#maybe they briefly see each other in the middle of the war

[faerune]

me realizing that viserys dies in march so the last time aemond and argella had *whistles* was in march but then aemond dies in may of the next year so the months don’t add up right so that argella is pregnant but doesn’t give birth until after he dies

[wallwriterstuff]

A Little Blood Never Scared Me ||Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Female!Reader||

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption/drunkenness. Descriptions of injury, blood and violence. Descriptions of the disconnect between being home and being out in the field. A few swear words and so much fluff near the end your teeth will rot.

Tags: Written (very late, sorry!) for @glitterypirateduck 's October 141 writing challenge because I currently have an unhealthy obsession with Modern Warfare. Prompts used include 2 characters (Gaz and Price), Damsel in Distress, and Taking Care of Each other.

Words: 4091

Summary: It can be difficult to readjust to civilian life without appropriate distractions. Or - the story of how Gaz can't help but play the role of knight in shining armor despite being on leave and meets the best distraction yet.

It’s never easy to come home and rejoin the real world.

Out in the middle of some war-torn territory it’s easy to forget how…mundane, it all is. When he exchanges the hard smoothness of his rifle for the hard smoothness of a whisky tumbler at the local pub it all feels very surreal. There’s nothing more foreign than the flimsy weight of a kitchen knife when your used to a combat blade. Hell, even his nose keeps twitching because the shower gel he uses at home isn’t the same as the standard issue soaps he’s used to at the barracks. He’s gone from scentless to being a human Yankee candle and it’s making his skin crawl almost as much as the clattering of pool balls, pinging in his ears like the deafening roar of a mortar strike. That being said, the burn in his throat is a welcome distraction, as is the company. Price has a way of putting it all into perspective he’s just yet to master and if Kyle has chosen him as his own personal Obi-wan, well, Price doesn’t need to know.

“You called your mum yet?” He asks him, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smirks a bit at Kyle’s obvious wince. Shaking his head, the younger man taps his fingers against the side of his tumbler before lifting it to his lips. He pauses, briefly, eyes lifting to meet piercing, amused blue.

“Will when I’m ready, you know what she’s like.” He sips, savouring the grounding burn in the back of his throat. With his glass safely back on the table he lifts his cap, running a hand over his hair. It’s grown uncomfortable long, definitely not as short as he usually has it, but maybe that’s just him being overly aware of the regulations he doesn’t need to adhere to as much on leave. Price grunts a bit in acknowledgement, watching his sergeant carefully, and Kyle hates the feeling that somehow, he’s being looked through instead of at. Price has always been good at that to, the man’s instincts borderline supernatural, at least in Kyle’s opinion.

“Worrying about her son? How dare she.” There’s not a hint of mockery in Price’s voice but the underlying message is clear to Kyle. Get your head right and call your mother, you prick.

“Think she’s more worried about my sister at this point, what with her due and all.” Kyle deflects him from the crux of the matter with practiced ease, but he knows he only gets away with it because Price lets him. He’s not really sure he wants to delve too deeply into the idea that home feels like coarse sand in his boots and the smell of gunpowder instead of the plush carpets and excessive luxury of a 60-inch TV screen in his apartment.

“Due already? Thought she’d only just got knocked up?” Price’s eyes flicker about, tracking something over his shoulder. Kyle immediately feels his hackles raise but the subtle stiffening of his muscles is something he just about manages to push away with another admittedly large sip of his drink. It’s only someone exiting the bathroom.

“Watch it, might be my Captain but that’s my sister you’re talking about.” He warns lightly. Price grins a bit. Kyle let’s his eyes slide over the pub. They’ve chosen a table off to the side, tucked out of the way of prying eyes in such a position that let’s them see the entire room – not even Price can kick that instinct. There’s a middle-aged couple that appear to be on a date in the corner booth, smiling and ignorant of the world around them. A few rowdy regulars that the bartender dotes on at the dartboard let out another cheer as someone hits something remarkably close to a bullseye. It’s a bog-standard pub all in all, from the exposed wooden beams to the threadbare carpet that reeks of long-spilled booze and something that attempted to clean the spill. Nothing here to fear.

“She ready for the little one to arrive?” Price asks the question as if he has any way of knowing the answer. The disconnect between him and his family after months away is just as surreal to him as the prospect of cooking his own meals again rather than ripping open an MRE and praying it was somewhat edible this time. Price leads the conversation with the mastery of knowing the steps to the dance. It’s an easy routine, a simple one, and it brings him more comfort than he dares say. There’s aimless chatter and there’s noise but not too much noise, a good drink, and a warm atmosphere that almost, almost, mimics the heat of whatever godforsaken dessert he’s traipsed through this time. It’s grounding and mundane and a slow ease back into the reality of what everyday life tends to be when you aren’t being shot at or hanging from helicopters. By the time their three drinks in, Kyle feels less like a rattle snake coiled to strike and a little more human again.

The group at the dartboard have only gotten rowdier, and they’ve stumbled their way back over to the bar for another round. A shared glance is all it takes for Kyle to know this will be their last drink tonight, better to leave before anything kicks off amongst the herd of drunken fools and sets them back into fight or flight mode.

“I’ll call my Mum tomorrow.” Kyle relents finally, meeting Price’s eyes for a tad longer than necessary just to show he means it.

Price gives an approving nod, “Good lad.”

He glances over at the group at the bar, the boisterous laughter turning his head as he watches a woman gingerly skirt her way around them to head for the bathrooms. His eyes narrow in distaste as a particularly loud wolf-whistle makes your head duck and your pace increase. He understands their attraction, you’re easy on the eyes, but you clearly don’t want to be bothered either and he can see the flush on your cheeks is just as much down to embarrassment as it is alcohol consumption.

“Alright, who’s paying then?” He asks, tearing his eyes from your figure once he knows your safely tucked in the ladies out of their eyesight. Price tips his head, reaching for his wallet and producing a coin.

“Call it.”

“Tails.” Kyle’s response is immediate, eyes keenly tracking the coin as Price flips it. Judging by the disapproving grunt and the mild annoyance in his eyes, Price has lost this round, and he can’t stop the smug grin twitching his lips upwards. It falls quickly as he hears the hollering from the crowd at the bar.

“Go on son!”

“Get some!”

“Don’t fumble it mate!”

From the corner of his eye he sees a tall brunette man stumbling his way from the bar, and something about the look in his eyes sets him on edge. It’s almost predatory in nature, the kind of look that you see in nature documents as predators stalk their prey, and he twists his body instinctually to face the oncoming threat before he even fully comprehends what the threat is. He’s not sure what about this drunk buffoon sets him so on edge but he learned early on in his career that trusting your gut was usually the safest option. That and the idiot does look like a bit of a dick.

“Might come up with you to the bar anyway.” He says.

“Suit yourself.” Price’s voice is calm, unbothered, but it’s as natural and easy as breathing to Kyle to put himself as one more barrier between a potential threat and a friend. Neither of them even has a chance to get up from their seats before three things seem to happen at once.

1, you emerge from the bathroom.

2, the brunette man from the bar trips over his own feet.

3, the pair of you collide and create some cosmic chain of knock-on collisions that Kyle has only half a second to decide whether or not he can stop or if he just has to embrace it.

If he doesn’t want a broken wrist, embracing it seems to be his best option.

Fate deposits you in his lap not a second later, ribs cracking painfully against the tabletop and your hand slapping into his glass, even as he tries his best to steady you. You’re both covered in beer from the brunette guy’s drink as it sloshes from the pint glass and onto your clothes, and Kyle wrinkles his nose a bit against the sudden yeasty smell. There’s a sharp cry from both fallen parties and a soft grunt from him as your arse lands not so gently on more delicate areas of his body, but despite the jolt of pain in his thigh and wrists he’s otherwise doing far better than you, though he thinks you’re a bit too shell-shocked from the fall to recognise there’s blood dripping from your hand.

“Way to go Mark!”

“Fumbled it mate!”

The rowdy bar crew irk him more than he lets on as Price hauls up the idiot, Mark. His face is red from a mixture of alcohol, embarrassment, and anger, anger he swiftly lets loose on the three people in front of him. Price holds his hands up in surrender as Mark shirks him off rather violently, almost falling again when he twists too hard and quick in his uncoordinated state.

“Ge’off! You! You made me spill my beer!” The accusing finger pointed your way seems to snap you from your stupor and you wriggle out of Kyle’s gentle grip with wide eyes.

“I didn’t – what?” Your voice is a pitched squeak of disbelief and shock. Kyle stands, grabbing a wad of napkins to press it against your wound. “Ow! Hey! What the – oh my god…” You stare wide-eyed at the rivulet of blood rolling down your arm. It’s soaking through the napkins quicker than Kyle would like.

“Keep your arm up, above your heart. You won’t have hit anything major, it’s just the alcohol thinning your blood.” He reassures you, keeping his touch light and unintrusive. You could easily push his hand away but you don’t, surprised Y/E/C eyes flickering up meet his own.

“You even listenin’ to me you little bitch? I said you owe me another drink!” Mark’s words are so slurred that another drink is clearly a terrible decision for him.

“Oi, leave the lady in peace.” Price suggests. Knowing his Captain has him handled Kyle focuses his attention on you, gently moving the bloodied napkin from your palm. It sticks a bit, and you wince as the coarse material comes free of your broken skin.

“Sorry, sorry…you’re going to need stitches.” He informs you. There’s a jagged line that won’t stop pumping red, the flesh torn open with a glint of glass inside.

“Stitches? Oh no, not needles. I – shit I feel dizzy.” You turn whiter than a sheet at the thought and Kyle’s quick to adjust his grip on you to help you sit, keeping your arm elevated while you put your head between your knees.

“Easy, deep breaths, you’re going to be alright,” he crouches beside you, hearing Price and Mark squaring off behind him, “I’m Kyle. Can you tell me your name?”

“I’m Y/N.” your voice is a little weak. “Sorry for, you know, sitting on you.” Kyle chuckles a little at that, glancing up as Price hands him a towel. Price has angled himself between you two and the drunken fool as his friends come to collect him.

“Don’t worry about it, glad you landed on me and not the table.” He focuses on wrapping the towel around your hand, apologising quietly when the pressure makes you wince.

“Oh no, I landed on that to. I landed on all the things.” You groan a bit, good hand massaging your ribs. Kyle grimaces slightly.

“Can I check nothings broken?” he offers. You look up at him, search his gaze for any ill-intent, and then you nod. He makes sure to give you a reassuring smile as his hand finds your side, fingers gently applying pressure and watching your face for any signs of discomfort. It feels more intimate than is appropriate for a first meeting but your nerves bottle before his does and you look away with pink cheeks, which is a feat in itself because Kyle had been sure you’d lost a bit too much blood to blush like that.

“But she owes me a beer!” Mark is still insistent, even as his friends try to drag him away. Kyle huffs, annoyed now as he glances back at him over his shoulder.

“She owes you about as much as any other woman on the planet. Nothing. Now piss off and sober up mate.” There’s enough warning in his voice that Mark’s more sober friends hurry to comply with the thinly veiled threat.

“You got anyone who can get you to hospital love?” Price asks, standing as still as stone until he’s sure there’s no chance of Mark making his way back to you. Kyle keeps the pressure on your hand, seeing a bit more alertness to your eyes now.

“No, no we’ve both had something to drink.” You grimace, looking at Kyle with big doe eyes he finds more endearing than he’d care to admit. “Do I really need stitches?”

“Yeah, you do, and for someone to pick the glass out the wound,” Kyle’s smile is a tad sympathetic now, “But the good news is your ribs aren’t broken. You may have landed on all the things but you’re not too bad off for it.” His light teasing brings a twitch of a smile to your lips, a smile that quickly falls as Price questions if you have friends or a partner here to go with you. Though your eyes search the pub thoroughly, they fill with frustration and regret when you see no familiar face in sight.

“No…I was on a date,” you look a bit embarrassed to admit it, “Guess he snuck out while I was in the bathroom.” Kyle tilts his head slightly, carefully helping you to stand when you attempt it.

“More fool him, look at all the fun he could be having.” He says it just to see you smile, enjoying the tinkling of your laughter in his ears.

“Oh, bucket loads right? Christ…that stings.” Your smile falls away into a wince again, and though he knows he’ll get shit for it later from Soap when Price inevitably tells him, he can’t stop the offer from tumbling out of his mouth.

“I’ll go with you then.”

You sigh, “It’s okay, really, no need to ruin your night any more than I have.”

“Who said you’d ruined my night? Come on, let’s get you seen to.” He’s already gently guiding you out of the pub with Price on your other side, knowing you’re likely to protest anyway from the look on your face. You pause only to grab a jacket from your table before the cold night air envelopes you, Kyle keeping your arm up and sticking close to ensure your warm enough – the last thing he wants is you going into shock on him.

“Are you sure?” you ask for the hundredth time. Kyle silences you with a single look that has a shudder crawling up your spine, one he can feel ripple into him since you’re standing so close, and he feels a little smug at the reaction he gets from you. He’s seen your eyes lingering once or twice to, and he’s starting to thank whatever’s watching over him the evening took this turn.

“Gaz!” Price calls his name and Kyle turns to see him standing, holding open the door of a cab not 50 yards down the road. Bundled in the back of a cab that’s probably breaking a few speeding laws to get you both to a nearby hospital, he feels those instincts tugging at the back of his mind, trying to claw him back into work mode. There’s blood, there was the threat of violence, and it’s got all of his hackles raised a bit, even though he’s trying to be soft with you. You’re clearly in pain and still a little shocked by the nights events and he doesn’t want to be too stoic or too harsh and make it worse, so he focuses on the gentle smell of your perfume and the softness of your hair tickling the side of his face. It crosses his mind then you might be uncomfortable with his proximity, and he subtly tries to shift away only to find you follow him, naturally wanting more of his warmth as the blood loss and shock make you feel cold.

“Just to be clear, I don’t usually do this.” You say softly. Kyle glances at you with a raised eyebrow, your voice and the rumbling purr of the engine is all quiet and helps soothe some of his louder thoughts right now.

“You don’t usually bleed all over strangers at the pub? A shame, I was looking for someone who shared my hobby.” He tries to joke, feeling a bit rusty and out of practice, and realises too late how goddamn creepy that probably sounded. He’s thankful to hear your quiet laughter.

“No, well, yes, I don’t do that either, but I meant hopping into cabs with strangers.” You nudge his side lightly with your elbow and he relaxes a little more.

“We exchanged names and I’m covered in your blood, not sure we can call ourselves strangers anymore, more like…strange acquaintances.” He suggests. You hum in agreement at that, and you lapse back into silence with him once more. It’s a strangely comfortable one, but then again Kyle’s never really been a man of many words. He keeps half an eye on the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the pallor of your skin. Your bathed intermittently in warm orange light from the street-lights outside, and his breath hitches a little in his chest. Maybe it’s been a little too long since he was allowed to think of anything other than what the next target is, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take the opportunity to admire the way your long lashes brush your cheeks, or the perfectly shaped outline of full, painted lips.

“Thank you, for coming with me.” You look up at him, your smile so sweet it makes his stomach flip. It really isn’t the best of circumstances, he knows so, but he rarely gets the chance to charm a pretty woman and, well, your night’s been a bit shit, so he feels obligated to cheer you up some.

“When a pretty woman falls into your lap, you’d be amiss to pass up the opportunity to play knight in beer-stained armour.” He chuckles. He’s taking most of the weight of your arm but he ignores the discomfort in his own. Your eyes are pinched with pain, and he can only imagine how badly your sliced palm must be throbbing, knowing from his own encounters with combat knives how deeply the sting of a cut can run.

“Bold of you to assume I’m a damsel in distress. I sliced open my hand perfectly well without your help.” You quip back. Kyle grins. You’ve got a wicked tongue and the wit of the devil. As the cab pulls up, he tips the driver an extra £20 before helping you into the accident and emergency ward. It’s crammed wall to wall, every chair full and an excess of patients standing around, and the strong burn of disinfectant in his nose has him taking slightly shallower breaths to avoid the smell as best he can. You look even paler under the fluorescent lighting and he’s determined to get you seen to quickly, the bright red of the blood-soaked towel on your hand standing out starkly in this pristine white place.

You give your name and details, checking in with the receptionist who looks at your hand like she wishes it would disappear from her line of sight, and then your led to an over-flow waiting room where there’s a chair hurriedly snapped open for you and the promise of a nurse seeing you quickly. Kyle crouches beside you again, looking over the mess of blood and beer on the pretty dress you’d been wearing that night, and quietly wonders how your date found enough faults in you to run out. For the five minutes he’s known you Kyle’s found you to be attractive and quick-witted, a good sense of humour, so he can’t imagine the conversation was that bad.

“Do you want some water?” he offers, thumb jerking to the water cooler not too far away. You nod a bit and leaves you with your hand raised to go fetch you both a cup. He watches you sip it slowly and he does the same, eyes flickering to find all the nearest exits out of habit. You’re like a magnet though, a beacon burning brightly in the night, and he finds his gaze quickly drawn back to you. The bubble you two have created is one of quiet comfort, the kind that warm blankets on cold days provides and is found in the deep hearts of forests or the embers of dying fires.

“This really doesn’t bother you, does it?” you question, pulling him from his thoughts. He glances up at you from his spot crouched beside you, head cocking. “This. Blood, hospital trips, confrontation. You’ve been completely unphased by this from the start.” You elaborate on your thoughts and Kyle finds himself blinking in surprise, adding the word observant into the file with your name on that he’s starting to compile in his mind. He’s almost reluctant to say what he knows is the answer to your unspoken question, knowing it’s often a crossroads for all relationships waiting to form in his life. He doesn’t want to give up the soothing balm that is you just yet. There’s just enough intrigue to make him want to know more, and yet he braces himself for the rejection he’s sure is inevitable from such a sweet thing as you.

“I’m a soldier.” He almost holds his breath once the truths out. The rest of the sentence can remain unspoken, you don’t need him to tell you of the horrors and misery he’s seen, everyone knows what soldiers see even if they don’t talk about it. You surprise him once more.

“Ah, I see.” The quiet acknowledgement is just that, a statement of fact that promises he’s been heard without delivering judgement, and he feels there’s hope he might still have a chance at knowing you.

“That bother you?” he just has to be sure.

You smile a bit, “Depends, are you here because you’re duty bound to protect innocent civilians?”

His head tilts a bit; he sees that inquisitive little gleam in your eyes, a spark of interest, and he catches it quick with the intent of nurturing that spark into roaring flame. His head’s completely quiet now. He feels like he can go back to the silence at home and survive it if only your voice fills the empty space instead.

“No…here because I think that what tonight’s shown me, is your hand fits nicely in mine.” The line is absolutely terrible and he knows it, but the way you fluster and smile at the ground has his own grin widening. When the nurse calls your name, you look up to her, then back at him, biting your lip. For the first time that night, you don’t try to be brave, you let him see your apprehension and offer him your good hand, wanting him to come with you.

“Prove it.” You say.

Kyle does, and when he returns to his apartment in the early hours of the morning, he can still feel the warm imprint of your lips on his cheek. Your perfume has stale beer has cloyed in his nose and the imprint of you is behind his eyelids when he closes them to try and sleep. The echo of your laughter rings in his ears and the reminder of your smile as he’d suggested late night waffles at a dessert place nearby your apartment. The phone on his nightstand seemed to hum with anticipation of using your now saved number tomorrow.

It's never easy coming back to the real world, but the real world certainly has it's perks.

[lineli225]

MHA IS / NOT / ENDING IN 2024

Ok so, MHA is definitely having at least more 50 chapters at the very minimum.

MHA is weekly, and 2024 will have only 52 weeks, so that plus breaks, if it has 50 chapters, knowing Hori takes at least a break a month, it'd need around 65 or 70 weeks to be completed.

So it can't end in 2024, maybe MHA will end around February or March 2025... Perhaps even June!

But why I think so?

The final war arc started on chapter 343, so the current arc has 66 chapters.

This final arc is the longest arc in the series, as Hori's arcs got progressively longer each new arc, the longest arcs being 24, 41 and 54, from the first big arc, it basically doubled in size, it can double again.

But i think of the traitor arc as part of the final war, starting with the Sns chapter, which is chapter 329

So to me the final arc has 80 chapters so far to put it simple.

Also Hori wouldn't just cut the end dry, I can easily see a last, short, epilogue arc showing what happened after and all the changes in society and everything.

MHA won't end in more 15 chapters, we still haven't seen: Aizawa/Mic/Kurogiri, Sero's role, the tie up to Toga and Ochako, Hawks being the light of hope, Spinner's demise, seeing what talk Compress had with the heroes, Hisashi finally appearing(hori did promise it!), Hori did mention Class 2-A briefly showing up, tie the quirk singularity theory plot, AFO finally inserting his quirk factor on Tomura, AND finally, Tomura vs Izuku.

Tomura vs Izuku is probably not being quick, giving they are the main characters, and the grand finale, the greatest mess and also what needs more focus, In these 60+ chapters of this arc so far, izuku barely showed up, you can't have a 80 chapters only arc and your MAIN CHARACTER show up just 5 or so!!!

Considering Hori made almost 50 chapters of ONLY people fighting AFO and other stuff, I'm confident we will have at MINIMUM some 15 chapters of ONLY Shigaraki vs Izuku, he is saving these two for last, so I'm confident it won't be that fast AT ALL!

Honestly, I won't be surprised if MHA have more 70 chapters left, I can easily see this arc being over 150 chapters, like, come on, Hori didn't take his sweet sweet time only to half ass rush the most important part! Hori won't rush now that he toke so much care to build up the climax

Honestly i personally think MHA might even reach 460/480 chapters total, I wont be surprised if we reach 500 chapters either! (Each volume have 12 chapters, so MHA ending with a total of 47 or 48 volumes. )

Like- there is way TOO MUCH to be seen! The final arc is only on the half way but already been 80 chapters so far! And we haven't even got to the main fight!!!

Anyways, mark my words

MHA is ending in middle 2025.

Update/Edit: Just realized MHA will have only 33 chapters released this year and only 2 volumes

First chapter of 2023 was 377- the chain thus far

33 chapters of only fighting AFO, togachako and tododabi

Even If MHA have only more 15 chaps it'll still take half a whole year 😭 MHA IS SO NOT ENDING TILL 2025

[em-dash-press]

The Dark Art of Character Sacrifice: 5 Reasons Why Writers Kill Their Characters

There are some good reasons to kill characters in your fictional stories and definitely some bad ones. It’s hard to know what’s cliche and what’s not when you’re first starting out (or when your mind is caught up in the middle of a manuscript).

Use these ideas to see if taking one of your characters out of a story could make it work better.

1. To Start Their Story

Plenty of stories start with someone dying in the first chapter or two. It’s usually someone important to the protagonist. Sometimes it’s someone whose death directly or indirectly changes the protagonist’s life.

Here are some examples:

The protagonist is a 10-year-old child raised by their grandma, who passes away. The story is about the protagonist experiencing the foster care system.

The protagonist is an 18-year-old graduating from high school. A few days after graduation, the president of their country is assassinated by another leading country. The protagonist joins the military to fight in the ensuing war. The story is about the horrors of war.

The protagonist is a 50-year-old woman. She’s independent, has a thriving career, and feels great about her life. Suddenly, her best friend of 20 years dies. The story is about processing and living with grief.

All of these deaths are foundational to each story’s overall plot and theme. Without the deaths, the stories would be very different. The protagonists would continue living their normal lives and not experience the specific events you want to write about.

2. To Emphasize the Theme

Character deaths can emphasize a story’s theme. Let’s say you’re writing about how deeply cruel humans can be to one another over money. The antagonist kills someone the protagonist cares about. The loss sets the protagonist back due to staggering grief, so the antagonist gets to make a financial deal that the protagonist was trying to score.

There are a few ways this would reflect the theme. It shows how greed can be all-consuming, to the point of erasing someone’s morals. It also speaks briefly to the reality that cruelty happens to people indirectly. It’s horrible for the person who dies and those who love them.

3. To Add Closure to Their Arc

At some point in your story, there will be a character who completes their arc. They might make amends with someone they hurt, feel at peace about their life after reaching a big goal, or otherwise finally feel settled. If that character dies, the reader and protagonist grieve together. They can also come to the same conclusion through the rest of your story—the character who died lived a life that made them happy.

That’s not to say happy people can’t continue growing. Life is always going to present new ways to grow. Stories will do the same for characters. However, when you don’t necessarily need a character anymore, death can be a poetic end.

4. To Add Justice to the Story

When your protagonist stops the antagonist from harming others, the crimes the antagonist committed might make the protagonist call for their death. We have this in the real world with the death penalty. 

This post isn’t going into the ethics behind the death penalty, but I mention it because wanting justice to the point of killing the perpetrating criminal is something many people can relate to. It’s a tool you can use in your story to drive home your theme (what real justice looks like, mercy, forgiveness, etc.) or exemplify your feelings about real-world dilemmas (the actual death penalty, vigilante justice, etc.).

5. To Add a Plot Twist

While you’re writing your story, that draft belongs exclusively to you. You can do whatever you want with it. Sometimes it’s helpful to write a death scene and re-read your work. See how the story feels and if it works with that death written into it.

You might not have planned it, but maybe it gives you fresh ideas about where to take the story. Every plot twist has a purpose—you can find it before or after writing the twist by giving yourself the freedom to explore alternate realities within your fictional world.

-----

There are many other reasons why writers kill their characters. By all means, do more research if you don’t feel like these ideas fit with your WIP. It’s better to know what deaths can mean and do in fiction because it informs your writing. Your stories will make more sense to you and your readers.

[waytooinvested]

fanfic writer questions

Thanks for the tag @sssammich! I haven't done one of these in years, I'm excited :D

1- How many works do you have on AO3?

Only 11, but a couple are long ones (100,000+ words)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

406,700 and counting - one of those is a WIP that will have a lot more to add so I MAY make it to 500,000 in the coming months, if I write another couple of short ones on top.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now I'm just writing for Supergirl (and supercorp specifically). In the past I wrote a lot for Call the Midwife (Patsy x Delia, my beloveds), and I have written one small one for Strange the Dreamer, just because I had an idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I got it out.

I tend to be a bit all or nothing with fandom, so I am usually only in one at a time.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Hands I Used to Touch (Patsy/Delia - Call the Midwife) by a landslide. It also (briefly) had the most comments of any fic in the fandom which was very cool (it was the one I was writing for longest during the peak engagement era for the pairing, but still it is my crowning achievement as a fic writer haha)

After that Vengeance, Victory and Undying Love (Supercorp), Little Things Mean A Lot tied with A Paper Bag of Pick n Mix (both Patsy/Delia), and Storybooks and Siren Suits (also Patsy & Delia, but as children so not a romantic pairing)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Definitely! I try to respond to every comment, because they mean so much to get and I want the people taking the time to write them to know they are extremely appreciated. Also I have made some wonderful friends that way!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I am allergic to angsty endings! Angsty beginnings? Almost inevitable. Angsty middles, sure. Angsty ENDINGS? Never. So angstiest: maybe "The Static of Distance" from my Paper Bag of Pick n Mix, because they are still half a world away from each other during a threat of nuclear war. But even so it's only an angsty ending if you squint really hard.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They all have pretty unambiguously happy endings honestly, I'm not sure I could pick between them!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I don't think I've ever had hate as such. Some maybe less than whole heartedly positive responses, though most of that was when I was teasing an apparently dark character arc before a twist and making people worried about what I was up to. But see above re: all of my fics having absolutely unambiguously happy endings, so we got there eventually.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not so far - I think the closest I have come was my wife and I writing a silly crack fic together that involved smut, but it was not at all meant to be actually sexy and we never posted it anywhere, sooo...

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not typically, but there was A Misplaced Midwife, in which Barbara from Call the Midwife (a fairly sheltered young 1960s midwife played by Charlotte Ritchie) traded places with Hannah from Siblings (a modern day selfish, chaotic disaster human also played by Charlotte Ritchie) and how they got along in each other's lives. It was silly and crack-y but a lot of fun to write.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, thankfully!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Alas, no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

The aforementioned crack fic with @cynicalrainbows but that was just for our own entertainment. She also contributed several lines/ideas to A Misplaced Midwife. I don't think I have apart from that.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I only really have two that I've been invested enough to fic about it, and while my current all consuming obsession is Supercorp, I have only been in it for a couple of months compared to the years long love affair with Patsy/Delia that also led to me meeting my wife and many good friends. So for now, Patsy/Delia still reign supreme. We'll see if that is still the case in a few more months!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I try to always finish my fics, but I do have one unfinished wip on my conscience, and that's Storybooks and Siren Suits. I still open it and do battle with progress now and again just in the hopes that I will manage to drag it across the finish line and put it to bed once and for all, but so far nothing doing. It remains stuck on the same chapter it has been stuck on since 2021.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Oh no don't make me pay myself compliments... Angst with happy endings? That is not really so much a writing strength as just a description of the type of story I write, but shh. I guess I got a lot of compliments on characterization back in my Call the Midwife days. Whether that follows through to Supercorp remains to be seen. I like how I'm writing them, at least!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My dialogue transitions tend to be clunky, at least so I'm finding lately. Also I am a total feast or famine writer, so any kind of sensible process or schedule discipline is completely non existent.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I avoid it for the most part because I would certainly make a mess of it, though I have one or two very very brief bits here and there. I think the longest piece was a character recalling their own long distant school french, which contained deliberate mistakes the character was making that acted as excellent cover for the genuine mistakes I no doubt also made.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I'm trying to recall if I ever wrote anything as a young teenager for Buffy The Vampire Slayer (Willow/Tara, naturally), but I don't think I did, and if so it definitely stayed as tucked away in an old notebook never to see the light of day. The first proper/definite one was Call the Midwife, just after they decided it would be a good idea to hit Delia with a car and give her amnesia right at the moment she and Patsy were about to move in together.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Well right now it's Forgotten Not Forgiven for sure, because that's where my obsession is currently living.

Of all time though? Probably still The Hands I Used to Touch, because I poured everything into it at the time and it played such a big part in me finding my feet in the fandom world. No pressure to do this at all of course but tagging @cynicalrainbows @fabulousglitch, @shut-up-heather-d and @fazedlight as people I know write fic and may enjoy this if you haven't done it already. Anyone else interested feel free to claim me as your tagger, I would love to see your responses!

[endless-bunny]

Babe Wake Up: Pathfinder playtest just dropped

I wasn't expecting to make this post til Sunday, but I guess the timeline has been brought forward. Paizo has announced War of the Immortals for a release some time next year. The playtest document for two fresh, new classes has just been released too and I have briefly skimmed it.

We've got two new classes to look at: the Animist, and the Exemplar. I've included their descriptions direct from the blog post and playtest document along with a few collected thoughts. Keep in mind, I haven't played these classes yet (I doubt anybody has, given how recent the blog post was) so I'm just giving a quick overview.

Animist

"Samo of Icemark is a middle-aged Varki woman from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, in the northernmost reaches of the Inner Sea region. Samo is a nephilim, a mortal being with a touch of the celestial planes in her bloodline. Born with the ability to see spirits and other entities that others could not, Samo was selected to learn from the elders of Seer’s Home at a young age after her abilities helped her save her village from a kushtaka incursion. Trained in the arts of animism, Samo was proclaimed a sage after successfully bonding with her grandmother’s spirit, an apparition known as a custodian of groves and gardens. Samo served the Varki people for nearly forty years, until the day a young, injured Okaiyan man washed onto shore near Icemark and changed the course of her life forevermore."

"a Wisdom-based divine spellcasting class that bonds with apparitions, ephemeral spirits who share their power and knowledge with the animist in exchange for the animist acting as their agent with the physical world. Bond with a Steward of Stone and Fire to add primal power to your spellcasting, make a pact with an Impostor in Hidden Places to gain access to sneaky and deceptive magics, or allow a Witness to Ancient Battles possess you and lend its martial talents to your repertoire!"

From a brief skim over the Playtest document, it seems like the Animist is sort of a successor to the Shaman and Medium from PF1, communing with spirits and even allowing them to inhabit the Animist's body. Some of the Animist's feats have the "Wandering" trait, which was something in PF1 that allowed the Shaman to choose new spirits each day. They have spells that they both prepare and spontaneously cast, which... seems interesting? I'll have to see how that plays to work out if I like it or not. They also have focus spells, which are kind of a given for spellcasters in PF2, but juggling three different resource pools seems like a lot for a spellcaster. The Shaman in PF1 was one of my favourite classes so I'm looking forward to giving the Animist a go, although I am unfortunately the ForeverGM so I don't get very many opportunities to build and play characters.

I wonder if they chose the name "Animist" just to make it clear that it's not the same class as in PF1, or if they're choosing to avoid the word "Shaman" because of specific, real-world uses of the word. I've written before that Paizo is very aware of, and trying to avoid, cultural appropriation. They've changed game terms in the past (such as "phylactery" and "totem") to avoid negative associations with real-world religious or cultural things, or otherwise perpetuating reductive stereotypes. I dunno, maybe I'm thinking too much about it. Though the term shaman does originate from Tungusic, the practice of shamanism isn't unique to that region of the world.

Exemplar

"Nahoa is a young human man of the Olehala people, one of the four great voyaging nations of the Okaiyo Ocean that spans Tian Xia and Arcadia. Born on the rainy side of his island, Nahoa grew up digging canals for his family’s taro farm, taking care of his younger sisters, and ensuring his village never lost the yearly stone-hurling championship. Though he wanted nothing more than an easy life, Nahoa was Called to exchange his digging stick for a warrior’s spear when a great demon returned, as it had for decades, to prey on his home. He faced the beast high in the sky, and even as his spear pierced it, its talons dug into his flesh. Rather than succumb to the creature’s venom, Nahoa claimed its power as his own, becoming a nephilim in the process. He crashed, far from the Okaiyo, where he would meet a Varki woman and set off on a quest across a distant Inner Sea."

This is Pathfinder's very first rare class. That means, guidance given, it won't be available for most tables to play. I can see why they chose to do that, since while it doesn't seem to be overpowered, it is thematically very different to most other classes, and having only one Exemplar in a party might lead that player to believe themself to be the "Main character"

"a Charisma-based divine warrior possessing their own spark of divinity. The exemplar can move their divine spark between receptacles called ikons to unlock potent effects and abilities. As your power grows, you create your own epithet that defines your immortal legacy; whether you become a Cunning exemplar who’s Restless as the Tides and known to be a Thief of Moonlight, or a Brave exemplar, who’s Peerless Under Heaven and destined to be The Last Ruler of an ancient kingdom, is up to you!"

The examples given are Herakles, Cú Chulainn and Maui, so the speculation wasn't far off.

The Exemplar seems to have a lot of moving parts. They have a number of "Ikons" which they can turn on or off in combat. One Ikon can be active at any time, and the Exemplar can activate different abilities depending on which Ikon is on.

Most of the weapon-focussed classes in this game have a feature where they deal extra damage with their weapons as they gain levels. In the case of the Exemplar, it's spirit damage, and they can later become Holy or Unholy, meaning their spirit damage is more potent against creatures of the opposite alignment.

They also get to choose an epithet that expands as they gain levels, starting with something as simple as "The Brave" but ending with something as badass as "Peerless Under Heaven". Many of the Exemplar's feats are about pushing themselves to greater feats of strength, superhuman athletics and acrobatics and stuff like that.

I'm reminded of the Epic Destinies from Dungeons & Dragons 4th edition, which inspired the Mythic Paths in Pathfinder 1e (and was possibly inspired by the BECMI "Immortals" set or another expansion from an earlier edition). To be honest, having played a bunch of Wrath of the Righteous recently, I am pretty hyped to have something adjacent to Mythic tier in this game. I guess we'll have to wait and see if it's just the Exemplar or if those concepts are expanded to other characters as well.

Edited to Add: Uh yeah it looks like we're getting Mythic character options in this book. I didn't read the preamble for the playtest but:

"The animist and exemplar will appear in the upcoming sourcebook Pathfinder War of Immortals, scheduled for Winter 2024, which also brings new legendary creatures and character options for a wide variety of classes and characters, as well as bringing new mythic rules to Pathfinder!"

(emphasis mine)

So yeah. I get hyped about every Pathfinder sourcebook release. Always have. Unfortunately, my group has to deal with rapid and dramatic genre shifts when something new comes out and I pivot our existing campaign to adopt those subsystems. Some day I will use all of the subsystems in the same game.

[andromeda612]

SSKK Parallels I want to see, please qwq Asagiri, I'm begging you

Ok so I need to cope from not only the angst of the last episodes of the anime, but also the fact Bones onces again robbed us from important SSKK scenes qwq

So, I'm part of the people that believe the vampirism can be reversed and that Akutagawa will live thanks to that.

So, one thing that I really want to see in the future of the manga but know it probably won't happen (but who knows, only Asagiri) is a parallel to this part.

We know the reasons they failed was because of two things, one they didn't trusted each other so they didn't used the strategy Fukuchi himself said would have been his defeat, and we can't blame them for not trusting each other like that, not with their story and while Akutagawa seemed to trust their efforts and maybe even Atsushi, Atsushi here is the one with the most reasons to not trust Akutagawa and he still did a bit during their final attack, and even then they were not ready for this level of trust, not like their predecessors, SKK despised each other but still trusted each other with their lives on the battle field, they however had years to build up that trust for having to work together on the same organization, I think given SSKK circumstances the fact they managed to last that long and briefly success says a lot of their potential, they simply were not ready for this battle. The second reason was Fukuchi's sword, a powerful weapon neither of them was counting on, paired with Fukuchi himself who is an already hard to beat opponent on his own.

That being said, this is something they both could learn from, both of them have questions and thoughts regarding this, about the fact Akutagawa saved Atsushi so it also allows window for them to learn from each other and themselves in the case they can turn Akutagawa back to normal, and if they do this would open a frame time for them to talk this stuff out, to grown a bit and reach a point when they can trust each other even if it's only for this mission, and I believe that having Ranpo and maybe even Dazai on board, coming up with a plan, even in the middle of the end (given chapter 109's ending qwq) is possible to come up with a plan to secure victory.

So picture this, Akutagawa is reversed from the vampirization and is now back in the game on their side, staying with them as they are the only ones left capable of stopping Fukuchi. The plan is ready and SSKK are tasked to fight Fukuchi again, to deal the final blow to him, just them. They nod determined to not fail this time, but then another character makes the question.

"But... with just the two of them?"

At this both Akutagawa and Atsushi look at each other, they lock eyes in a way that make it seem they are talking through their shared look, and then their eyes gain a determined shine to them, their faces show their conviction, they nod to each other, and maybe even smirk in Akutagawa's case and grin in Atsushi's. Then Atsushi, still grinning, looks at the character who asked and says with conviction and security.

"Do we need more than that?"

And they go to the final battle in this war.

Don't tell me this wouldn't be such a good parallel to have, especially because it would reflect the evolution of their relationship, which I think already started developing when they made their six months deal, their relationship is far from fully developed, they still have a long path ahead (which is why I don't think Akutagawa will truly die even after the vampirism is reversed) but this would mark a point in their character arcs and dynamic with each other, it would be a reference point about how their relationship has grown.

But well, I'm juts a fan, a fan coping with what's happening in both the anime and the manga and who just wants the characters to succeed.

Thank you for reading my rant/wish/delusions

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Hello! I know your requests are closed but I need you to hear out these dad!Soldier Boy(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

· I think he's honestly the "weekend dad" kinda dad, where he does his one thing the whole week and ok Sunday morning he pops out with "wanna go hiking" or "so... How's your grades?"

· He also would take you and Homie to some fast food in the middle of the night.

· I can imagine teenage Homie and him argue about their different ways of bringing you up while you play (or should I say "cut your hair") with scissors you found on a counter

· Also when the school called about the fire or maybe when you beat up w boy twice your size, SB was the proudest dad ever

· And with age you definitely start loving hanging out with SB more, because who else let's you drift on Tesco's parking lot

· Getting back to Homie, I can imagine that him pushing away your good friends and you'd end up finding a best friend just in Class of 09. Oh he would be so dissapointed and the worst part is that he can't get rid of her.

· I imagine you joining the 7 eventually and as much as Homie and SB would be proud of you, rest of the members would be confused by you being identical to HL. But hey, at least you get to hang out with Black Noir again.

Even if my requests are closed, I'll be more than happy to accept a small lil hc 😁 especially when it regards dad!SB and brother!HL

Agree that once a week (always on the Lord's day aka Sunday lol) Soldier Boy is actually an okay dad 😂 both you and HL can't wait for each Sunday. He'll actually take an interest in what his kids want. Call him soft for doing this, but Soldier Boy thinks this one act will make him a better dad than his own was. At least he gave you and your brother this much. You'll take whatever he's willing to give though. Hungry for his attention and favor.

but for the love of god do not ask him for math help. poor homie made that mistake long ago and was forced to explain to his teacher why all he had left of his math homework were shredded pieces of paper.

Late night McDonald's run? Doesn't matter if you want to go or not. Soldier Boy already has you in one arm and pulling Homelander along with the other hand. Maybe he just gets lonely at night when he doesn't have any ladies over to keep his bed warm. This is his way of finding comfort in the fact that he has two little human beings in his house.

I can imagine the three of you bundled together in his truck, you sandwiched between HL and SB. You're basically still asleep with your head nestled against HL's side, leaving Homelander to suffer listening to Soldier Boy's war stories. But once the food was in the truck, you were wide awake. Moments like that were rare in how calm the silence was between everyone. No lick of tension that usually swirled around.

you cutting your hair with scissors as HL and SB fight actually has the two supes laughing that they briefly forget about the huge issue at hand. they can't be serious when you looked like you had tweaker hair. Your big smile was what really got them.

SB will go up to bat for you if you're ever sent to the principal's office at school for fighting. Hell, everyone at your school was utterly terrified of SB

"So if you had it your way, you'd let that fucking piss baby get away with hurting my daughter? Fuck that."

Then he'll turn to you and call you that endearing nickname he rarely used "Come on sweet darlin'. We're getting ice cream and tomorrow when I drop you off I'm sure these useless dick stains will punish that boy equally."

He really shouldn't be so proud about you beating up another kid. Especially since you had the upper hand with your powers. But damn did it make him smile to see his little girl as a fighter.

you know the tesco drifting is something to be kept between you and Soldier Boy. If HL found out, he'd have an aneurysm and scold his own father about how unsafe it was to do that with you in the car.

you thought it was the most fun thing ever

HL has issues once you get friends of your own. as stated HL really doesn't like your female friends since they encouraged you to wear makeup at a young age and dress like a mini trollop. your friends didn't get the hint that HL didn't like them. In fact many of your female friends had huge crushes on your older brother (you wouldn't even get started on the ones that had crushes on your dad)

i think once you join the seven HL while being proud would also have an immediate desire to isolate you from the other members of the team. what if maeve lets slip something unsavory he did. or even the deep could tell you of the humiliating things that HL has made him do for the pure pleasure of it. also what if you prefer them over him?

you're stubborn though. You're Soldier Boy's kid. it's to be expected.

[ashbrat488]

Flower In The Desert - Chapter 1

Captain Syverson Fanfic

Violet enters the medic tent and stands to the side, observing as a medic saws open a cast for another soldier before giving him painkillers. Their eyes meet briefly, and she senses the defeat in his gaze, offering him a small smile. "I'm looking for Sergeant Harper."

The medic turns to her, and the soldier behind him stands up. "A woman? In the desert? In the middle of a war? You don't belong here," the medic scoffs, causing her jaw to tense.

Undeterred by his assumptions, she turns her attention to the other soldier who extends his hand. "Private Ocre. I'm headed that way."

Nodding, she accepts his hand with a smile. "Lieutenant Becker... Violet," she introduces herself as the medic walks away, leaving them alone.

"Matt," he responds, walking out of the tent while she hurries to catch up with him.

She opens her mouth to say something, but seeing him lost in his thoughts, she walks alongside him in silence towards a tent where several men are working out. Immediately, she recognizes the main figure lifting weights and groans inwardly. Following Matt inside, one of the men makes a joke about the guy being gay. She interjects, "I can confirm that."

All eyes turn towards her as Adam Chutsky faces her, a smile forming on his face. "Becker! What the fuck are you doing out here in the desert?"

"That's Lieutenant Becker to you, Sergeant," another man interjects, stepping forward to offer his hand. "Sergeant Harper, I was told you were coming."

She nods, accepting his hand with a smile. "That's correct. But honestly, I only outrank you in title. I'm not here to step on anyone's toes. Except maybe his..." She points towards Chutsky with a smirk, eliciting laughter from the other men. Sensing their scrutinizing gazes, she feels Chutsky attempting to wrap his arm around her, prompting her to frown and swiftly grab his hand, flipping him onto his back. "Don't touch me."

The men burst into laughter as Chutsky groans from the ground, his ego bruised. Another man playfully nudges him with his foot and asks, "How do you two know each other?"

Chutsky quickly gets to his feet, wearing a cocky grin. "You know, just another satisfied customer." He winks at Violet, who scoffs and rolls her eyes, shifting her focus back to Harper.

"I'm assigned as your medic and..."

Harper shakes his head, causing her to halt her words as he leads her to a corner away from the others. "No one else knows what we're doing yet."

"Right. My lips are sealed, sir." She gives him a small nod, sensing his discomfort with having a woman among them. "I assure you, I'm qualified. I've been in the service for nine years and—"

"I'm aware of your qualifications. But being in the thick of it is different. We'll see..."

She sighs, watching him walk away to converse with the men, some of whom glance back at her, studying her. She knows she's in for a challenging experience, earning the respect of these men, but she's more determined than ever.

***

Violet ducks behind the Humvee as Chutsky nudges her shoulder. "You, me and Ocre. Follow me. Ready princess?"

"Don't call me that!" She yells, following him through the streets as they dodge gunfire from a building in the distance. It didn't take long for them to be thrown right in the thick of it, undergoing gunfire in their travel to their destination. She follows him to a building, the team all working in sync, everyone alert as they enter the building and up the stairs.

Halfway up the stairs, one of the men is shot through a window and Violet follows Chutsky as he lifts the man, carrying him out of the way. She kneels down beside the man, pulling his jacket down. "It's just a shoulder wound. You'll be fine. I'll patch it up better when we get there."

She hears Chutsky and Matt arguing about the need for an airstrike as she rolls her eyes. "Do I have time to move? We're too fucking close!" Matt hollers from the roof as she exits beside Chutsky.

"A little overkill, don't you think?"

Chutsky smirks at her, winking as he puts his arm out to pin her against the wall beside him as the airstrike sweeps through. "Nah. Perfect amount of kill."

***

Violet takes her place among the men as Harper briefs them on their mission: repairing a watering station in the middle of the desert for civilians under Syverson's command. The group grumbles and complains while she remains silent, observing Matt as he bows his head, putting on headphones. She knows they either desire a more thrilling mission or to return home, but she's content just to be there.

Harper holds up the satellite phone. "If anyone wants to make a call back home, we'll take turns."

"What about you, princess? Do you have someone waiting for you back home?" Chutsky taunts.

Violet rolls her eyes at Chutsky's comment, shaking her head as he plops down beside her. "Fuck off."

"Violet here is the Major General's daughter... a legacy. Surprised to find her in the middle of the desert, though."

"Fuck off!" she repeats, prompting laughter from the men while Matt glances up at her. She scoffs, shaking her head, and decides to leave them behind, finding a solitary spot outside to sit.

"You seem just as thrilled to be here as I am," Matt's voice breaks the silence as he joins her on a bench, nudging her shoulder lightly.

"I actually requested to be sent here. I knew it would be challenging to earn the men's respect, but... I don't know." She looks up at him as he furrows his brow. "You don't want to be here? Then why did you come?"

He shrugs, kicking at the sand as he hangs his head. "I wanted to go to college, and this was the only way I could afford it."

"Right," she sighs, and he glances up at her. "You have kind eyes. Don't let the desert change that." She pats his shoulder with a smile, and he nods softly. "We should get some sleep; we're leaving early in the morning."

"Is that an order, officer?" he teases, causing her to giggle as she stands up and turns back to him.

"It is." She winks at him, and he smiles before she walks off to find a bed for the night.

Chapter 2

[afticxs]

DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES chapter 6

to my dearest y/n,

i can’t say i was as safe as i promised you that i would be. it seems i’m breaking a lot of my promises recently, i’m sorry.

i was shot upon the safety of my ship, i woke up the day i wrote you this letter in the middle of the atlantic. there’s a lot i want to tell you.

i don’t think i would’ve minded in the slightest staying with you in that lagoon forever. you made my voyage interesting, to say the least. i never would’ve imagined myself having feelings for a supposed myth. it’s funny. you tried to eat me when we first met.

i hope that if there is another us somewhere, they’re not forced to be apart from each other; how we are. and maybe in another life, where it is us and not someone else with our story, we’re both human where it is easy for us to be together.

or we’re both sirens lurking around until we find our next meal. i don’t mind, i’m not fussy.

gods, i knew you for a month and a bit. curse your charm for seducing me and bless your soul for enchanting me. i love you. i probably should’ve told you that when i first kissed you. but i never did. i regret it.

i’d like to say that if the sea wars end before i die of old age, come visit me in hastings. i’m sure i’d recognise your conch shell anywhere, you don’t find them on the coasts where i reside. but i can’t. i have this aching, scary feeling i will die on this boat and that i won’t see you again. the fever i have is no jest. but i’ve sort of come to terms with it.

when you first showed me your lagoon, i spotted this comb and i figured you would like it. however i forgot to give it to you. i’m sorry again. i love you.

with all my love,

your mikey.

you looked through the letter, perched on the rock back in your’s and michael’s lagoon.

truth be told, you had followed the ship for those two days. from the moment you witnessed the ship leave to the second you received the message in a bottle. attached to it by the braid he kept in his hair, was the comb he had mentioned in the letter. you opened it, scanning it briefly before your heart ached in pain.

when you finally arrived home, however it felt empty, you finally read it. taking in his words and feeling every emotion through all of it.

and you cried.

you cried so hard you truly believed you would die of heart ache.

the comb never left your hair, neither did his strands of hair that you had managed to braid into your own.

you fiddled with your braid—it fell over your face like michael’s did to him—most of the time. while the comb remained as a place holder for the new bun in your hair.

you missed michael immensely as much as you loved him unconditionally.

you would continue to haunt port royal until you were lost to the debris due to the earthquake im 1692.

[transpersian]

Bottom line is: I choose who I talk to. Nobody from either side is going to dictate that to me.

so y'all are like... in ok terms now? that's good to hear ig. maybe there's hope for everyone after all. idk your post made me feel warm inside. i'm happy for you, please stay healthy and take care of yourself. thank you for all the thoughful discussions, you helped a lot of people and i hope people remember it. <3

"Okay" doesn't come anywhere close to describing the complexity of the situation. Let me see if I can give you an idea by summarizing some of it, briefly and impartially:

We've both been through a lot directly because of each other and we both still have a lot of active and complicated feelings about them.

This affects a lot of relationships that both of us have and there are a lot more ongoing elements to the current landscape than just us.

And you can bet your ass that both of us have been having discussions with friends who are very, very not okay with what we're doing.

I always said I'd be willing to talk and I meant it. These principles matter if we're to ever have hope for anything but eternal war, here or otherwise. They've served me well and guided me true in the face of doubters for a long time.

Does this resolve everything? No, of course not. You just have to look at Twitter to see the current carnage. I'm going to be sticking very strictly to what I said in my post: I will not be speaking positively or negatively of anyone on either side regarding this conflict. I can only encourage you to look at what's happening and decide for yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thing is, I'm still here. You can send questions, and while I can't promise I'll be able answer them, I'll do so to the best of my ability.

My personal code and approach towards this situation still holds true. I still believe in approaching things a certain way. That's why I said that the current discourse isn't for me; the tornado got away from me while I was gone and now it's too big to steer.

I can only encourage people to be civil and empathetic, evidence-focused and direct, to not engage with the inevitable spectators that want to turn it into a participation sport.

When it was a few Tumblrs on here, that was doable. Now the war's come home for them and I don't have nearly the level of credibility or influence that some people who are involved do. I can't turn them one way or the other. Even the content creators are mostly watching from the sidelines not wanting to get involved.

~~~~~~~~~~

And beyond that... y'all, now that I've made this decision, I'm coming to realize just how fucking exhausted I've been.

I'm not turning my back on anyone who doesn't turn their back on me, I promise. Even then.

But I need you all to understand that while I can't tell you everything that's gone on behind the scenes, the people closest to me and supporting me the most through this have been increasingly concerned about how this has been impacting my well-being, and whether I would ever be able to pull away from it.

They've wanted me to step back. It wasn't my initial intention when accepting her invitation to talk, but the fact that the opportunity has arisen from it right as the need for it has become dire is just good luck.

~~~~~~~~~~

Again, not to get into too many details, but January got harrowing. I went through the worst mental collapse I've had since last July (if you've read my doc, it's the part with the panic attacks). I have a whole life outside of this that I've had to maintain, and if I told you the level of high-pressure work I deal with in my day job, you wouldn't believe me. This is on top of being caught in the middle of my parents' divorce and helping plan and prep my sister's wedding.

I've been burning the candle at both ends for months, practically every single day. I tried to take breaks, but I'd inevitably get a day or two in before some other thing happened that needed my attention. With where last month pushed me... I don't know.

While a lot of elements aligned and a lot of thought went into these decisions, I lost people for even talking to her in the first place, and honestly, I don't really blame them. I understand the feelings that people have about this. Believe me, I'm still having some very direct, personal conversations about it in DMs and VCs, especially after today's post.

But I have thought about this, a lot. If you've been reading my posts for a while, you've seen how I've approached this situation the whole time. Those principles and values just extend further than a lot of people consider to be wise, reasonable, or even just plain not "fucking insane." If any of y'all had known me for a few years, you'd know that this is not a new thing for me; this path has served me well for many years and has been an essential compass in pivotal moments.

Sometimes it pays off. Sometimes it kicks me in the ass. But I never regret it.

I've always been direct and honest about my perspective, and I'm still very much who I've always been. I'm not some naive child wandering into a trap; I'm deeply considering how I handle every step of this, and me doing my own thing here isn't going to change much in the grand scheme of the current fight.

~~~~~~~~~~

If you've had faith in or respect for how I've done things so far, I'd like to hope that I've earned that. I simply ask that you consider these actions in the context of those feelings over the gut discomfort that may come from the notion that we're even having conversations in the first place now.

And I don't know what conversations you think we're having, but they're definitely not full of bubblegum and butterflies. We've both got BPD and have put each other through hell. There are a lot of big feelings to contend with. Hurt and rage and resentment. Things that can't be fixed or taken back or forgiven.

If you don't understand why I'd be open to a chance to have those conversations, I can't explain it to you. I only ask that you continue to trust my increasingly unconventional approach to all of this.

You don't have to give it to me. You don't owe it to me. I can only ask for it.

So... are Poppy and I "on okay terms" now?

I don't know.

It's complicated and really fucking weird.

But it's definitely not the catastrophic idea that some people think it is. I just hope they'll give me the time and chances to prove them wrong.

[hawkeykirsah]

Fill 4  and another bingo for @codywansleepbingo​. Warnings for references to Order 66 in this one.

Prompts used: Restless Sleep, Night Terrors, Sleep Position: Spooning, Sleeping Pill/Medicine

Words: ~720

Ficlet and card under the cut!

The sun beat down on the top of his head as he held out the lightsaber with a crooked grin, “You might be needing this.”

Obi-Wan laughed, eyes crinkling, and reached down from his mount to take his weapon. “You might be right. Let’s clean up and get this war over with, Cody. I’ll see you on the other side!”

He watched the general spur on his varactyl, breathing in the dust in its wake. He put his helmet back on, happy for the air filter keeping any further dust out of his mouth and nose, happy that Grievous was dead and that the fighting would soon be over, happy that he’d soon have the chance of an after-the-war with Obi-Wan.

He answered his com without a second thought, eyes flicking briefly away from the general to the holo of a hooded figure. They spoke, an odd weight in their voice bearing down on him, “Commander Cody, the time has come. Execute Order 66!”

He felt his body turn, heard his voice ordering “Blast him!”, the din of the cannon clamoring in his ears as he watched it impact the rock, sending the varactyl and its rider tumbling into the sinkhole, down, down, down—

#

Cody shot upright, gasping for air, a wordless shout caught in his throat. He could taste the acrid smoke of blaster fire and blasted rock and hot dust, could hear shouts and explosions ringing in his ears. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the rug, and tried to control his breathing. There was no glaring sun overhead, no explosions, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan was alive and safe and not asleep, Cody realized, looking over his shoulder at his partner.

“Another nightmare?” Obi-Wan asked, voice rough with sleep, pushing himself up.

Cody nodded wordlessly, wanting to tell Obi-Wan he was fine, he should go back to sleep but his tongue felt thick and unwieldy in his mouth. He watched Obi-Wan reach for a jug of water and pour some into one of their earthenware cups, holding it out to Cody.

“Thanks,” Cody mumbled, sipping slowly at the cold water. An arm wrapped around his middle and Obi-Wan rested his chin on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing along the bottom of Cody’s ribs.

“Same one as yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Cody rasped. “I ordered—”

Obi-Wan shushed him quietly, shaking his head. “None of it was your fault, darling. I’m alive, aren’t I?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Then he sighed. “I’m alright, Cody. We’re alright.” He glanced out of the window into the dark Tatooine night. “Do you want to get up or try to sleep again?”

Cody grimaced. Dawn was hours away yet. “Let’s try to get more sleep,” he decided, pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt. He balled it up and patted himself dry with it before tossing it in the hamper and lying back down, Obi-Wan pulling him flush against his chest.

“We’re alright,” he whispered, letting himself sink into Obi-Wan’s embrace, staring into the dark until he finally drifted off again.

#

The next night wasn’t much better, nor the night after that.

Some nights were worse than others, Cody knew that. It wasn’t that he generally had trouble sleeping—or Obi-Wan, either, for that matter—but there were times that were harder on both of them, bringing back memories unbidden and causing them restless nights.

And the anniversary of Utapau as well as the week after was difficult for both of them.

“I think,” Obi-Wan said a few evenings later, looking almost as exhausted as he had toward the end of the war, “maybe we should both consider a sleeping aid tonight.” He set a small vial of pills on the table. They didn’t use the sleeping pills often but in this case Cody had to agree. He just wanted to sleep again without waking up in cold sweat and the faint flavor of bile in his mouth.

“Good idea.”

They each took a pill and slid under the heavy blankets. The pills worked fast; Obi-Wan pressed close behind him, his nose buried in Cody’s hair, the arm thrown over Cody’s waist, a comfortable, grounding weight, were the last things he was aware of before sleep overcame him, blessedly dreamless and undisturbed.

[sasaofastora]

Tag Game for Historical Simblrs!

Thank you @antiquatedplumbobs for the tag!

1. What has been your favorite time period to play in or which one are you most excited for?

So far the 1900s and the 1930s have been my favourites. For the 1900s I just loved Evie so much, and the whole period just felt really peaceful. Then for the 30s, Harry and Maisie were just too cute and it was so nice to have a story the was a little more wholesome after the chaos I put the poor Finch’s through in the 20s. I’m very excited for the 40s! Spoiler alert, I’m already there in gameplay, and I’m so happy. I mainly studied ww2 history at university so it’s fun to be in a period I’m very familiar with. Also just aesthetically I’m excited for the 80s and 90s because that’s my jam. 

2. Do you have a favorite piece of historical cc? (CAS or BB)

I think the last time I did these questions I said the Edwardian dress from @gilded-ghosts’s Stately Set and honestly I think that’s still true. I just love it a lot. However I also want to shout out the Langtree Updo by @twentiethcenturysims because it is just perfect for those Gibson Girl looks. 

3. Who is your favorite sim currently?

It’s my boy John Finch. I’m really worried for him since obviously soon he’ll have to go to war, but I just love that dorky little mechanic. I do also really love Ruth though, who we will be seeing more of for sure. She’s just too cute to deal with. 

4. What is your favorite world?

San Myshuno forever. Definitely going to need to find a reason for the Finch’s to move there one day- maybe in the 70s? Feels like it could fit that vibe really well. 

5. Are you more gameplay or story focused?

Bit of both! I have a general idea of what sort of things I want to deal with in each decade as it comes, so I’ll sort of steer the gameplay into those directions, but then often the gameplay will in turn steer the story. This is sort of why I prefer to do smaller story posts- it just matches more with the way I play. 

6. Do you like to play with pets in your historical saves?

Yes! The Finch family has had several dogs by now, I’m certain they’ll get a cat at some point. Pets to me always just make the house feel cozier 

7. What’s your biggest immersion breaking pet peeve with the game?

Well I was going to say when sims from other worlds appear in places it wouldn’t make sense for them to be in, but luckily just today @aheathen-conceivably brought this mod to my attention which I installed almost immediately. 

8. What’s your favorite in-game historical item? (CAS or BB)

Again I think I’m repeating myself from last time, but the radiator from the Vampires GP. It’s a little thing but I love it and just makes historical builds look better. 

9. What would you like to see as a new pack or asset to the game?

Bands please!!! The music career annoys me to no end- it’s so limited in it’s scope! Actually honestly just more careers in general I would really like. 

10. What pack do you think is invaluable as a historical simmer?

I’m jumping on the bandwagon and saying Cottage Living because I mean, just look at it. But also Get Together for Windenburg and Vampires for some very good items. 

11. Do you have a favorite mod to enhance historical gameplay?

I do now, and it’s that Home Regions mod! I also have one called “no more phone stuff” that I’ve had installed forever not sure where from, and it’s very handy. It doesn’t stop sims pulling out their phones all together, but at least no one is playing Blicblock in the middle of the Great Depression. 

12. What’s your ideal family size for playing?

Any where from 2-4. More than that and I start to get overwhelmed.

13. Do you use poses?

Yuuuuuuup, tons of them. Kind of want to learn how to make my own but haven’t had the time. 

14. Do you use any overrides in your game?

No I had one glitch really badly once and now I’m kind of scared of them lol.

15. Do you, or did you, play off-the-grid during your game?

I tried briefly at the start of the 1890s and it was just really frustrating. They really should be able to do more things even if they don’t have power. 

16. What lifespan do you play on?

Normal!  Finally settled on a setting. 

17. What inspired you to start playing a historically?

As I said I was a history student and I have always been a huge sims fan, so when I found out about the Decades Challenge I felt like I had to try it. I was hooked pretty much instantly.

Thanks again for tagging me, this was fun! I’m going to tag @alainas-sims, @applesaucesims, @jenplayssims, @sims-half-crazy, @sims-through-the-decades, and @simadelics. 

[viridiansilverwing]

Silverwing had sort of figured out that there was going to be a fight because the Aerialbots had just started having one of the stupidest arguments she had ever heard in her life. And when people argued about stuff and were not using any form of logic whatsoever, it was impossible for anything to get resolved, and that was when people--especially older people, people who'd actually fought in the war--started hitting each other.

"Come on, Skydive, let's go up to my lab, you wanted to see it?" As they walked through the halls, she sighed. "I'm so not here for them yelling at each other about whether or not they should stay in a place where there's nothing to do because somebody else just left them there and told them to stay." She thought about referencing the Steven Universe movie she'd downloaded but of course they wouldn't know about it--even though they were from Earth. Skydive sighed. "There's so much we don't know. And.... Please don't be mad at 'Bolt. He's just scared. Air Raid likes poking at him when he's already upset. And Raid started the fight." He could tell that Silverwing was annoyed, and he knew they all liked her.

"Yeah, he does that, doesn't he? But he's actually right this time. You should come here! This place is growing and you can do anything here. Rubber chickens are silly and fun but there's way more exciting stuff happening out here."

She glanced over her shoulder; she'd expected Viridian to follow. Why had she stayed behind?

Whatever. She was not going to be in the middle of a bunch of Autobots fighting. Viridian had been an Autobot, briefly and illegally, so maybe she got it, and that was okay--she could explain it to her later.

[apexart-journal]

Mvelo Mahlangu in NYC, Day 22

This morning I was to meet with Donald for our rescheduled tour that was supposed to happen on Monday. Instead of meeting at the Lincoln centre, we met in Brooklyn and made our way to the Forte Greene area. Before we began our tour, we sat down for some breakfast and spoke about our respective countries in context to the black experience, oppression, politics, Identity and gentrification. The conversation around identity was such an interesting one that had my mind in a bit of a twist. How do we view identity and what constitutes someone calling themselves ‘American’ or ’South African’? Is it based on the fact of being born in that country? Or perhaps your experiences? Or your historical ties? Its especially interesting for me because my mom was born and bred in Japan, has been living in South Africa for nearly 30 years, and fully considerers herself to be South African. I think identity is something that is in constant motion even though roots are being set up along the way. 

We then made our way over to Forte Greene park where I briefly got to see some historical artefacts and structures. Donald told me about the contributions that Black soldiers made to the war effort during the American revolution, yet the tragic reality that they faced of having never been recognised for their victories let alone their place in society. We walked around the neighbourhood and I learnt that Fort Greene was initially a mostly lower income POC community which over the years has gone under gentrification. I always find it interesting how gentrification of an area allows it to become more accessible, solves issues like safety and adequate service delivery. Yet it starts pushing out the communities who lived there long before, due to things like property value skyrocketing. We then walked by Spike Lee’s studio, which was wild to see, its walls covered in art and references to some of his works. As we made our way down the road, we stumbled on an apartment entrance which had 2 signs - 1 being “Black Lives Matter” and the other “Defund the NNYPD”. Its funny that we saw the signs at that moment because we had just spoken about Mayor Eric Adams and how he’s essentially cut financial budgets from the education sector, and redistributing it to the NYPD. Very interesting…

Donald really took me on a whole tour because we then hopped onto a ferry that would take us from Brooklyn to the financial district at the southern point of Manhattan. I got to see the skyline again, as well as the underside fo the bridges. Hopping off, we made our way over to a corner on Wall Street where slave trades would happen. It was a little bit sad, standing on the corner, only seeing a small signage that indicated this piece of history. I myself initially missed it completely. Standing in the middle of  Wall Street and on the Slave trade corner made me think of a song by one of my favourite artists, Damien Marley, called ’Slave Mill’ which essentially speaks on the notion of modern slavery and “working’ for your dollar bill”.  I saw the infamous TRUMP tower as we made our way towards the African Burial Ground National Monument which was a bit of a shock knowing that it was the largest known excavated burial ground in America. 

I truly enjoyed speaking and navigating spaces with Donald because of how passionate he is about NYC and the new experience of New York that I got. We bid each other farewell and I made my way over towards my last therapy session with Nancy. I was running quite early, so decided to look for a cafe around the building. One thing about me, I’m not the most spatially aware person, which means a lot of the time, I walk while looking at the ground. As a I crossed the road and started walking on the pavement, I noticed that some had just walked across me and I caught sight of their hand. The shocking and maybe slightly embarrassing thing was that I RECOGNISED that hand. Specifically the tattoos on the hand. In one of my journals I mentioned that one of my favourite series is the Walking Dead and that I was trying to finish watching it. I managed to finish watching it 2 days ago. So seeing that hand was the best and most random surprise I could’ve experienced. It belonged to Norman Reedus, A.K.A Daryl Dixon!!! The first thing I said to him was “OH MY GOSH!!!” and proceeded to apologise for my mini freak-out, followed by telling him that I had just finished watching the series. We spoke for a moment with him asking where I was from and why I was here, which led to me mentioning apexart. AHHHHHH! So wild! He was with one of the directors of the series who I greeted and then said my "thanks you" to both of them while walking away. I genuinely could believe my luck, hahaha! What a rush! I quickly found a cafe, connected to the wifi and called my partner to tell him. 

After fan-girling, I made my way over to Nancy’s office and told her who I bumped into. Turns out, her daughter has working relations with The Walking Dead series. What are the odds?! I was a little sad it was my last time seeing Nancy but we had a lovely conversation. Even though it is her job, I’ve really appreciated Nancy listening to what I’ve had to say and how understanding she’s been. As a general thought, I think its nice if everyone were able to have the access to therapy. All bad connotations aside, it's really nice having someone who is so far removed from your life, to share certain thoughts and feeling with, and could possibly help give you perspective. In relation to the fellowship, again, its been so wonderful having someone to talk to cause of how at times you could feel alone. At the end of our session, Nancy had gifted me the book “women who run with the wolves”. Definitely shed a couple of tears because over a year ago, someone had strongly recommended the book to me and I never really got the chance to purchase it. And here it was, being gifted to me. That combined with my overall gratitude. What a great day this was. Another noteworthy thing is that Nancy’s office was finally done with construction. So I was able to witness the full cycle of her office repair. After our session ended, I made my way downstairs and had a lovely conversation with the door man Joe. We spoke for a little while about Joes background as an artist/ graphic designer who then embarked on multiple changes in his career and how happy he is doing the job he currently does. He prides himself in being the first point of contact with people entering the building. We were so deep in conversation that I didn’t realise I was running a bit late for my meeting with Nia. 

Nia and I caught up on what I had done through the last week, but of course the first thing I started off with was telling her that I met Norman Reedus which shocked her, hahaha! While catching up on the events of the last week, Steven and Nancy came passed. Ahhh, still couldn’t believe that it was going to be the last time seeing them… until some point in the future hopefully. I said my goodbyes to everyone knowing I’d at least see Nia, Ash and Ryann one more time. 

Once I got back to the apartment, I started prepping supper and got distracted only to realise that I had missed my Reiki zoom! I felt so horrible for having missed it as I was also looking forward to it. 

[vegadaone]

Chapter Two

Chapter Three: The hole.

     The sun started to rise, a beautiful shade of orange shimmering off buildings, and old vehicles used for digging. Left in charge of the mining facility defenses, Sargeant Aunis Jakob of the twenty-first light infantry regiment stood stoic, and ready, supported by his rifle. Men move back and forth, analyzing and making sure of the integrity of their fortifications.

     'Reposition two of our heavy bolter emplacements, from the southern most building, to this one here.' Jakob points to one of the dilapidated buildings, speaking to a fellow serviceman, Tallo Kennev of his same regiment. In some way, they were brothers of a family destroyed by war. The only survivors of their regiment.

     'It'll be done, Aunis.' Tallo nods, beginning to shout orders to other guardsmen as he marches away.

     Jakob was positioned in the middle of the facility, watching, preparing. The thoughts of his brothers, and sisters of war, plagued his mind, each guardsmen that passed him like a reminder. He always thought of them, each battle he faced, adding more faces. They screamed for his attention, to be remembered in their last moments, the moments he witnessed, the moments, the alien, gunned them down as they were helplessly outmatched. If only he had that ability to save them, the strength, to turn the tide. He hasn't the time for such thoughts, not right now. All that matters, right now, is securing and protecting the tech priests, so he can face the next battlefield. The next battalion of faces.

     'Sir?' a guardsman puts a hand on the Sargeant's shoulder.

     'Oh... Forgive me. Yes, private?' Jakob shakes his head, blinking sporadically, as he acknowledges the guardsman.

     'We have news from Commissar Val, possible seige within the hour. He tells us you're in command if they-'

     'Do not return.'

     'Yes, Sargeant.'

     'Tell the troops of this, all of them.' Jakob orders, adjusting his eyes slightly.

     'Yessir. There is one more thing.' The guardsman pauses, and continues, 'Men have been saying there are, 'strange noises', originating from the hole.'

     'The void formed from the mining?' The Sargeant looks on, puzzled.

     'Yessir.'

     Jakob nods, lifting and slinging his triplex pattern las-rifle around his shoulder. 'Alright, gather those men, we'll check it out.'

     I was finishing up with settling the bolter emplacements, when I heard talk of the Sargeant, and a batch of other guardsmen, investigating the crater of our camp. I approach the chattering group, maybe twenty, or thirty soldiers, listening in. Guardsmen tried to explain the noises they heard, the voices, the clattering of blades, the war-cry of some unknown origin. Many different accounts. Many different sounds.

     We had swept the entrance of the hole, briefly, but never went into it's depths. The Commissar, said we'd only be there for a week at most.

     'Gunner Kennev.' Aunis nods, meeting eyes with me, 'Did you hear of anything from the hole?'

     'No, sir.' I reply, the eyes of the men around, fixate on me, for a moment, and then move back to Sargeant Aunis.

     'Alright, I've heard enough.' he clears his throat, 'Let's go see if there is something down there.' he turns, and walks towards the expanse within the planet.

     We follow, instinctively equipping the weaponry around us to our hands, selecting fire-modes, revving chainblades, taking stock of our munitions. As we meet the chasm, we all look down, and we listen. Nothing. Nothing at all. The stench, we were all too familiar with, however, was present. Death. Men look at each other, some silently, some with suspicious chatter, but that faded when Aunis began the descent. He pushes his chest to the wall, and lowers himself down the spiral path of stone and jagged sharp rock formations that accompanied it. Empty cavities hollowed out the walls, where, I think, ore once was. One by one, single filed, we step down into the hole's depths, watching our step and keeping our balances by holding onto the edges of empty pits. Soon, I see Aunis find solid ground, and finally step off the path. I'm the fifth soldier to make it down. The reek was stronger, unbearable to most, but nothing we had not experienced. The four guardsmen before me, flick on their weapon mounted lights and sweep the area. I begin to do the same. I look upward, and think to myself how far down we actually are. I scan the cavern, top to bottom, rough, ragged, spikes being common place throughout it. It looked, hell, even felt unnatural. We held our position until the rest of the men came to it's flooring.

     'Contact!' Sargent Aunis shouts, and fires into a tunnel formed within the hole. I do not see form. The boom from his las-rifle echoed throughout the cavern, and it's light engulfed the underground chamber like a blazing spark from igniting a fire. Yet, there was nothing to stoke the flame, to keep it lit.

     'Sir! No movement!' I shout, paranoid, in honesty. My eyes flickered, left, right, up, down. Nothing. I looked to Aunis, who was fixated on the tunnel. Guardsmen did a wide sweep, but saw nothing as well.

     'There. anyone hear that?' The Sargent asks, pointing his rifle towards the tunnel, to the left of us. 'The voice, I hear it now.' he says.

     Some men say they hear it as well, a quarter of those who came down. Others, like me, didn't hear anything. Aunis moves to the tunnel, las-rifle fixed on any possible area someone could ambush from. Not many places. I ran towards him and guard his flank, the bulk follow.

     'Corpses.' The Sargent states, as his light glossed over two of them. They were skeletal, decomposing for however long they had been there.

     The stink only grew more prominent. We advance. More of them, lined across the walls and floor of the tunnel, some stacked ontop of one another. Brown dry markings, splattered the walls and floor, impact holes cracked the stone around us, and maggots infested the ground. The deceased that wore tattered rags and cloaks, held rusted melee weapons. The armoured fallen had auto-guns that also degraded due to time.

     'They fought.' I say aloud, though that was obvious. I hear retching by some of the guardsmen behind me, but we kept with our forward march. Aunis was silent. Uncomfortably so.

     'Sargeant?'

     He doesn't answer me. I call for him again but the same result occurs. I grab onto his shoulder, and he lashes out, 'I'm trying to listen!' He looks to me, his pupils are dilating, and there's a crazed look into his eyes.

     I tug at his chest armor, 'By the throne, what's happening to you, Sargeant?!'

     I see him come back to his senses, his eyes returning to normal. He twitches, as if he's trying to contain himself, and apologizes. I'm unsure how to feel.

     I tug him again, 'If you lead us, then lead us.'

     He nods, and I let him go. He continues his advancement. I look back, the guardsmen behind, unsure of how to react. We continue moving.

     We walk, for another five minutes, more corpses being present as we get further to wherever this tunnel leads. Some guardsmen take time to urinate, defiling the corpses with more stink, some protest that this isn't necessary, but Aunis keeps cohesion in check. I agree with the protesters, but, at this point, I march with him regardless.

     At the end of the tunnel, we reach a room, not another cavern, a room. Everyone stood in awe, confusion, and disgust, everyone besides Aunis. In the middle of this space, stood a tomb, the dead littered around it. I nearly vomit, but I hold myself. The foul smell was getting to me. I look to my Sargeant, and he walks to the tomb.

     'It's in here.' he says with a monotone voice, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, and opening the tomb without hesitation.

     'Sargeant Aunis!' I shout, but he ignores.

     He grunts, putting all his strength into opening the stone coffin, and that he does. We all watch as the lid hits the ground, smashing the remains of those under it. Dust flies off the floor, as Aunis peers into the tomb, reaching into it. I walk towards him, as he pulls out an axe. It's carved with engravings I've never seen before.