorten what has been already an iconic, yet genre-bending sound track. I always understood"existence Will transform" and"Rivers From The Universe" as flawless examples of how hentai flash games uses its own new music to depict precise emotions of this moment--tunes which exude the contagious confidence of the Phantom intruders moving into take a corrupted soul. In the instance together with all our old favorites, the new evocative jams eventually become a powerful narrative device. "I Think" stands being a bold recollection of the lengthy, hard fought travel which dissipates into one final battle, even though"Throw Off Your Mask" conveys the sign of jealousy involving a battle of ideals. The brand new Tower's theme has a wistfulness that illuminates the situations that unfold. Music is inseparable in your Persona adventure --the show thrives because of itand some manner P5R delivers to make an even more profound impression.

Thus, exactly like in the initial, the tune"Sun Set Bridge" brought my period with P5R into your detailed friend. It's really a bittersweet tune which is used throughout the game to signify a moment of clarity for its own characters. But whilst the last history before needing to leave the sport behind, it became my personal moment of emotion, realizing just how much I've treasured my own time here, and now for many explanations. Since P5R comes to a close, it attempts to ease you into the end together with budding scenes, a few fresh and some recognizable. But in doing this, it merely makes it more difficult to say goodbye again. free online sex games is lots of things: a collection of little inspirational testimonies, an ambitious harrowing journey with a few decent pals, a stunning visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to activity. By optimizing what was great and building on its own best qualities using a brilliant new story arc, hentai flash games asserts itself as a memorable and enabling RPG that should be recognized as one of the best matches of the time.

[castellankurze]

“We can never be together” kiss for ... idk, but make it hurt

“So hey,” he asked as he twiddled the stick between his fingers.  “Can I ask you a question?”

The scanner unit crouched behind a tumble of broken rocks, just about forty meters away from a steel wall, into which was carved a doorway guarded by a pair of round-faced machines.  Over the past half hour, one of them had practically become his very own belonging, thanks to his wireless hacking, but he was content to sit in the back of the thing’s mind the way he sat unseen behind the rocks, waiting for the right time.

“Does some facet of the operation need clarification?” the operator’s voice pinged back.

He laughed, rubbing at his mouth with his free hand to stifle the sound.  He was fairly sure nothing was listening, but best not to tempt fate.  “No, I’m clear on the mission.  I meant about you.”

“Oh.”  23O’s voice became less clipped, less mechanical, when she was surprised.  “Go ahead.”

“When I get a chance to swing by the Bunker again, could I buy you a drink?” he asked, pausing in his twirling of the stick to scratch at one cheek with his thumb.  Good thing she couldn’t see him.

“We don’t have to pay for water rations, 7S,” she replied, confused.

“Of course not, I mean a drink,” the scanner unit replied, smoothing back hair that had become shaggy over the past month without maintenance.  “I heard it’s an old human tradition to get intoxicated in the company of comrades after a successful mission.”

“Oh.  You mean alcohol,” 23O caught on.  He could practically see her glancing left and right, and sure enough when she next spoke her voice was quiet.  “You can’t bring contraband like that back to the Bunker,” she whispered.

“Shh.  Don’t use the c-word,” he replied, putting a finger to his lips in pantomime.  “Just call it a sample for research.”

He heard her suppress a laugh.  “Alright,” she said.  “I’m in.”

“Data upload complete,” the feminine voice of Pod 137 interrupted.  “Unit 7S backup has been successfully updated.”

“Alright, then we’re on,” he said, cracking the stick with his thumb.  “Let the strike team know I’m moving in.”

“Roger!” 23O responded crisply.

YoRHa Unit Number 7 Type S rose from his crouch and started towards the armored door.  One of the two guardians started to raise its gun arm, but with a swish of his forefinger the scanner directed its partner to bring its own weapon to bear and fire an energy blast into its compatriot’s torso.  With another twirl of his finger, 7S had the hacked machine lift its weapon to its head and fire a second round.

Stepping past the superheated wrecks, 7S tapped a few digits at the keypad and slipped inside the base.

——————-

He could see the light before he opened his eyes.  When he did so, he had to blink several times to try and reduce the harsh white glare.

“He’s awake.  Let her know,” he heard a nearby voice say.

He grunted something incoherent and lifted a hand to grope at his face, searching for something that wasn’t there.

“Hold still, another voice said, and a shadow appeared in the light, reaching down towards him.  A moment later and he felt a strip of cloth wrap around his head, covering his eyes.  The nanotechnology in the blindfold came alive, reducing the blinding glare to manageable levels and transforming the muzzy shadow into the form of a YoRHa unit.

“Wwwwhere’m I?” he asked, slurring slightly.

“You’re in the medical bay on the Bunker,” the female unit replied.  A text overlay identified her as 18H.  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“W’was…heading in,” he replied, his mind feeling like mush.  “Where’s team?”

The medical unit pressed her lips together.

“Team?  Where’ss’a team?” he asked more urgently, attempting to sit up.

She put a hand to his chest and had him flat on his back again without much effort.  “Don’t rise yet,” she said.  “Your new body isn’t fully conditioned yet.”

“Wh…” he swallowed and licked his lips, rapidly flipping through programs and rushing a self-assessment.  “What.  Happened,” he asked with as much clarity as he could muster.

“The details are not clear, and likely never will be,” another voice answered him, this one strident and cold.  18H stepped back and jolted to attention as the imposing face of the Commander replaced her at the bedside.  

“Ma’am,” 7S said automatically.

She briefly inclined her head in acknowledgement.  “Shortly after you entered the enemy stronghold, our eyes in the sky registered a chain of explosions, set off by a black-box reaction,” she said.  “Our best guess is that the base was some manner of trap intended to lure in one of our strike teams and destroy them.  We believe that once inside, you either set off the explosives accidentally or else deliberately.  Given your record, Unit 7S,” she continued, producing a pad across which she idly flicked a finger, “I could believe either one.”

“The team?” he asked again, ignoring the jab.

“No casualties.  Not even a bruise,” the Commander replied.  “Fortunately, we had a fresh backup for your memories and that of your pod.  All in all you only lost about twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes.  “How long since then?” he asked.

“A thirty-six hour cycle to produce and condition a fresh body.  You’ve been here the whole time.”  She finally looked up from the pad, spearing him with her analytical gaze.  “I understand you’ve acquired something of a nickname in the past few months, 7S.  ‘Lucky Sevens?’”

He tried to swallow, his throat dry.  “Yes ma’am.”

“This is your third reset in eight weeks, Scanner,” she said.  “Should I be concerned one of my units is getting a little too hot on the self-destruct trigger?”

“No ma’am!” he protested, feeling more and more like an insect having a pin slowly pushed through its abdomen.  “I don’t-  I mean, I’m not-  It’s not by choice!”

She held him pinned for a long moment before returning her attention to the pad.  “I concur with your self-assessment,” she said then.  “What data we have of your…misadventures demonstrates no deliberate recklessness, merely…”

“Bad luck?” he asked flatly.

“I was going to say ‘the cost of war,’” she replied, lowering the pad.  “I’m assigning you a week of downtime.  You are not to leave the Bunker while you recuperate, is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, lowering his head.  There was no longer a fringe of shaggy hair to obscure his face - that would have to grow out once more from the standard YoRHa hair length.

She was silent for a moment.  “I don’t believe in such a thing as a bad-luck unit,” she finally said.  “If I did believe you were undermining our war efforts, you would not be waking up today.  Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, laying back once more.  She nodded and turned to leave.  That was when he remembered what he’d been talking about during his backup, and before the Commander could leave the room he hastened to ask, “ma’am?  23O’s not in trouble either, is she?”

The Commander turned back to look at him, her blue-eyed gaze grim.  “Operator Number Twenty Three requested a transfer off the Bunker to one of the research satellites twelve hours ago,” she replied in an icy tone.  With that she departed the medical bay, leaving the stunned scanner to the attentions of the H units.

There were words spoken in the intervening time period between the personnel present, but 7S didn’t bother to register them, at least until a male voice said from close by, “here you go.”

He turned his head to see another scanner unit holding out a pad not unlike the one the Commander had carried.  Reacting automatically, 7S reached out and took it.  Even with the blindfold the confusion must have shown, because 14S snorted.  “You really are out of it, huh.”

“Huh?” echoed 7S.

“You wanted your pad since you were gonna be laid up in here another day,” the other scanner said.  “18H said it was okay.”

“Oh.  Right,” 7S replied automatically.  “Thanks.”  Even as he spoke he was furiously bringing up his internal clock and comparing it to the Bunker’s own.  The Commander had said he’d lost thirty-six hours while they’d setup a fresh copy for him, but the numbers showed that almost a full forty-eight hours had passed since his last backup.

The Commander had lied to him.

———–

He left his quarters dark, but for the dim halo of his workstation’s power indicator and the starlight from the window to the outside.  Laying on his bunk, he used a physical jack to run a cord from the port built into his left forearm to his station, accessing the Bunker network without his wireless.

As soon as 18H had cleared him to leave the medbay, he’d retreated to his den, using the Commander’s enforced week of leave to hole up in private.  Lucky - compared to the machine units down on Earth, the firewalls in the Bunker were like trying to stare directly into the sun compared to looking at the stars.  He had to take every step as cautiously as he could, seconds and then minutes passing as he waiting for the right moment to advance his program into the medbay’s record logs.

There it was.  He brought up the camera feed and whizzed through the hours following his self-destruction.  It was a displacing thing, now matter how many times it happened, to watch a body without a soul be placed inside a tank, synthetic flesh and blood being crafted around a nanocarbon-steel endoskeleton to create a facsimile of you - one that, in time, would become you.

He reduced the playback to normal speed in time to see 18H help him from the amniotic tank, putting him into clothes and laying him in one of the nearby beds, for without her help he could never have so much as stood on his own.  He watched them test his reflexes.  He saw 14S show up to offer his well-wishes, his own request for a pad to help him pass the time.

And then there she was.  YoRHa unit 23 type O.  Tall and slim and statuesque, her face half-obscured by her veil.  She strode into the room at a sedate pace to stand beside his bed.

“How do you feel?” he heard her ask in a quiet voice.

“Been better,” he heard the 7S on the bed reply.  “Been worse, too.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” 23O replied, her voice soft and sweet.

“Sorry I didn’t bring the research sample,” the 7S of two days ago said.  “Maybe next time, huh?”  He saw her close her long-lashed eyes.  The other 7S must have taken note of her posture as well, because he asked, “hey, you okay?”

He saw her reach out towards his forehead, brushing back hair that was too short to need brushing back.  “No,” she said.  “I’m sorry, but there won’t be a next time.”

Long pause.  “What do you mean?” asked the 7S on the bed.

23O closed her eyes and shook her head.  “When the system registered your black box offline…I lost control for a moment.”

“What happened?” he asked, and in the darkness of the bunkroom his lips mirrored the question of the past.

“I jumped up and shouted,” she said.  There was silence as the pair of them languished, together contemplating the breach in protocol.

“I’m sure it won’t-” he started to reassure her.

She cut him off.  “The Commander reprimanded me.  Officially.  It’s on my record.”

“That’s not fair-” the bygone 7S protested.

“It is fair.  I didn’t follow the rules,” 23O overrode his emotional response.  “And it made me realize I can’t hold this position any more.”

“What?” the present-tense 7S asked of his bunk ceiling, hearing the outraged question echoing from two days in the past.

“You…the battler units assigned to me…the cancelers in flight between us and the Earth…I’m too invested,” 23O said.  “I’m reacting emotionally.”  He saw her stroke 7S’s cheek with a gloved hand.  “I put in for a transfer.  I’m moving from the Bunker to one of the research stations.  I’m sorry, Sevens,” he heard the cracking in her voice.  “I can’t do this anymore.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he heard his voice murmur in a weak attempt at reassurance.  “You shouldn’t have to take a fall for this.”

“It’s not about what we should have.  It’s about doing the right thing.  For the future of humanity,” she said.  As he watched, 7S saw her reach up to slip her veil off, saw her lean down to kiss the lips of the prone scanner, holding him for a long moment before she leaned back and replaced the garment.  “Goodbye, Sevens,” she said then, her voice tight.

“…bye,” he heard himself murmur, stunned.  And he watched as she walked from the room without another word, her stride fast and tense.

“18H,” he heard himself say, long after his visitor had departed.  “Do me a favor?”

“What can I help with?” asked the medical unit, crossing over to him.

“When the night cycle takes over, can you set today’s memories to overwrite?” the 7S on the bed asked, his voice plaintive.

“Are you sure?” the H unit questioned.

“Uh huh.”

7S cut the feed and disengaged from the Bunker’s systems.  Lying there in the darkness and staring up at the ceiling, there was nothing to distract him from the slight tingling as the blindfold’s nanotechnology kept the moisture in his eyes at a regulated level.

[hopeymchope]

So, I'm trying to understand this, from a person who has next to no knowledge on the series. What exactly is going on with Attack on Titan? And I'm more than willing to read a long rant if it means I get an explanation.

If you’re wondering why the tag for the manga blew up in recent weeks, that’s one specific thing - a character “death” (or at least, character-serious-injury) that’s got fans freaking out.

If you’re wondering why everything has been sucking for like two straight years of manga and people like me keep making very salty posts about it, that’s a whole other topic.

And that’s what I’m gonna cover in this rant: How Attack on Titan has been shitting its own bed for more than a year now.

Basic Setup: Attack on Titan takes place in a world where the remnants of humanity live in a walled city. The city’s walls protect them from gigantic, grotesque “Titans” who attempt to devour people on sight.

…but naturally, as the story went on, it got way more complicated.

Most of the problems with the manga began circa the time-skip (which is also where the Anime is going to catch up to once the current season 3 is finished). Rarely has there ever been a time-skip in fiction that’s been wonderfully received, but the four-year gap between “Return to Shanganshima” and the “Marley” arc has to be one of the worst.

But the whole crash-and-burn kind of starts right before the time-skip, when we first learn the name “Marley,” begin to learn the true origin of Titans, and uncover true enemy opposing our heroes via a forced flashback. For the purposes of this little essay, let’s just put all of the Marley-related information into one big collection - I’m not gonna separate the last couple chapters pre-timeskip from all the tons we’ve had afterwards. All things dealing with the aforementioned “enemy” will just go into one big fuckpile.

SO. The time-skip jumped forward fouryears into an arc that lasted almost a year without letting us see any of our established protagonists. Instead, we follow… the enemy I just mentioned.

And since Attack on Titan begins and goes for most of its duration without any clear enemies outside of “TEH TITANS” and “general assholes within the system,” this is where I have to put a spoiler cut.

A Rant on Titan

So the enemy of the characters we know so far is Marley, the actual source of the titans. The world isn’t destroyed at all, naturally. Our heroes just live in one isolated place on the planet, which is forced to be surrounded by Titans because Marley shoved them into that walled city and then created Titans on the regular.

Marley is a nation of………………

…*SIGH*…

okay, look. I could try to call Marley  a “Nazi Germany allegory,” but the allegory is so thin that they’re basically just incredibly overt Nazis. They’re a military-focused nation of incredible genetic pride where purity is celebrated and where one particular race - a group of both different genetic descendancy than them AND of different religious beliefs - are treated as inferior garbage. The Marley government sees “Eldians” as disposable. They are forced to wear armbands with stars on their arms (YES, REALLY) to identify them in public, and they also make them lived in fenced-off, separate communities.

Marley’s science experiments on Eldians (yup, they tossed that in, too) resulted in the creation of the TITANS. It turns the Eldians into mindless prisoners of their own bodies who grow in size, deform, try to eat people instinctively, and long only for their own deaths.

If they made a third AOT video game, it’d have to be something like this. …. So maybe we shouldn’t.

ANYWAY. During this Marley story arc, we mostly follow child soldiers. They’re of “low birth” because of their race. They chose to enter military service in exchange for having their families treated like regular human beings one day, if they earn their way to become titan-shifters. Nevermind that titan-shifters all die within seven years because of the power of turning into a titan - it’s worth it to raise their family’s status beyond just your regular Jews Eldians, right? Nevermind that they’d never really be seen as equals. Even those who have elevated their own rank by becoming shifters are shown to still be subject to some snark and disdain,but yknow - you were just born that way, so you’re shitty regardless, right?

Through this horrific scenario, we follow a few kids in particular - most notably Falco, who is gradually seeing reality and realizing how they don’t deserve to be treated like shit and that this is all a work - and Gabi, who is becoming increasingly militant and more zealous over time.

RELEVANT SIDE NOTE: Gabi’s character design is based upon a sketch Isayama once did of a gender-shfited Eren Jeager (Eren Jaeger is the main protagonist of the series). For that reason, you might be inclined ot think that Gabi is some kind of alternate/parallel Eren.

Except that’s fucking ridiculous, of course!

Gabi is shown to only care about her own rage against the people within the walls of “Paradis” (the sarcastic name for the walled city where all of our heroes come from) above ALL else. She doesn’t care about her family at all, never noticing her brother’s suicidal tendencies and pain even as Falco is acutely aware of it. The fact that her parents are pained by her following her brother’s dark path to becoming a shifter. She doesn’t notice or care. The more evidence that is put in front of her that the other side might not be as evil as she thinks? That just makes her want to commit murder MORE.

Oh, and she DOES murder people. And try to murder more. A lot. She even successfully murders a fan-favorite character - a character who shows her mercy by pointing a gun at her, seeing she’s only a child, and opting to let her live. Gabi repays this mercy by shooting that character in the back later and boasting excitedly about it to anyone who will listen for multiple chapters in a row.

She then tries to top that by attempting to murder that character’s little adopted sister, who is like, maybe 10 years old, tops? Gabi is then protected from harm by Mikasa and now seems to be on the path towards some kind of “redemption arc” because… uh…………..

………………..because Isayama is shitty?

By contrast, Eren struggles throughout the ENTIRE NARRATIVE to bring harm to people who betray him/those he cares about or those who try to kill him/those he cares about, but often runs into incredible challenges when fighting these douchenozzles. The entire time we followed Eren up until now, he always prioritized his family and friends above EVERYTHING. He would risk ANYTHING to protect them and his comrades in the Paradis military… this was true from when he was a young boy at the start of the story up through him being a young man at this point. And he is ESPECIALLY intense about protecting his closest friends, Armin and Mikasa, who he’s known for nearly his entire life. They grew up together.

That’s set in fucking stone for like 90 chapters, so we’re good. Yeah?

Oh, sweet summer child. Perhaps you were so unprepared for Isayama’s Nazi mallet that you didn’t see his secondary weapon coming?

See, the post-timeskip Eren treats his friends like shit. He lies to them, betrays their trust, runs off and starts a literal war on his OWN, and then tells them how much he hates them. Claims he always hated them.

So in the course of just a couple chapters, he goes from saying this:

To swiftly saying THIS:

Note that devastated look in her eyes. Wonderful.

And yes, he’s GOT to be lying, because I don’t think Isayama would juxtapose those two scenes so closely together in some unwitting fashion. But he’s doing so much damage to them by now that I honestly don’t even know if it matters?

Take Hange.

She’s the intelligent leader of the team, the one who always has a wild, unlikely plan. She’s a science whiz and comes up with longshot plans that always seem to weirdly… work out.

We’re told that, three years ago, she was presented a plan to overthrow Marley by Zeke - a fucking bastard who is clearly a member of the enemy, he’s lived with them his whole life, as a child he betrayed his parents to them and had them executed for being disloyal to Marley, and he’s killed COUNTLESS comrades of our heroes - and Hange decided Zeke’s plan was the only possible option and came up with no alternatives for four years. So she made them ally up with the least trustworthy person IMAGINABLE for a terrible plan,b because Hange’s… a stupid sucker now, I guess.

And why is it a terrible plan — aside from the fact that there is literally zero reason to ever believe anything Zeke says to you, since he’s the most evil fucker in the world? Oh, because it hinges HEAVILY around forcing another member of the team — Historia — into a pregnancy to churn out a baby they intend to use for the country’s gain.

Historia’s big character arc in “Attack on Titan” has been her coming to terms with her own identity and OWNING it. She’s been hiding under another identity or been controlled by other people much of her life. She finally comes out under her true name, declares that she’ll never leave in fear or be maniuplated ever again, and then—

… oh wait.. she’s manipulated into being barefoot and pregnant against her own wishes, because their greatest enemy asked for it.

There’s a lot to hate about the post-”Return to Shinganshima” Attack on Titan, in short. From characters becoming inversions of themselves to full fanatical Nazis being treated like redemption babies to complete destruction of self-actualization of other characters and the fact that, even if this is part of some larger plan being manipulated by multiple players (which seems likely), it still won’t really make up for much of the damage… and for that matter, how plausible would it even be?

But basically, there’s going to have to be quite an 11th-hour ass-pull to make this turn out decently in my eyes by now. And that’s not IMPOSSIBLE.

But it’s looking pretty unlikely.

[etherian-affairs]

Infant Redistribution Initiative

Oh no it's garbage girl (Mirak) time because every time crimson posts art of her I have to write a ficlet. Stick with it because the ridiculousness ramps up as it goes.

The ultimate mission was upon the Horde United. Cass had recently informed Tim and Mirak about a Force Captain she used to be stationed under who she really really did not like and who really really did not like her. Mirak and Tim immediately decided that clearly what is needed is to teach this man a lesson, and maybe get some of his current underlings to defect.

Cass was against this plan but she got outvoted. She could have gotten a tie but a certain new recruit named Sam refused to cast a vote.

Now Cass was glaring at the curly haired brunette. You could have stopped this Sam.

Mirak meanwhile didn't care about any of that nonsense. No. She has a plan.

"Alright soldiers." She says as she sits down at their little meeting table. "Here's the plan..."

...

The Horde's eastern front forward medical camp was positioned far enough away from the front lines to avoid attack usually. Not today though. No today the weather was bad and Mirak was ready to move.

The entire place was built in and around a large town hall that once belonged to a since conquered people in the region. The exterior was a maze of tents and triage gear while the interior had been converted into something approximating a proper medical facility.

Mirak, Cass, and Tim all sneak in under the cover of an ongoing storm. Sam stays back to watch their escape and also they didn't have a place for him in the infiltration plan itself. Once inside the camp they initiate Phase Two. Doctor impersonation.

Cass takes the lead here. She looks the most like a doctor. She is stern and serious looking. Tim will be playing the role of Nurse as that is traditionally a job for lizard men and stereotypes are useful for infiltration missions.

Mirak is of course far too conspicuous for either role so she will be playing the part of the patient. Placed onto a gurney with a bundle of vines over her face and a sheet over her body. Her mask and goggles make this perfect since the vines won’t actually irritate her nose or mouth or eyes! The idea is to tell anyone who asks that she’s the victim of a princess attack. 

Cass wanted to just take a wheelchair but Mirak insisted the gurney was necessary.

Her modified stun baton, now with a cool grip for easier ranged use, is of course tucked neatly between her thighs. 

Phase Three is perhaps the most harrowing part of this plan. They must locate the target within the main building. Getting past the guards goes smoothly enough but if they spent too much time wandering aimlessly in the cloth hallways that have been setup in the place they will surely be discovered. 

The target is, obviously, a newborn baby. The child of the Force Captain they are in fact here to make pay for his crimes against their comrade Cass. The mother is expected to be with the baby. This is a no casualties mission, which Mirak wasn’t initially a fan of but Cass insisted that if they’re going through with this nonsense they don’t hurt anyone. Especially babies. So Mirak reworked her initial plan to account for the no casualties modifier.

The mother and baby are located near the back of the facility in a little side room that has been set up for the Force Captain and his mate. Father is nowhere to be seen. As expected, he should be doing rounds at this time of the day. 

Mirak has been watching this place for a couple of weeks now. Despite all evidence to the contrary she is in fact meticulous.

When they enter the room the woman looks up from her baby, confused. “I’m sorry I think you have the wrong room...” she notes as she looks at the gurney. 

“Think again!” Mirak suddenly shouts as she sits up and points her stun gun at the woman. The mother looks horrified!

“This is the worst thing anyone has ever done...” Cass mutters. 

“Hardly.” Mirak replies, a grin playing on her mouth under her breather. “Tim! Retrieve baby!” 

The Lizard Man walks over and looms over the mother, looking back and forth between mom and child. They’re both satyr types. “Request pacification of mother for baby retrieval.” he says curtly.

“Wait!” the mother suddenly shouts. “W-who are you?! Why do you want my baby!?”

“We’re the Horde United.” Mirak declares with a smirk. “And we’re here to save that baby from Hordak’s enslavement, and also because we don’t like its dad!” 

“I’m so sorry about this.” Cass mutters.

The mom looks down at her child, up at the trio in here. “I don’t like his father either...” she speaks quietly. “But I won’t let you take my baby.” Her voice is hard, determined.

“Understood.” Mirak replies, still holding her weapon to the woman. “Tim... retrieve mother and baby. We will be taking both.” 

Lizard Man Tim nods and picks up both mother and child! “Family retireved.” Tim declares. “I am now a dad and all around family man.” he adds.

Cass has stopped commenting and only stares at all of this in some mixture of bewilderment and horror. The mother looks too shocked at all of this to do much of anything. 

“Brilliant. Transfer family to my protection on the gurney.”

“Affirmative.” Tim lays the woman down on the gurney, facing the same direction as Mirak, who herself now rolls over to hold an arm over the woman and her baby, readying her weapon in the other. 

“Okay this is the escape part. Hold onto the baby because if we’re spotted at all we’re gonna start sprinting. Well, Tim and Cass are. Me and you will be on the gurney.”

“I’m sorry. Did you know she would join us? Is that why we brought the entire gurney instead of the wheelchair?” Cass speaks up, realizing this entire plan might be more insane than she ever realized.

“No time for questions Cass! We have to go!” Tim declares as he tosses the sheet back over Mirak and the mom. It’s so very conspicuous now. Then they’re on the move! Nurse Tim pushing the gurney quickly through the facility! Mirak looks at the woman under the sheets. Her expression completely unreadable due to her mask and goggles.

“The dad was really mean to Cass so we came to take his family.” she whispers.

The mother nods slowly. “He’s not a good man.” she whispers back. 

Suddenly a guard shouts at them. “Hey! You two! What are you doing?!” 

“Gotta go fast.” Tim suddenly declares and the gurney picks up speed! Tim is sprinting! With those powerful lizard man legs! 

“Check this out.” Mirak suddenly says as she tosses the sheet off of them, propping herself up and over the mother and baby to shield them and immediately starting to take eerily accurate shots at Horde personnel they pass!

On a lower powered stun setting of course. No casualties and all that. Next time though Mirak gets to cause casualties, she’s not going to budge on that.

The woman starts screaming when the guards start firing back at them. The baby cries. It’s all really loud. 

Cass manages to grab a weapon from a guard Mirak disabled and joins in on the covering fire as they run! Soon they burst out of the main hospital building and make a hard left to go down their planned escape route! 

“STOP!” A large booming voice calls out from behind them! Mirak sits up on her knees on the gurney, straddling the mother and turning to face the voice. It’s the Force Captain! A large human! He’s charging after them and looks generally sort of displeased. 

“GOT YOUR BABY!” Mirak screeches back, cackling as she scoops the baby up from the Mother with one hand and holds it up to show him. 

The Force Captain stops in his tracks, wide eyed and shocked. He doesn’t order fire on them. He can’t...

...

“So we rescued this mother and her baby from the Horde and brought them here!” Mirak declares proudly. They’re in Plumeria. “We decided that as far as redistribution of infants and their maternal parent go Plumeria is probably a better location than our hideout! You have food.”

Perfuma looks shocked and horrified, just nodding slowly. “I see... Um...” she turns to the woman. “Are... are you okay?” 

“I... I am... yeah. Mirak had been observing us for awhile and... figured out that things weren’t great... at the base.”

Mirak places her hands on her hips. Triumphant. “Standard Infant Redistribution Initiative procedure! When a child’s familial framework is detrimental to their development they are to be retrieved and redistributed to either an approved family or facility to ensure that they will grow into a productive Horde citizen!” She also wanted to make the Force Captain suffer but Perfuma doesn’t need to know that. Her Madame once told her that the best way to get something other’s don’t want you to have is to make it seem like you are helping them. 

At the time Mirak of course countered that shooting them was probably the best way but now days she’s seeing the merit of those words. At least when underlings demand no casualties in missions. What a ridiculous thing to want.

“Except... you know not for the Horde here.” Tim interjects. “Because... the Horde is evil.”

“Yes! Hordak’s Horde is evil!” Mirak sort of agrees.

Perfuma nods slowly. She probably should not have shown such hospitality to these clearly insane soldiers.