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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

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Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot). However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you’re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice.

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head.

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.”

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you. You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair.

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him.

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say.

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfic

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veronicawilliamsblog · 3 years

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7 lessons learnt from mcr

1. Near-Death Experiences have a way of focussing the mind

In his teens, MCR vocalist Gerard Way worked in a comic book in Bloomfield, New Jersey. Working late one night, the teenager was confronted by two armed robbers, who put a gun to the back off his head and demanded he pull out some special limited edition comic books they believed to be valuable. When the thieves opted not to put a bullet in the teenager’s head, Way made himself a promise that he’d do everything in his power to escape the traditional Jersey routine of “drinking, fucking and working a shit job.” Music and art became his escape route.

2. Sometimes people can really benefit from taking a punch in the face

In March 2000, MCR embarked upon their first ‘professional’ recording session, at Nada Studios in New Jersey. As fate would have it, the session coincided with Gerard Way needing emergency dental work for a tooth abscess, resulting in the singer moping around the studio in considerable pain. With the clock ticking on the session, producer Alex Saavedra decided to confront the problem head-on, by smacking Way in the mouth, and pushing him towards the recording booth. Shocked and pissed-off, the singer poured all his anger into his vocals on Vampires Will Never Hurt You. And MCR’s career was up and running.

3. Respect your elders

When MCR came to record their debut album they enlisted the services of Geoff Rickly, frontman of local post-hardcore heroes Thursday, to produce the sessions. Despite the quintet’s rawness, Rickly saw huge potential in their music. “You’re going to be the biggest band in the world,” he told the disbelieving musicians. Alex Saavedra agreed. “I remember teasing [Geoff] going ‘My Chem are going to be headlining over you pretty soon. You just dug your own grave! You fucked up!‘” Turns out the wise old heads were right.

4. To achieve success, one must risk everything

MCR’s second album Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge was the record that broke the band worldwide. But things might have been entirely different had the band not completely reworked the album demos with producer Howard Benson, whose initial reaction to what he heard was “Man, there’s nothing here at all.” Benson took Gerard Way aside and laid down a simple challenge: “Are you willing to possibly piss off your current fans in order to make a big, huge rock album?” Way picked up the gauntlet and went off to create an album that would change the face of rock.

5. It’s good to talk

In the summer of 2004, as the buzz around his band began to develop from a whisper to a scream, Gerard Way should have been thrilled that all his teenage dreams were coming to fruition. Instead, the singer was suicidal, a borderline alcoholic and sometime dug abuser. When MCR were booked to play festival shows in Japan in August 2004, the singer didn’t bother packing a suitcase, so convinced was he that he wouldn’t be returning home alive. After spending ten minutes vomiting onstage at a show in Tokyo, he realised he badly needed help. He began seeing a therapist, who convinced him that he didn’t need to be the ‘fucked-up, tortured singer guy’ 24 hours a day. Slowly, Way began to put his life back together.

6. Pick your battles wisely

In August 2006, My Chemical Romance were booked to play the Reading festival, beneath headliners Pearl Jam and Placebo, but above Slayer. Fans of the LA thrash legends did not take kindly to this perceived slight, and began to throw plastic bottles at the New Jersey band. Unwisely, Way responded to this abuse by demanding more: it was, he later conceded, “a very large mistake.” A hail of golf balls, mud, fruit and piss-filled bottles duly rained down upon the quintet.

“At its peak,” Way laughed “there were even people in My Chem shirts throwing stuff at us.”

7. True freedom comes when everything has been lost

On May 19, 2012, back in the state where they grew up, My Chemical Romance closed out what would be their last ever show with the final lyric from Helena, “So long and good night.” Onstage, a voice inside told Gerard Way that his band’s great adventure was at an end. On March 22, 2013, My Chemical Romance formally announced that they had broken up. 15 months on, both Gerard Way and guitarist Frank Iero have solo albums ready for release, while founding member Ray Toro too is preparing new music, unbound by the huge expectations that made the band’s closing days a struggle. “Even The Beatles broke up,” Frank Iero notes sagely at the end of The True Lives… “I don’t think it was ever on the cards for us to do it forever.”

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theofficersacademy · 3 years

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The warmth of the Goddess’ blessing has blanketed the land in a rich array of color, and the people whisper their prayers for the year’s crop to grow bountiful under her care. As they wait, hearts and minds turn to thoughts of love and friendship, women weaving fresh petals into lush garlands as gifts for close friends, or to court the attention of a hopeful lover.

With the warmer weather comes more activity along the continent’s coastline, however. The city of Enbarr, the capital of the Adrestian Empire, has long enjoyed its position as the largest and wealthiest port of southern Fódlan. Its reputation for safe and secure trade has been called into question though after a recent string of stolen shipments occurred in Adrestian waters. The Church has heard the desperate pleas of the people, and now sends you to investigate the matter and bring the perpetrators to justice.

Black Eagles Mission: Investigate the thefts!

Welcome to TOA’s first house-centric mission season since April! This season’s mission will be focused on the Black Eagle house, but there are also non-mission tasks available as well. (Please see the FAQ for details on how this works, even if you’ve read the FAQ before.)

Aside from the BE mission, there are other fun things taking place! This season will run from Garland Moon to Blue Sea Moon in TOA canon, but since it’s November-December in real life, some of our non-mission tasks are going to be in honor of the holidays (Fódlan celebrates Thanksgiving in June and Christmas in July)! Take a look!

BE Mission Task Board

Enbarr, the Imperial Capital, the crowning jewel of Fódlan, the place where Saint Seiros first alighted on this continent, the genesis of all civilization… A city that predates the Empire itself is bound to be filled with rich history and places to see. Take advantage of his opportunity and see what you can find!

The merchants, based on their personal experience, claim that the attackers were simply pirates, with no specific targets except for anyone with potential loot. Their stories share one consistent fact: that the pirates flew a yellow banner, bearing the emblem of a brown horse leaping over a lemon. They would investigate, if only they had the funds and supplies. Hey–so long as you’re bothering them all the time, why not help them out? Time is money, and you’re wasting theirs!

The nobility, having done their own investigations, claim that they have spotted ships flying a flag with a very specific emblem on it, one that originates from the Dagdan continent. They’ve always considered this truce with Dagda to be a fragile one at best, and the youngest of the group are itching for a chance to go to war. They’re also not too happy about potentially sharing the glory–you’ll have to work whatever magic you have if you want them to give up anything valuable.

You’ve learned about defensive structures from studying the battlements of Garreg Mach, but Enbarr offers a fresh perspective on city defense in an area that you’ve had little opportunity to study: defending against attacks from the sea. Enbarr’s city-watch has gladly allowed students and faculty of the Officers Academy to marvel at their state-of-the-art onagers, crucial for fending off enemy ships. It’s a unique opportunity, so you better not squander it! [Bows +1]

One way or the other, you find yourself on a ship to patrol Enbarr’s shores. It’s a tense journey, to be sure, and you watch as the sailors frequently look out to the ocean for the marauders. An alarm bell rings above you, and the crew erupts in a panic. “They’re here! They’re coming!” None of your professors have ever taught you how to fight on a boat, but sometimes experience is the best teacher. Hope you’re a quick study! [Any Weapon +1]

NEW! At last there’s a breakthrough in the investigation. A patrol brings news of an isle off the northern coast that seems to have some sort of habitation, evinced by the boats seen coming to and from the place. You’re sent to check it out from a safe distance and report your findings to the Knights of Seiros. The ocean, however, has other plans, and a sudden storm turns the waters rough as you enter the shallows. Whether you’ve planned for it or not, you’ve found yourself washed ashore this island... There’s smoke rising from the trees in the distance. Good news? Probably not. [Grants Gauntlet +1]

NEW! There’s a smaller isle off the coast of the larger one, and at a glance it seems to be nothing more than a collection of rocks. Someone in your party insists on investigating it, and sure enough... it’s an island made entirely of jagged rock. But before you shove off again to spend your time more wisely, you stumble across what appears to be a trapdoor buried beneath the stone. Inside? A treasure cache of gold, odd trinkets, and - strangely - a ridged, bone-white weapon that bears a resemblance to one you’ve seen before...

Non-Mission Task Board

The Garland Moon has come once again and brings, well, the garlands! The Pages of the Blessed Incunabula, a book club, is hosting their annual costume contest! Dress as your interpretation of characters from songs and stories and enter to see if you win! There is a category for each house, encouraging students to use their own country’s folktales. Winners get the special Lion’s Garland, a gigantic wreath of flowers that is traditionally refused by the victor and granted instead to a close friend or (potential) lover. Make your costume and fantasize about who you’ll give the Garland to (or grumble about why you can’t keep it for yourself).

Have you been searching for a hobby that blends your singing talent and love for melodrama? Well, search no more! Thespian blood runs through your veins, and the Garreg Mach Theatre Club is in need of fresh meat–ah, members–to fill their ranks for the Choir Festival! Whether you’re singing your heart out, building the sets, or making constant references to your favorite opera, help put on a musical rendition of The Lament of Saint Macuil! [Faith or Authority +1]

The Inter-House Reception is a traditional event on the 29th of the Garland Moon intended to bring down walls between students of different backgrounds at the academy. This year, it’s a grand feast in a potluck style! Bring your own dishes to the dining hall and share with all your friends. Try not to poison them though.

Wild beasts have been spotted in great flocks outside the walls of Garreg Machs. The giant birds don’t seem to be gathering to attack the monastery, but the Church can’t be too careful. Go figure out what’s been calling the creatures to the fields in such large numbers, but try not to be maimed for inciting their territorial defense. Befriend them, hunt them, or maybe even try to tame them -- good luck! [grants Flying or Riding +1]

NEW! The Rite of Rebirth is one of the most important days of the year, and in some ways also one of the most dangerous. With the Holy Tomb open to visitors for a single day, security needs to be tight to handle the massive crowds coming from all over the continent. Students with availability have been asked to help patrol. Hopefully no one causes a commotion. [Grants Lance +1]

NEW! There’s a special tea brewed for the Rite of Rebirth. The leaves must be kept fresh, so there’s no stock of them in the monastery. Archbishop Rhea calls a handful of students with free time to venture into the mountains to gather the incandescent flowers that grow at its peak. The mountain is under protection of the monastery and frequently patrolled by the Knights so the trek should not be dangerous. But as you near the top, you find that snow has blanketed the peak. Even stranger than that are the houses built out of ice, though no one seems to live here. Is this the work of magic or... something else? Whatever the case, you decide to take some time to enjoy this mid-summer winter wonderland.

NEW! As the sky is believed to be the home of the Goddess, the stars are thought to be the souls who have departed this world to join her. With the shorter nights, the Blue Sea Moon is the month when the barrier between the world of mortals and the world of the divine is thought to be the thinnest. Late at night, when the sun has finally disappeared completely, the people of Fódlan take some time to commune with their departed loved ones.

Frequently Asked Questions

How does the divided task board work?

This season’s mission is assigned to the Black Eagles. Therefore, tasks from the ‘BE Mission Task Board’ must be undertaken by someone that is affiliated with the Black Eagles.

Tasks from the ‘Non-Mission Task Board’ have no house restriction and can be undertaken by anyone.

These aren’t the only threads I can do, right?

Of course not! These are just prompts to help give some ideas of possibilities. You’re always free and encouraged to make up your own threads. You’re also more than welcome to worldbuild on your own, using these prompts as a base.

How do I claim the skill points?

In order to qualify for the skill point, the thread must clearly allude to the listed task and preferably feature the task being completed; however, the point can still be claimed even if your muses narratively fail the task (failure is sometimes just as fun to write as success, after all). You do not need to message the masterlist to claim your skill point.

Can I only do one task?

Nope, you can do as many as you’d like with as many different partners as you’d like! You can do the same task with more than one person! However, you can only claim the skill point for each task once.

What if my partner leaves or drops a skill point thread?

If the dropped thread has at least 2 notes (not counting likes, only reblogs with replies in them) and you have hit at least 400 words on your end, you may still claim the skill point.

Remember to use (and track!) the #toa open tag for any open threads, and you can also post a link to your open thread on the appropriate Discord channel! If you have any other questions or concerns, shoot us a message through the masterlist or on Discord!

#toa mission #mission: seaboard

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sagehaleyofficial · 4 years

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HERE’S WHAT YOU MISSED THIS WEEK (2.5-2.11.20):

NEW MUSIC:

· 5 Seconds of Summer dropped a new single and music video, titled “No Shame,” as well as announced the release date of their fourth studio album, C A L M. They also took to their Twitter account to remind fans to pre-order the album.

· Silverstein released their third single off of their upcoming LP A Beautiful Place to Drown, titled “Bad Habits.” The track features Aaron Marshall from the band Intervals, and follows the releases of “Infinite” and “Burn It Down.”

· Boston Manor announced the details of their upcoming studio album, GLUE, which will drop in early May via Pure Noise Records. They later dropped the music video for a new song, “Everything is Ordinary.”

· Hayley Williams of Paramore revealed the album artwork for her upcoming solo debut, Petals for Armor. Furthermore, she provided a pre-order date, as well as hinted at a new song and video dropping soon.

· The 1975 dropped a new video for their song “Me & You Together Song,” which is themed as a throwback to the 90s. The song will be featured on the band’s upcoming fourth studio album, Notes on a Conditional Form.

· The Used declared the details for what will be their eighth studio album, titled Heartwork, which will release in late April. They later released the music video for one of the album’s singles, “Paradise Lost, a Poem by John Milton.”

· Pop singer Hilary Duff announced that she is covering the Third Eye Blind song “Never Let You Go,” alongside RAC and her new husband Matthew Koma. She recently took to Instagram to release a teaser clip of the cover.

· Following the release of their new album Father of All… last Friday, Green Day dropped a new music video for the song “Meet Me on the Roof,” featuring Stranger Things actor Gaten Matarazzo. The video features Matarazzo attempting to impress his crush via various stunts.

· Pop starlet Halsey released her contribution to the Birds of Prey soundtrack, “Experiment on Me,” which was produced by members of Bring Me the Horizon. The collaboration was teased as early as last July.

· Bowling for Soup released a new song, named for and centered around WWE star Alexa Bliss. Bliss and BFS frontman Jaret Reddick are good friends, and she previously posted a behind-the-scenes shot of the music video to her Instagram.

· New Found Glory disclosed the details of their 10th studio album, Forever + Ever x Infinity, which will drop in late May, along with released a new single titled “Greatest of All Time.” The album will mark the band’s first album in four years.

· Senses Fail revealed that they are once again working with Saosin’s Beau Burchell on production for the release of their next studio album. The band has been hinting at new music for almost a year.

TOUR ANNOUNCEMENTS:

· Slipknot announced the lineup for their second Knotfest Roadshow, featuring A Day to Remember, Underoath and Code Orange and beginning in May. The band is currently on a European tour and will soon be embarking to Asia.

· Coheed and Cambria revealed the dates for their Neverender NWFT Tour, during which they will perform their fourth studio album from start to finish. They will also perform several hit songs before embarking on their upcoming cruise.

· Dance Gavin Dance issued out the dates for a number of European headlining shows, which will follow their performance at Slam Dunk Festival. The band is scheduled to play in the Netherlands, France and Germany.

· My Chemical Romance guitarist Frank Iero expressed his gratitude on Twitter after four billboards promoting their upcoming tour popped up all around their home state of New Jersey. The NJ shows, as well as the rest of their U.S. dates, sold out within six hours.

OTHER NEWS:

· After marrying his longtime girlfriend Shacara Nemetz, The Maine drummer Pat Kirch announced he would be taking a step back from the band during its upcoming European tour. His friend and drummer of Katastro, Andrew Stravers, will be filling in for the run.

· Former guitarist of Volumes, Diego Farias, passed away at 27 years old after leaving the band less than a week prior. His brother Gus, who also left the band in late January, reflected on his passing on his social media accounts.

· Post Malone revealed his latest face tattoos on his social media accounts, which consists of a gauntlet and flail on one cheek and a bloody buzzsaw on the other. The tattoos were done by his personal artist Kyle Hediger, as well as Ruben at Junction City Tattoo.

· Jeffree Star gave fans a first look at his latest eyeshadow palette, “Blood Lust,” ahead of its full reveal, which premieres today. The palette is the third installment of his Blood collection, following the releases of “Blood Sugar” and “Blue Blood.”

___

Check in next Tuesday for more “Posi Talk with Sage Haley,” only at @sagehaleyofficial!

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fistsoflightning · 5 years

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unending character meme // zaya qestir

RULES: repost, don’t reblog! tag, and good luck!

TAGGED BY: tagged in spirit by @to-the-voiceless

TAGGING: any and all who want to do it but haven’t actually been tagged by anyone!

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Zaya Qestir

NICKNAME: none, really.

AGE: 29 by the end of Stormblood. 30-ish by the end of SHB? Haven’t figured out the time distortion thing.

BIRTHDAY: 17th of the 4th Umbral Moon (8/17)

ETHNIC GROUP: Au’ra; Xaelan

NATIONALITY: Nomad? From the Azim Steppe’s Reunion, if that helps.

LANGUAGE / S: Eorzean Sign Language, Xaelan (crude/unpracticed); understands most languages through use of the Echo

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: dating Thancred Waters??? unsure of status during post-SHB but getting there.

HOME TOWN /AREA: Reunion, Azim Steppe

CURRENT HOME: A shared room in the Rising Stones or a shared house in the Mist; depends on where they are at the time of night.

PROFESSION: jeweler, weaver, gladiator of the coliseum, bard teacher (appointed reluctantly by Sanson after many a problem with Guydelot’s schedule), adventurer and warrior of light

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Straight and somewhat below shoulder length. Most of their hair is black, but slowly changes to blue and white at the tips.

EYES: Dark blue; navy color? Light blue limbal rings that glow in the dark, too.

FACE: Sharp jawline accented by their scales, often covered with some royal blue facepaint similar to Arenvald’s own.

LIPS: Often chapped, but otherwise normal.

COMPLEXION: Ashen brown? Hard to describe bc of weird lighting everywhere they go.

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: There’s a lot, and I might make a scar map at some point??? Major ones happen to be their legs and their left arm; the legs from Ifrit and the arm from Elidibus in Zenos’s body in 4.5

TATTOOS: None, no matter how much people think the facepaint is one.

HEIGHT: Taller than the average Au’ra, about 5’4

WEIGHT: about 135 pounds

BUILD: Muscular, especially due to their main fighting style requiring muscle literally everywhere. Fistfighting for money is no small feat.

FEATURES: Their scales are an odd color (think black and blue borealis dice, but as scales), and their horns definitely look a bit… ragged. Watching them fight will give the odd realization that lightning sparks in cobalt blue come off of them sometimes.

ALLERGIES: Some undetermined fish allergy. Higiri fed them some assorted sushi once and never did again, so the Scions (and themselves) have no clue what fish they need to avoid.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Tied into a loose ponytail at the back. Sanson often comments how they share a hairstyle, but it’s simply from need of clear vision when moving around for monk skills and attacks.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Stoic as all hell. Not used to making full-on facial expressions outside of conversation, so normally looks bored.

USUAL CLOTHING: Tabards, cyclas, or generally something with flowy fabric that doesn’t restrain movement all that much. Metal boots and gauntlets/knuckles are also common, but not always.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S: being the last one standing, change, losing their younger siblings/younger friends, spiders, breaking a promise with their mother.

ASPIRATION / S: To have a proper adventure, and to inspire others to live their fullest lives.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Devoted, comforting, slightly protective, carefree

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Easily angered, impulsive, emotional, stubborn

MBTI: ISFP-T (Adventurer)

ZODIAC: Leo, apparently? Sort of fits, if you look at it closely.

TEMPERAMENT: Some crazy blend between phlegmatic and choleric? Generally carefree and easygoing with friends and willing to spend a lot of patience on them, but unrelenting and downright frightening in serious situations, especially when involving Garlemald.

SOUL TYPE / S: Server/Caregiver

ANIMALS: Birds and dogs.

VICE HABIT / S: Drinking, although the Echo does prevent it from having any effect whatsoever, so its more of a taste thing? Tends to sleep a lot when stressed, and often spends their leftover money on gemstones for their shared collection.

FAITH: Polytheistic; the Twelve and Nhaama are gods they generally believe in.

GHOSTS?: Yes, mainly because they’ve seen one.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes.

REINCARNATION?: Probably, with how they’re sure they’ve seen someone who was supposed to be dead before

ALIENS?: before becoming Warrior of Light, it would be no, but with the revelation of Elidibus on the moon and Midgardsormr and OMEGA‌‌ (ALIEN‌ ROBOT????) they aren’t so sure anymore.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Does not care enough even though they are staunch friends with Nanamo. Didn’t care enough to try and challenge Oktai for the seat of Qestiri Khatun, certainly doesn’t care enough to take a political stance in Eorzea.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Barely any; just enough to read letters written in Eorzean and faintly Ishgardian (courtesy of Alphinaud and Haurchefant).

FAMILY.

FATHER: there was one, once, but he’d rather he be forgotten in pursuit of a happier future. Zaya remembers him as Baatar, but they don’t remember if that was actually his name.

MOTHERS: Erhi, Odgerel.

SIBLINGS: Oktai (older brother), Taban (older sister), Sarnai (sister), Delger and Tuya (fraternal twins)

EXTENDED FAMILY: any of the Scions (former or current) or their fellow Warriors of Light, if we’re talking found family. House Fortemps, Aymeric, Estinien, Sanson, Guydelot, Sidurgu, Rielle, and all of the Qestiri tribe are up there too, but you know, that’s kind of a lot of gifts to be sending around during Starlight. (zaya totally sends them all gifts anyways.)

NAME MEANING /S: Zaya means fate in Mongolian, which all of the other Xaelan names seem to be based on. Their previous name, Dzoldzaya, meant light of fate.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Recorded history on the Azim Steppe is easily lost, but if asking around the different tribes, one could learn about a rather prominent Qestiri warrior whose image is painted in some of the caverns nearby where much of important, unforgettable Xaelan history is recorded by the Gharl, swathed in blue cloth. In the days of Amaurot, there was one standout Amaurotine who shared a love for lightning and birds…

FAVORITES.

BOOK: They don’t know enough Eorzean to read a full book, not even a children’s book. The Echo doesn’t help with reading. Urianger has read a book of myths and legends that turned out to be true to them, however, and that has been their favorite for a while. They’ve been considering asking him to read more for them, but that’s been placed on hold after the events of the First and following Mt. Gulg.

DEITY: Nhaama, or Rhalgr, if talking to someone who thinks ‘what’s a Nhaama’ when they mention her.

HOLIDAY: Starlight Celebration. Something about the festive mood always makes them happy.

MONTH: August (4th Umbral Moon)

SEASON: Summer

PLACE: On the Source, Reunion in the Azim Steppe just because interacting with other tribes is rather fun. On the First, Il Mheg all the way!

WEATHER: Clear nights where they can trace the constellations, but it isn’t too cold to need a blanket.

SOUND / S: Excited chatter, harp, singing, small hammers clinking against metal.

SCENT /S: Rain, fresh wood, the air in Gridania, light perfume, Syhrwyda’s food.

TASTE /S: Snurbleberry, honey, most Doman seafood, buuz.

FEEL /S: Soft and smooth fabrics, cold metal, the grip of someone’s hand around theirs, wind blowing through their hair on a warm day.

ANIMAL /S: Yol, chocobo (birds!).

NUMBER: 17, for their nameday and the first year they spent in Eorzea

COLORS: Cobalt blue and indigo, pale gold, soot black.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Extremely good when working with cloth or metal; even more so when tinkering little trinkets. Interestingly enough, very good at playing flute and harp without much practice. Expert at pulling a person’s true emotions out with simply body language.

BAD AT: Sneaking around/stealth. Do not, under any circumstance, give them a job involving secrecy or stealth unless you want it to fail. Speaking/reading is also pretty horrible, due to how they were raised. Also bad at taking change or lies well.

TURN-ONS: Loyalty, bravery despite all odds, kindness and love even when it would be easier to be otherwise, being able to understand other beliefs, and a love of freedom or new experiences

TURN OFFS: Lying to their face knowingly, extreme greed, lack of self-worth, anger for no good reason

HOBBIES: making music with Guydelot and Sanson, attempting to keep a journal, idle tinkering, dancing, gardening

TROPES: Good is Not Soft, Hope Bringer, Magnetic Hero, Omniglot, The Power of Friendship, The Quiet One, Silent Snarker, Dark is Not Evil, Five Stages of Grief, Horrifying Hero, Magic Music, Warrior Poet, Dance Battler, Warrior Monk, Determinator, Pintsized Powerhouse, Pragmatic Hero (don’t let me stay on TV‌tropes pls)

QUOTES: have a snippet of some writing?

Scrawled onto a piece of paper underneath his arm in Thancred’s handwriting and marked with Zaya’s name reads, “Your words, no matter how I react, do not change how I love you all.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1: Honestly, I think there would be two movies that could include Zaya; some comedy musical revolving around Zaya’s bard lifestyle while placing their active lifestyle in the background (called “A Bard Knock Life” bc i think puns are cool) or an action drama framed around Zaya and the Scions living some sort of high fantasy/DND type adventure bc I love that stuff called “The Unbroken Thread”. (THAT‌ QUEST‌ NAME STILL GETS‌ ME)

Q2: What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2: Something featuring a flute, probably. I got attached to Zaya playing the flute being a former flute player myself. (I only wish the oboe performance sound bank clicked with me a little more…)

Q3: Why did you start writing this character?

A3: Originally, Zaya wasn’t meant to exist. I was literally planning on just creating A’dewah, Syhrwyda, and maybe Lumelle and Elwin in different roles. Then the Au’ra came out; I‌ used my free Fantasia from the sub rewards just to be an Au’ra (I was a miqo’te before; shh, i was still babu who liked cats) and suddenly Zaya started being formed as Menphina Jewel. Before I knew it, that Menphina Jewel grew a whole backstory and a new name and new friends (Azim Steppe arc of Stormblood MSQ? Final nail in the coffin.) that slowly took over the previous two Warriors as the focus of my attention. I wasn’t even supposed to keep playing FFXIV‌ past HW, dude. I had like a million other things to be doing at the time, but here I am, lying in my grave 3 years later still attached.

Q4: What first attracted you to this character?

A4: They’re (mostly) mute. I really wanted to explore what it’s like to not be able to talk and only converse in body language, but then I discovered that might be a problem, so my interest in sign language collided with Zaya’s backstory. It also helps me work out a personality without them sounding/looking too much like what I think is Basic Story ProtagTM like I tend to do on accident (see A’dewah and Valdis’s dialogue sometimes.)

Q5: Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5: They can’t really speak. Funny how the thing I like most is also the thing I hate most. It’s very frustrating when I want them to convey something and then they can’t without using actual words and a voice because I haven’t got a clue on how to convey that through body language. How in the world do you convey ‘I feel like I’m doing arcanist calculations when you speak’ in nonverbal language??? I have no damn idea and every attempt looks like I meant something else.

Q6: What do you have in common with your muse?

A6: The snark, man. I have friends constantly commenting on how I’ve made a burn without me realizing I’ve done so, and it’s hilarious. The love for music also carried over big time, especially after discovering how fun the bard NPCs were to write and how they’d fit into Zaya’s relationship web. (they’re totally the more comedic side, but I love Guydelot and Sanson anyways.)

Q7: How does your muse feel about you?

A7: No clue, dude. Maybe thinks I’m boring? I don’t tend to want to drastically change things or look for new adventures; the biggest leap I’ve taken in two years is probably changing to a reed instrument from flute, and even then I don’t have to change key when‌ I read music, so it’s not that big a deal.

Q8: What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?

A8: Urianger and Lyse, maybe? I like the exploration of repairing relationships after something that might have ended another, weaker bond. It’s also kinda fun trying to see how Zaya would react; they’re a lot more rash than I am in real life, and that’s honestly saying something. Alisaie and Alphinaud, however, are the most fun just because I know what I’m doing when I write them, and it’s funny to see how Zaya reacts (or has a lack of reaction) to their dynamic. Guydelot and Sanson fall into another category of ‘dear god I simultaneously love and hate these two’, while Thancred, Y’shtola, Urianger, Syhrwyda, Duscha, and Ryne fall into some sort of strong found family vibes that just get me everytime I think about it

Q9: What gives you inspiration to write your muse?

A9:…Doing job quests or side story quests or even MSQ I haven’t caught up on yet. Watch as I slowly rewrite as many MSQ‌ and job quest scenes as I can in any of my Warrior of Light’s viewpoints. (currently chiseling away at some backstory/before they were Warriors stories after reading too deep into the race/subrace text and lore keep an eye out LOL-)

Q10: How long did this take you to complete?

A10: A day or two; don’t remember when I began. It was probably when I was procrastinating on homework, though. I didn’t post it until a week later whoops.

#ffxiv #ffxiv character meme #zaya qestir #whee i wrote a bit much #oh well #zaya cm #tales from the blue

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satoshi-mochida · 5 years

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Ciconia When They Cry, the latest entry in the When They Cry series, will be released in English on MangaGamer and Steam simultaneously with the game’s Japanese release at this year’s Summer Comiket, which runs from August 9 to 12, publisher MangaGamer, translation team Witch Hunt, and developer 07th Expansion announced.

The news was announced at Sakura-Con 2019, which started today and runs through April 21 in Seattle. Here is the full announcement from MangaGamer:

Once again written and illustrated by Ryukishi07 himself, Ciconia When They Cry will also feature music from the famous composers that worked on Higurashi, Umineko, and more: dai, Luck Ganriki, xaki (Pomexgranate), Akiyama Uni, and others as well!

At his Sakura-Con panel Ryukishi hinted that Ciconia will be taking a different turn in style from his previous works. While Higurashi and Umineko both focused on having players try to solve the mystery of the story themselves, Ciconia will have a much stronger focus on action with mystery elements scattered throughout. Ryukishi07 even issued a challenge to fans: “In this next game, I won’t give you the privilege of being a player!”

This challenge ties in directly with story elements and themes that were revealed for the very first time ever at his Sakura-Con Q&A panel.

In Ciconia When They Cry, World War 3 has come and gone, with nuclear winter only narrowly avoided with cutting-edge technology leading to the development of a new ultimate military technology, the Gauntlet, which allows those wielding one to fly like fighter jets, fight like battleships, and repel attacks like tanks without any additional equipment. The Gauntlets require particular talent and special training administered from a young age in order to control, and the young boys and girls capable of mastering of them become known as Gauntlet Knights.The main characters of Ciconia When They Cry will be a group of these young Gauntlet Knights who, after the peaceful competition in the International Battle Standard Festival, become fast friends vowing to prevent world war together. However, world events are leading directly to World War 4 like a cascading row of dominos, and these “main characters” are nothing but pawns in the global games played by those with a right to sit at the table. Will these youth be forced to murder each other? Can the tragedy of war be prevented by mere pawns? Who are the real players in these games, and will you, the fans of When They Cry, fight for your seat at this deadly game?

We are currently working closely with 07th Expansion and Witch Hunt, the team behind Umineko‘s localization, on Ciconia When They Cry, and intend to provide a simultaneous English release on MangaGamer and Steam when the game is released in Japan at this year’s Summer Comiket.

Watch an old trailer below.

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#Ciconia no Naku Koro ni #Ciconia When They Cry #When They Cry #visual novel #07th Expansion #Ciconia #Gematsu

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orbemnews · 3 years

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Amazon Moves From Film Industry’s Margins to the Mainstream Sacha Baron Cohen may have been going a little mad. It was August 2020, the pandemic was raging and his secret production had shut down. He was determined to reprise his role as Borat in a feature film designed to satirize the Trump administration ahead of the November election. But how? First he persuaded Universal Studios to allow him to shop his incomplete movie. Then he cobbled together an hour of footage. (The infamous scene with Rudolph W. Giuliani had yet to be filmed.) Hulu was interested. So was Netflix. But Amazon Studios was the one most committed to getting the movie out in time, no matter the cost. Amazon spent $80 million to acquire “Borat Subsequent Moviefilm,” a decision that incurred extra expenses because of Covid protocols, test screenings in New Zealand — one of the few places in the world at the time where the company could gather a group of people in a dark movie theater — and a last-minute dash to incorporate all the gonzo footage before the film’s release on Oct. 23. (Mr. Cohen was cutting it close, still shooting three weeks before he had to deliver the movie.) “They broke every rule for us,” Mr. Cohen said in a phone interview. “There was a certain delivery schedule that they felt was necessary, and they halved that time. They realized the imperative of getting this out before the election. And they changed their procedures completely to help us do this. I’m really, really grateful.” Jennifer Salke, the head of Amazon Studios, is also grateful. When the Golden Globes air on Sunday, “Borat Subsequent Moviefilm” will be competing for three awards: best comedy or musical, best actor and best supporting actress (Maria Bakalova). Other Amazon acquisitions, including Regina King’s directorial debut, “One Night in Miami,” and “Sound of Metal,” starring Riz Ahmed, are also contending for prizes. Those accolades, coupled with the cultural impact “Borat” has enjoyed across the globe, have significantly altered the perception of Amazon Studios’s film division in Hollywood and among Amazon’s more than 150 million Prime subscribers. (The studio, which does not disclose viewer numbers, will say only that tens of millions of subscribers watched “Borat.”) Once a home for indie darlings such as “Manchester by the Sea” and “The Big Sick,” Amazon Prime Video is transforming itself into a place for commercial films with broad appeal that can travel internationally. It’s all part of Ms. Salke’s plan to turn Prime into a service people subscribe to for more than free shipping for their paper towels. “We had seen firsthand when Amazon gets behind a piece of content, just how big the muscle is that they are capable of flexing,” said David Ellison, chief executive of Skydance Media and the producer of Amazon’s “Jack Ryan” series. He recently sold the films “Without Remorse” and “The Tomorrow War” to Amazon. “With ‘Borat,’ they showed they could do that with films, too,” he said. Amazon has thrived in the last year, with profits increasing some 200 percent since the pandemic began. That success has extended to its film business. Like other streaming services, it has been able to snatch up big-budget, star-driven films that studios have been forced to shelve in response to the closing of movie theaters. Netflix, Apple, Disney+ and Hulu have all benefited from the studios’ woes, but Amazon has been one of the most aggressive in acquiring new movies. In September, Ms. Salke acquired “Without Remorse” — starring Michael B. Jordan and based on a Tom Clancy series — for $105 million. It will debut at the end of April. The following month, it paid $125 million for the rights to “Coming 2 America,” which will premiere on March 5. Eddie Murphy was initially hesitant about taking the sequel to his much-beloved film to Amazon, but Ms. Salke and others say he was reassured by the performance of “Borat.” In January, the company made its biggest bet yet, paying $200 million to acquire the Chris Pratt-led action film “The Tomorrow War,” which Paramount was set to release. To date, it stands as Amazon’s largest financial commitment in acquiring a feature film. The company hopes to debut it on Prime Video this summer. “We don’t have a huge bench of big blockbuster movies in the works,” Ms. Salke said with a laugh. “So for us it was opportunistic to be able to lean into that.” With more players than ever joining the streaming fray (Paramount+, anyone?), the pace at which new content is delivered is an issue every service worries about. Netflix threw down the gauntlet in January when it announced its 2021 strategy of delivering one new movie per week, which followed WarnerMedia’s announcement that all of Warner Bros.’s 2021 theatrical films would debut in theaters and on its HBO Max streaming service at the same time. With so much volume being offered by those two companies, along with Disney’s recent announcement that at least 80 percent of its 100 new projects would be earmarked for Disney+, the only way to compete is to go big. “It’s going to be really interesting over the next three years,” said Roeg Sutherland, one of the heads of media finance for Creative Artists Agency. “With platforms programming one new movie a week, this is fueling a competitive marketplace for high-end, independently financed films.” At the Sundance Film Festival last month, Apple paid a record $25 million for rights to the independent film “Coda.” Ms. Salke pushes back on the idea that her plans to broaden her offerings is a reaction to her competitors. Rather, she said, it’s the culmination of a strategy that began at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival, when as a newcomer to the film world, she spent $46 million to acquire four films, including “Late Night” with Emma Thompson and Mindy Kaling, and the feel-good movie “Brittany Runs a Marathon.” Before joining Amazon, Ms. Salke spent her career in television, shepherding hits like “Modern Family” and “Glee” at Fox and “This Is Us” at NBCUniversal. After her Sundance shopping spree, she was mocked by some film insiders as an out-of-touch television executive overspending to acquire niche movies. She was criticized for paying $13 million for “Late Night,” when it grossed $15.4 million at the box office. “Brittany Runs a Marathon” earned just $7 million. That commentary still seems to sting Ms. Salke, though she argues that she released the films theatrically only to appease the filmmakers. The movies’ real metric of success, she said, was how they played on the streaming service. “Those movies all kept coming out as No. 1,” said Ms. Salke, referencing the films’ performances on Amazon Prime. “Every time we launched one, the next one would eclipse the next one. We were training our audience to know that we would have big original films that were more commercial on Prime Video. It’s a little bit of an ‘If you build it, they will come’ strategy.” But what happens to that plan once the pandemic is over and studios are no longer willing to sell their movies to streaming platforms? Amazon has some 34 films in various stages of production around the world and Ms. Salke said the company was committed to spending upward of $100 million on a production if merited. (Amazon’s founder, Jeff Bezos, is stepping down as the company’s chief executive later this year, but the studio isn’t expecting any big changes when Andy Jassy takes the reins.) The Culver City, Calif., complex is still being built and, if anything, investment has increased. Ms. Salke points to Aaron Sorkin’s upcoming film about Lucy and Desi Arnaz, starring Nicole Kidman and Javier Bardem, as a potential hit. There’s also George Clooney’s film “The Tender Bar,” starring Ben Affleck, and an LGBTQ romantic drama called “My Policeman,” featuring Harry Styles and Emma Corrin (“The Crown”). “The new news is that you will see us embrace some bigger projects going forward that are self-generated,” she said. In Ms. Salke’s mind, this was always the place where Amazon Film was going to land. And there is a newfound confidence to her outlook as she celebrates her third anniversary as the head of the studio. In addition to her recent acquisition spree, she’s made overall content deals with Mr. Jordan and the actor and musician Donald Glover, which she says will reinforce her mission to burnish Amazon’s reputation as a talent-friendly place. With its healthy subscription base, Amazon is attracting those in Hollywood who are interested in the company’s global reach but also curious about the company’s other businesses that have the potential to expand a star’s brand beyond film and television. Mr. Jordan, for one, said his overall content deal would allow him to explore areas other studios can’t offer: specifically fashion, music and podcasts. His portrayal of the physical incarnation of Amazon’s Alexa during a Super Bowl ad was an example. And Ms. King got a kick out of just how pervasive Amazon’s marketing of her film was whenever she logged into the company’s e-commerce site. “When I’m on Amazon, buying doggie bags, and my film pops up at the top, that’s pretty amazing,” she said. “That’s like, wow! Every single day I am getting a text from someone who saw the movie that probably wouldn’t have seen it if it didn’t pop up in their shopping queue.” Source link Orbem News #Amazon #Film #Industrys #mainstream #Margins #Moves

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writingformeandyou · 7 years

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My OC

I FINALLY DID MY OC SUCKAS!

I decided to use mew-poo’s 100 OC asks, so thank you mew-poo!

I swear, I’m not stealing them!

Name: Veil Hagen Halvorsen (To cover, pasture, and guardian)

Home: Einn-Berg (Alone mountain)

1. What do they smell like?

A lot of lotion from Bath & Body Works (anything marshmallow or pumpkin), some sweat, and very faintly her past meal.

2. What is their voice like? It’s a mix between Yellow Diamond (Steven Universe) and Amethyst (Steven Universe)

3. What is their biggest motivator? Her village elder. He always made her feel safe and aided

4. What is their most embarrassing memory? Veil one time decided to be a show off to the other children in the marketplace by doing a flip in full armor. She did the flip correctly, but she ended up plummeting into the fountain filled with dirty well water.

5. How do they deal with/react to pain? She gets angry but will also cry, promptly getting angry again and try not to cry as she tends to her wounds.

6. What do they like to wear? Veil likes to wear longer clothes if she’s not in her armor. She lives in the cold, so it makes a lot of sense. Trenchcoats coming down to her ankles, turtlenecks, joggers, etc.

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively? It was all of her relationships in general. All of her boyfriends and girlfriends all had the ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude and it rubbed off on her. She grew stronger from these and she never cared much about negativity pointed towards her.

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten? She ate an entire Naga head one time, eyes, brain and all. Her father brought it home after a large hunt and she was the only one brave enough to eat it amoungst her large family.

9. Describe the way that they sleep. She sprawls out across her mattress, drools a lot, kicks, punches, mutters, the whole shabang.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food? She enjoys a lot of meat and a lot of sweet things. Mostly sweet things. She can make a bakery hide in shame.

11. What do they feel most insecure about? She tends to feel a little bad about her weight. Like I mentioned, she loved sweet things, so she would feel a little bad about herself if her armor had to be reforged. Also her anger issues. She’s brash and aggressive and sassy, so he doesn’t like it if people jump to conclusions and think she’s just an asshole all the time (like some anons out there, I wonder who they are :o )

12. How do they like to dress? Long clothes, even in the heat. Fuck Lestallum’s officers asking and begging her to change into shorts or something. Long clothes are life. She also has some clothes that are hide and fur. She has a nice cloak made of white coeurl fur and bleached behemoth hide she likes to wear.

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt? She stays quiet and lulls over what made her feel guilty. She stays in the darkest and coldest armor she can put on, especially her helm.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal? She gets pissed. She will smash apart anything she can get her hands on and smash anything apart. She screams, roars, and growls while breaking down into a pit of tears.

15. What is their greatest achievement? She became the general of her village’s army, always leading her people on hunts and forages.

16. What are they like when they’ve gotten too little sleep? Grumpy and will sleep anywhere. Even on the backside of a Magi-tek engine. The stereotypical black circles show up on her eyes and the grumpiness literally is written on her face in tired wrinkles.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk? She spills the whole entire factory of beans. You wanna know everything but magically didn’t say a word? Veil will become that old viking who tells you the whole tales of woe. She also slurs and finds fake trees sad.

18. What kind of music do they enjoy? Viking music and metal music.

19. Are they right or left handed? Ambidextrous.

20. Fears? Bugs, uncontrolled fire, dolls, some supernatural creatures i.e. werewolves.

21. Favorite kind of weather? Snow.

22. Favorite color? Icy colors.

23. Do they collect anything? Armor and weapons. She also somehow accumulated a whole stash of teeth from kills.

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more? Cold. She despises the heat.

25. What is their eye color? They change between gray and hazel.

26. What is their race/ethnicity? Northern European.

27. Hair color? Dyed a light lilac.

28. Are they happy where they are currently? Yes.

29. Are they a morning person? No, Veil likes afternoon where everything is alive.

30. Sunrise or sunset? Sunset, because she anticipates the next day.

31. Are they more messy or more organized? Messy, but that is how she stays organized. Whatever she needs, it magically surfaces.

32. Pet peeves? People who get on her about her accent (she gained an accent from talking to an amature jeweler), perfectionists, those who click their gauntlets against metal, people who don’t wash off blood from kills.

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance? Her battleaxe she recieved from the elder before he died.

34. Least favorite food? Anything with fish (for the exception of shrimp and prawns).

35. Least favorite color? Pink and yellow.

36. Least favorite smell? Animal feces.

37. When was the last time they cried? During the funeral of the village elder. She had to burn him herself because she was asked.

38. Were they with anybody the last time they cried? The whole village of course.

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured? She decided to do a local hunt that was closest to the village. Her village never communicates with the outside world, so she basically is the most modern. She decided to take on a quest that had the most amount of gil which turned out to be three behemoths. As she killed the smallest ones, the largest one manages to scratch open her cheek when her helm feel off. She almost went blind in her left eyes.

40. Do they have any scars? Obviously, the scratch marks from the behemoth. It goes from tthe right side of her nose to the lower half of her neck with another claw mark going under her chin and merging in. Otherwise she has brn marks from when her skin came into contact with heated objects or simply dropping a torch on herself or small scratches from hunts or fights.

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues? Anxiety and psychosis depression.

42. Do they have any bad habits? She bites on her knuckles a lot.

43. Why might someone dislike them? She’s brash and can come off as rude.

44. Why might someone love them? She’s really cuddly and sweet to those that don’t piss her off.

45. Do they believe in ghosts? Yes.

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives? The elder, but he’s dead.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone? No, but she wants to be.

48. Are they dating/married to anyone? No, but she wouldn’t mind.

49. Do they like surprises? Depends on the surprise. A festival? Yeah. Her mother dying from a werewolf attack? Not really.

50. When is their birthday? June 21, the summer solstice.

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday? A festival is always thrown on someone’s birthday. For hers, since it is in summer, it celebrated by the whole village setting oil drenched metal suns on fire, a lot of firey objects, and a lot of meat.

52. Do they have any family? A deceased mother, a paranoid father who was thrown in jail for being thought of as a werewolf, nine brothers (in order of age: Valdus - 22, Farkas - 19, Mass - 18, Bjor & Reger - 17, Halvard & Halvdan - 16, Kilmar - 15, Alois - 10) and six sisters (in order of age: Veil - 23, Adelaide - 19, Leandra - 18, Selda - 17, Hildred & Gladys - 15 and Blondine - 10). Don’t get me started on the amount of aunts and uncles and cousins she has. She is the oldest sibling.

53. Are they close to their family? Yes. Mainly with her younger sister Adelaide.

54. What is their MBTI type? INFP - Idealistic, loyal to their values and to people who are important to them.

55. What is their zodiac sign? Gemini - The Twins.

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in? Gryffindor.

57. What D&D alignment are they? Chaotic Good

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about? Yes. It is about an attack on the village when she is not there or finding out that something slaughtered her family.

59. What are their views on death? She sees it as a place to either stay in the clouds and drink mead all day or to start over.

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at? Aimals doing something adorable.

61. When bored, how do they pass time? She plays with the fingers of her gauntlets or runs her fingers along the horns of her helm. Sometimes she hums songs under her breath.

62. Do they enjoy being outside? Yes.

63. Do they have an accent? She has a mix between a New England accent and a Norse accent. It sounds good actually.

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their first reaction? If it’s someone else’s, she’ll leave it alone. But if it a sibling’s or a cousin’s, fair game.

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say? She’ll take it on head first.

66. How do they feel about sex? She doesn’t care much about it, mainly because she doesn’t think about it. If it happens, it happens.

67. What is their sexuality? Pansexual - The sexual attraction to a person of any sex or gender.

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood? No.

69. Is there anything that they find really gross? Flatuence and vomit.

70. Which TV Trope(s) best describes them? Jerk With A Heart Of Gold One Woman Army Deadpan Snarker Big Sister Badass Girl

71. Do they enjoy helping people? Very much.

72. Are they allergic to anything? Cinnamon (rip), pollen, dandelions, dogs.

73. Do they have a pet? A pigmy goat named Lítill Fótr (Little Foot)

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they loose their temper? Very.

75. How patient are they? It depends on the subject

76. Are they good at cooking? Very.

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often? ‘You’re the biggest person here, bitch!’ “I thought I was, until you walked in with that nose of yours.” Or “You remind me of one of those Russian dolls: You’re full of yourself.”

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy? She’s kinder and always has a small smile on her face.

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears? If it is her family, she will go through everything to use it against them. If it is someone else, she will do everything in her power to protect them from their fear.

80. Are they trustworthy? Very.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it? It depends. If she’s pissed, curious or depressed it shows. Everything else it barely shows.

82. Do they exercise regularly? The only exercise she gets is when she goes on hunts. Otherwise, she’s lazy.

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look? Mostly, until you get to her height (5 feet) and her stomach & waist region.

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive on people? Height (tallness). Strong jawlines. Big hands.

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive? Brash yet kind.

86. Do they like sweet foods? VERY MUCH!

87. What is their age? 23 years olds.

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between? Short.

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts? None.

90. Do they consider themselves attractive? She finds herself at least 75% attractive.

91. What is their sense of humor like? She uses truth in her humor unless it comes to insults.

92. What mood are they most often in? Mellow.

93. What kinds of things anger them? Some outsiders, those who try to steal from her, picking on her and her family, bringing up her parents, etc.

94. Outlook on life? You focus on yourself first, then worry about others. It can be a cruel place if you do’t figure things out first.

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed? War, death to those who didn’t deserve it, plaugues.

96. What is their greatest weakness? Paranoia.

97. What is their greatest strength? Loyalty.

98. Something that they regret? Not being at home when her mother was slaughtered.

99. Biggest accomplishment? Becoming the general of the village’s army.

100. Create your own! - What does she look like? 5 feet tall, chubby, long and messy lilac dyed hair that goes past her waist, sharp gray/hazel eyes, a small nose, plush pale pink lips, thick eyebrows, broad shoulders, big breasts, pale olive skin, small ears, thick legs, small feet (about a size 6), a tattoo of Shiva on her back, a nice-sized booty.

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moonsandstar-s · 7 years

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The Final Warning - Chapter XXXVI

Chapter XXXIV - Of Love, and Love Lost

Summary: As the year draws to a close, peace has finally dawned. The time for unity has arrived. In the Vytal festival, it is time for heroes to rise, bringing glory to their kingdoms. But as autumn dies, the first winds of winter blow over Remnant, chilling the hearts of the people; breathing doubt into their souls. Long-buried secrets will triumph, and every action will have a consequence. Ruby must reconcile herself with her own fate. Weiss struggles to escape her legacy. Blake cannot erase memories. Yang’s search leads her into more peril than ever— but none of them can outrun fate. Shadows turn on shadows, and bonds shatter as they are tested to the limit. For in dividing them, they will fall and burn; at the eye of the storm, no peace lasts forever. In the end and beginning of time, there is a place where the sun never rises, and the dead delight to teach the living. A great danger is rising from the darkness. It’s time to take sides. The final warning is coming. The first chill of winter is the most deadly; it is the chill that kills more than any other. The first betrayal is the most damaging; it is the act that shatters bonds of love and trust, crushing even the strongest heart, tearing teams apart. AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7745314/chapters/23704695 Yang

She had left Weiss behind, in the forest, waiting with the motorcycle and the supplies so she could scout out and pinpoint Ruby’s exact location. The sea was ahead of them; after a week’s travel, they had reached the coast of southern vale. Yang was patrolling the area, to check for Grimm— and the unlikely prospect that Blake might be there. It wasn’t easy, and the grid of clouds above her head threatened to bring more snow, piling down on top of the white drifts that had blanketed these solitary woods. Everything was still, quiet, the world in suspended silence, as if holding its breath.

Irritable at the snow, the thorns lurking beneath it to tangle and trip her up, and at the world in general, Yang trundled through a thicket of thorny brush, shaking off snow from her shoulders and leaping over a frozen stream, clearing it by several feet. A raw, damp cold pushed its way through her skin, making her shudder as she peered through the narrow trunks of the trees at the sea, and tensed up.

There was someone on the shore.

Despite the snow—despite the bitter cold—someone stood there, as out of place as if Yang had opened her bedroom door to find a slavering wolf standing in the place of her bed. The figure stood with their face tilted towards the misty place where the sky met the sea, heedless of the snow, as if they were part of the raging waves and the cries of the terns and gulls circling overhead. The ocean swelled and receded at their feet, sucking at their toes as if to sweep them away into the black, churning endlessness. Something about the loneliness of their stature and how they seemed to be transfixed on the distant horizon made Yang feel a flicker of impossible emptiness and misery. Nobody good would be out here.

They were dressed in a lumpy, dark cloak, pulled over their head, shielding all of their features. Yang cocked her gauntlet and gripped the tree harder, prosthetic glinting in the dim light. As she watched, they whirled to the side, hand going to their waist, presumably for a weapon. A Grimm slunk out of the trees on Yang’s far left, and in one sharp movement, like a knife whipping out from a scabbard, the figure shot it.

Something flickered in the back of Yang’s mind, colors without any name, a strain of piano music above the roar of the ocean. Something about the elegant way they flicked up their weapon and opened fire…

Yang walked forward slightly, and she flinched as a twig snapped under her foot, sounding like a gunshot. The sound made the figure’s attention snap to where Yang was standing, and their face came into full view. Yang almost fell down right then and right there, her heart completely stopping as the world seemed to go absolutely silent, everything receding from her eyes before swimming back into ultra-sharp focus.

She must have recognized her, too, for her expression shattered, suspicion crumbling into pure and utter shock. “Yang?” The figure whispered incredulously, her voice wavering, and Yang blinked—

—there was a letter from her, the girl with the amber eyes that held the brilliance of the sun, and hair darker than a raven’s wing. She was gone. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back, now or ever. The girl Yang loved more than any other in the whole world, the girl she would know even if she was blind, and the girl she would never see again. Thoughts clamored in her mind, threatening to pull her down and drown her, and a flurry of shadows raced through her mind— And here she was, a creature born from the ocean, standing with one foot in the endless darkness and one on land, salt spray misting her with tiny white droplets like stars. Yang couldn’t breathe; her lungs wouldn’t cooperate, and she took a long, shuddering breath, forcing them to inhale. Blake stood there, amber eyes utterly dead and lifeless, her face marked with dirt and blood, her narrow shoulders curled inward as her hands sheltered in the pockets of her cloak. It was Blake, and it was Blake and it was Blake— Blake, who was here, Blake, who was alive, Blake, who had vanished like dew on a hot summer morning— and then it was she who was running, running forward and crashing into her, and Blake held her closely, her heart hammering so loudly that Yang could hear it.

Only then, and much too late, did Blake speak.

"Yang." Her voice was muffled against her shoulder, her hands knotted in the material of Yang's vest. She was crying, and she smelled of ash and blood and salt— but she was alive, here and whole, at least physically. Feeling her, holding her— it was only then that Yang realized how empty her heart had been, how the weight of the strained, inactive Bond had rent her apart, ripping at the seams, how she'd been slowly dying from an unseen poison. Blake felt different, all angles and bones. And she looked different too: her face wracked by misery. Blake looked crumpled as paper—the kind of crumpled paper that would never be smooth again.

She has no right to be upset, Yang thought, every bit of her relief and happiness draining out of her in an abrupt chill of numbness until she felt colder than the dead of winter all around them. No right at all, not after what she had done. All of the emotions that she had been working towards— forgiveness, understanding, even— splintered under the weight of her misgivings, because when all was said and done, Blake had left her behind. Yang let her go, both hands balling into fists— one warm flesh and blood. One unfeeling metal.

Your fault, she thought blindly, backing away. All your fault.

A dizzying rush of images whirled through her head like pages caught in a high wind. Blake, staring at her over the back of a fading Ursa. Unconscious, bathed in pale moonlight, her face purpling from a strike meant for Yang. Fire twining down their wrists as the Bond solidified. Blake’s hands cupping the sides of her face as they kissed for the first time. Her tears as they fought. Their skin pressed together as they made up. And always, her eyes, bright gold, shining with all the emotion Yang had known she evoked in her. Yang had always been able to read those eyes— read their anger, their fear, sadness and love— but now, she couldn’t tell what was behind them: they were beautiful and empty.

She looked to the Bond, and found nothing, because the Bond was as inanimate and dead as a long-deceased corpse, almost as if it wasn’t there, like a voice that hadn’t been used in a long, long time. Once their Bond had been a river in full flood, singing with emotion, and now it was a dry and dusty track, as if the water that had once flowed there never existed at all. With the Bond had gone Yang’s understanding of Blake, and in the weeks she had been absent, it was as if the language that had made Blake so readable to Yang was now entirely unable to be deciphered. It was almost, Yang thought, as if she had forgotten what she loved about Blake. Did I ever mean anything to you besides your own redemption?

She looked at Blake and Blake looked back at her, still having the look of one who was caught halfway between a nightmare and waking, her hollow eyes as horrified as if she was staring down the barrel of a gun. Finally, she spoke, her voice croaking and terrified, as if she hadn’t used it in months.

“God, you shouldn’t have tracked me here,” Blake said hoarsely, her tone very soft. “Yang, have you any idea what you’ve done?”

It was so out of the blue, so totally not what Yang had expected to hear, that she could only stand there as if she was standing helpless before a stadium of furious people once more, feeling vulnerable and lost, like someone had tossed her headlong into a twisting maze. “I…” She faltered, realizing that her voice had lost its steadiness. And as she looked at Blake, all she was left with was a bitter sense of fury and regret, and her words wobbled. “I know what I’ve done. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done in good conscience. But you…” Her voice curled into a low, deep growl that sounded guttural and terrible, emitting from her throat. “How dare you.”

Blake lifted her chin in surprise, her eyes widening. “What?”

Seconds later, she lifted her hand to where Yang had slapped her across the face with her human hand, leaving an angry red mark. Astonishment written across her expression, she gingerly removed her fingers, breath stuttering in her lungs as Yang looked at her with pure fury, the force of the slap still stinging her hand.

“I don’t remember much about that night when you abandoned me to run off like you always do, you wretched coward, but I remember that I damn near died to save your life! So how dare you leave me, Blake Belladonna!” Yang snarled, fury blazing through her. She welcomed it, welcomed the fury, how it warmed her blood and licked the edges of her hair to bright flame in this cold, dead world. “How dare you leave me half-dead, alone, in an airship and a single message on my Scroll, to go back to Patch without you, to struggle every day with the simplest of tasks like opening a fucking book or trying to put on my clothes with one goddamn arm, and to look my my father in the eyes and explain that he was right about you being like Raven! Right about you leaving me behind like some discarded toy you didn’t have any more use for!” She was screaming now, and it felt good in a terrible, twisted way; she hadn’t screamed in so long, hadn’t talked above a whisper, and it felt like a dam had unlocked inside of her, letting all of her bitter, savage emotions free. “I almost died for you. I would have died for you! How could you do that to me? How?”

Blake’s eyes were shining bright with tears, and her voice was almost incomprehensible over her choked sob. “I had to go. It was my fault. You can’t be near me or you’ll…”

“I’ll what, die?” Yang gave a harsh, scornful laugh. “I wonder how that would feel, Blake! Tell me, what was more painful, do you think? Losing an arm or losing a partner and your entire world? I lost all three. The Yang you knew? She is dead, Blake. And I’ll tell you who killed her.” She drew back her lips in an almost feral snarl, swallowing, shaking. “It wasn’t Adam. It wasn’t his sword. It was you. When you left me alone. Left me behind, broke the vows of the Bond.” In all the time they had known each other, Yang had never truly made Blake angry beyond the point of sense. Even when she had told Blake’s secrets to Ruby and Weiss, resulting in their first fight, Blake had been more sad than angry. But now, her miserable attitude had flipped to unhinged anger— there was fire in Blake's eyes, rising unbidden, and Yang knew that the two of them were liable to set each other afire. It was part of the reason she had fell in love with her at all, really, that hidden inferno that kindled in Blake's core, the fire that made them more alike than anything. “Do you truly think I don’t know that? Do you think that it wasn’t agony to go? Do you think I did this because I wanted to?” Her voice rose to a scream. “Do you honestly think I left you because I wanted to go after you lost your arm— when it was my fault, and I know it?”

“There’s only one problem with that sentence,” Yang hissed. “It was never your fault that I lost my arm, Blake. It was mine. Even if we fought Adam together, I went in without a plan of attack, and I paid the price. After all, the thought of you dying... that messed me up, ruined my clarity. You had a way of blurring everything, remember? I suppose you still do." Blake flinched, as if remembering those whirlwind emotions of when they had Bonded, all those smudged memories, all of it lying buried beneath the weight of too much guilt and pain to ever dislodge. “But for you to do the bare minimum for someone who loved you—”

“I never wanted—”

“No! After that, even after I made that sacrifice for you, you left me. How could you do that? I'm your partner! " Her voice rose to a roar. "That's not how partners treat their loved ones! That's not how they behave!"

“I wanted to die after I went.” Blake pulled away, staring at the glinting gold prosthetic. She was silent, but there was a terrible look on her face that made Yang's eyes sting with tears. She was completely quiet, as if she opened her mouth, she would burst into sobs. “The only thing that kept me alive was the thought of how angry you’d be if I killed myself. How— disappointed. And maybe I'm not fit to be your partner. I almost got you killed. It would have helped, not to see me when you woke up, knowing it was my fault you’d… lost your arm.” She looked away, her mouth working in agitation, and Yang could guess what she was thinking, at least. Maybe not all of her understanding in her partner was gone just yet.

“Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maximus culpa,” Yang whispered, her voice quavering. “Is that what you honestly think, Blake?”

“It is.” She looked up, eyes shining brightly with unshed tears. “The fault was mine alone. It’s not an excuse, but I helped in the only way I knew. I tried to keep you safe— tried to keep you alive. Yang…”

“Don’t,” she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. She turned away, clenching her fists, struggling not to cry. “Don’t say my name like that.” “Then how can I, how should I—” “Don’t,” Yang managed, “don’t say my name ever.” She had lied. She hadn’t forgotten what she loved about Blake at all. And now, that lie had her locked in a claw-cruel grip, forcing her to confront the reality that she had denied in order to mitigate the pain of what Blake had done to her. Blake was the storm and the calm all at once, intense and genius and passion conjured into a person so volatile she almost unraveled of her own accord. Blake was safety. Blake was the first day of summer where you could go out without wearing a jacket. She was home. And home had run away. Blake was still talking, her voice more broken than the waves shattering against the shore. “I had to go. I just— I had to do it.”

A harsh, barking laugh tore from Yang’s mouth at that, guttural and animalistic. "Damn you, Blake," she snarled. "Did you honestly think waking up minus an arm and minus you would help anyone?"

"It was my fault you got hurt," she repeated numbly. "I had to go. You don't understand. All the guilt— all your pain— and it's my responsibility—"

"You should feel guilty, but not for that reason." Yang spun around, breaking eye contact, all the pent up rage she had buried deep down exploding out of her. "You know what's happened to me. You alone were the one person I trusted with my past, time and time again, and you know what, Blake? Every goddamn person I know left me, left me behind, and every time, I had to pick up the pieces. Every person. Qrow’s never really cared for me. Not in the way he does for Ruby. I remind him too much of my mother. And she— you know she left me. Decided I was a burden. Summer left and never came back. My father left me for alcohol and depression after Summer died. And now— Ruby left to chase a fool's mission of answers. Weiss is probably the only one I could forgive easily— she didn't have a choice, you see, she was forced to go, but she knows what loyalty means— and Pyrrha and Penny, they were manipulated and killed.” Her anger began to drain, deflating her, until she felt like she was drowning in an inescapable ocean of misery. “And you— you, I thought, would be the one who was different, who saw something in me that was worth keeping, worth fighting for. I thought you had changed, from when you left when Weiss accused you, but you, too, left me, Blake, just like all the rest..."

Yang felt a hand on her shoulder, the arm that was still there. The clearing was cold, locked in ice and snow, but Blake’s hand was warm and shaking. "Yang," Blake said, her voice broken. "I'm so, so sorry. You have to know that I never wanted any of this—”

Yang didn’t pull away from Blake’s hand, but she didn’t offer any encouragement, either. “So you say I don’t understand why you abandoned me. Well, make me understand. You're still keeping secrets, aren't you? Even after all this time?"

"I swore I would never..." Blake let out a low, indistinct noise, half-whimper and half-sigh. “No. I— I suppose I—I owe you answers. Let me explain.”

Her eyes glazed over as if she was seeing back into a terrible, terrible past, and in a way, maybe she was. She began to pace, her ears flat against her head, before she looked directly at Yang. “You remember it,” she said. “The night Beacon Tower fell?”

“I can’t forget something I see every night when I fall asleep,” Yang said. “But there’s more you don’t know,” Blake choked, “more that happened before you arrived, more secrets undone and pasts shattered and words exchanged. I met Adam in the Academy, Yang, a while before you—you rushed in to save me. I was alone with him.”

Yang’s stomach began to stir with a fluttering of unease as she pictured it. Firelight flashing on the walls, Blake, standing alone in the empty ruin of the school; Adam, across from her, no longer a phantom memory that couldn’t hurt her, but in the flesh, bent on revenge. All the shadows between them, and the wounds on Blake’s face that had been there before Yang entered the scene, the pure fear and horror, the imprint of a slap on her skin. Just what had Adam done to Blake before Yang had jumped in? All those nightmares she had about Adam— all those fears— “Blake, I don’t know if I—”

“No. I have to tell you this.” Her voice was breathless, as if she was hurtling towards a finish line, her eyes swimming with a strange mixture of terror and relief. “You— he hadn't cornered me right when you arrived. Early on in that horrible night, I fought him. I raised my blade, and for the first time, I lashed out against him, because I told myself long ago he would never control me again." A faint spark of pride kindled in her voice, but it extinguished as she went on. "However, a fight like that— one that I could win, or ever have hope of winning— simply wasn't meant to be. He was stronger, a shade faster, and he was burning with rage that lent manic energy to him that I simply could not match up against. He pinned me to the ground, and he... he..." Her voice shook so badly, Yang thought she wouldn't be able to complete the sentence. The anger she'd felt towards Blake had given away to hatred for Adam. She hadn't known what Blake had gone through before she had arrived on the scene... but now, it seemed, she was about to find out why Blake had abandoned her.

“Blake, if he hurt you—”

“He’s already hurt me, Yang! He has. He hurt you. Don’t you get it?” A tear snaked its way down her cheek, her teeth clenching together. Anguished agony was written on her face. “Nothing he could have done to me would hurt me as much as hurting you would. He knew I who I loved and he…” She faltered, turning away, but Yang knew what she had been about to say.

He knew who I loved, and he used it against me.

“Blake,” Yang said, taking a step after her. “Blake. Finish your story.” Her voice softened, pleading. “Please. For me.”

Every word looked like it was being wrenched out of her, her body shaking, hands in fists by her sides. “He quickly became very calm, almost icy. I was nearly out of my mind with fear by then, which I expected you would be feeling through the Bond, but I simply could not do anything. Once again, I was powerless to his whims. He began to speak to me. Yang, I was there for a long time, back against the wall, long enough for him to talk, long enough for him to think clearly through his anger, and plan some sort of revenge.

"I swore then and there I would do anything to keep you alive if you came to save me. Even if I had to sacrifice myself, so be it. Adam is— was— one of the strongest, cleverest warriors I know. All those driven by hunger for vengeance are. He was the leader of a terror-powered revolution, and he did not gain that position by being anything less than the strongest, the fastest, the smartest... and the most ruthless. You were and are powerful, but not the same type that he was. For he knows much of the world and emotions that drive people, but he knows nothing of mercy. I pray you never will be that kind of warrior. I knew he would not hesitate to kill you, for he was out of his mind with possessive jealousy. He used to be my partner, my whole heart... and from what he learned, he knew that you had filled that position. I loved you, not him, and I was Bonded with you, not him. He vowed to torture and kill you in front of me. He said he would make it his mission to destroy everything I loved. You, and Ruby, and Weiss. You know that I love you. But I love Ruby and Weiss too, and he knew that. I also knew that you would never forgive me, not in this life or any other, if Ruby was killed on my account, nor would I forgive myself. And then... you arrived.

"You challenged Adam— you challenged him, and sealed our fates. By now, you know his semblance, I suppose. Moon-slice, he named it, after the shattered moon. He can slice through the Aura of anything souled. How awful is it that he was born with a semblance that helps him hurt not the Grimm, but the people he fights beside?”

Yang looked at her prosthetic arms, moving her fingers gently, and the fire Dust within flared up gently, melting the snow that had settled on it as heat pulsed out from the metal. Snow had settled on the arm… the arm she would never have again, because of Adam. He had taken so much, so much she would never get back.

“You two talked,” Blake whispered. “And then we both challenged him and fought him… and stabbed me in the side and he cut off your arm, and then I fought him again, because he hurt you. I fought him,” and here, she let out a little breath of pain, “and I won. I killed Adam, Yang. I took my blade and I threw it and it sank into his chest, and he died. But before he died, you know what he told me? He swore that it would not end with his death. He swore that the White Fang would try to kill me— and try to kill you. He told me that only by running could I keep their attention on tracking me. Only by running could I keep you safe. And in that moment, I realized… I realized that I had nothing to show for what I had done. I had fought Adam, but I only ever got myself hurt and got you nearly killed… then he died in my arms, and I had to look in his eyes, his empty eyes, this boy who was once my partner and my—” She broke off, jamming her fists into her pockets. “And I had to stand there knowing I killed him just as I killed Ayran. And I didn’t regret it. I couldn’t; how could I?” She walked away very quickly, standing at the edge of the clearing, the stiff slant of her shoulders forming a sharp black line against the pale grayness of the forest, and she sounded lost and broken, and very young, her voice tearing like claws at Yang’s heart.

“My past and present collided,” she whispered hoarsely, her words echoing in the silence, “and in the moment it mattered most, I let them overwhelm me and destroy each other.”

“But they didn’t destroy each other, your past and present,” Yang pointed out bitterly. “I’m right here.”

“Yang, I thought you were dead!” Her voice cracking, Blake turned around, her mouth working, snow caught on her eyelashes like tears. “I saw your body lying there just like Adam’s… crumpled and bloody… and the Bond was dead! I thought you were dead, gone, where I couldn’t follow you… it’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life. You can’t imagine, can’t imagine the kind of pain that I… when I thought he had killed you…” Her voice choked up, parallel stripes of tears streaking down her face. “I thought the thing I feared most in this world was not doing something good with my life. But that’s not it. The thing that scares me most in the entire expanse of this universe is losing you, and he damn well knew it.

“When I saw you lying there… I knew. I just knew I had to go. I left Adam’s body there, in the cafeteria… I hauled you into the courtyard. Sage came and fixed you as well as he was able. Ruby and Weiss arrived soon after, but then they left— they left to go save Pyrrha, because she had fought Cinder, but that’s another tale. When I saw you bleeding out in the courtyard, I knew it was my fault you were lying there. Sun tried to persuade me it wasn't, but he didn't understand. How could he? When Ruby came, I made up my mind to leave. A little while later, I was with Sun, when Weiss and her father Vincent were fighting in the courtyard… and Weiss thought Ruby was dead, but I told her that she wasn’t. Their Bond wasn’t broken, so she must be alive. But after that, knowing that Weiss was being taken away by her father and Ruby was up in Beacon Tower… our team had fallen apart. That was the final straw; I had to go, there was nothing left to do. If I ran, the White Fang would chase me, not you or the others. They wouldn't waste their time on anyone I loved— they would try to hunt me, because I killed their leader. Because if I was with you... you would be in danger. If I was not... You would be safe, you and all the rest." Blake met her eyes then. "That is why I ran. That is why I left you behind. Not because I don't love you, but because I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. He made it his mission to destroy me... but I made it mine to keep you safe at all costs." She shook her head, her breath coming in pained rasps. “Everything I do, I do to protect you. I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from that duty.”

“I wish you hadn’t put it like that.” Eyes filled with tears, Yang looked at her— that tired, unhappy face, eyes haunted and so, so sad. So... resigned. She had already given up her happiness, safety, everything— all to fate, all to keep Yang alive.

“Yang,” Blake said, reaching out to take her hand, “I… I know can never make things the way they used to be. What we’ve been through… I don’t think you can ever go back from something like that. But I… can you ever forgive me?”

In answer, Yang took a deep breath, and let go of her bitterness and anger, let go of the damaged Bond, let all her emotions flow through it. Blake’s eyes flew wide and she staggered under the weight of everything Yang had felt in the past months: fury, misery, bitterness, listlessness, heartbreak, terror, and so, so much love.

I love Blake, I do. And I always will. She’s always been my other half. She was broken, but I was too, and between us, we’ve got one whole heart. I pushed away the unimaginable, which was losing her, but here we are, and we’ve survived the unimaginable, learned to live with it and made it through. How could I have ever thought she didn't love me?

“Blake,” she whispered, pulling her close, hearing the unsteady beat of her heart. Blake had been so strong for so long, it was easy to forget how broken she was. “Blake, there’s nothing to forgive.”

Blake was silent for a long, long time, the beat of her heart and the rustle of her breath the only sounds in the cold winter glade. Even the sound of the crashing sea sounded very, very far away. Snow flurried down from a steel-gray sky, powdering her hair in white. A frigid breeze swirled through the forest in a shivering gust, flapping her cloak and making the bare tree branches rattle like bones. Then, she spoke, her voice rusty and hoarse.

"You lost so much, Yang. I don't fault you for being upset. I told you a while ago before the doubles rounds of my suspicions against Cinder and Emerald, and I spoke to Sage of them... but I never imagined the lengths she would go to. Nor did she leave us with answers. With all she took from us, killing Pyrrha, Penny, and doing God knows what to Ruby up in the Tower…”

"Blake," Yang blurted suddenly, "Blake, don't you know? Ruby is okay. Qrow rescued her from the top of the Tower after you left.”

Instantly, Blake went taut as a wire, leaning away. She looked past Yang, trembling, as if she could see all the way to where Ruby was. Complete shock radiated over her face, followed by a flitting, dubious expression. "She is? She’s really okay? That can't be— not after that chill—”

Relief and happiness were flooding deliriously through her at the fact that she was the bearer of good news for once. Almost giddy, she crushed Blake close again, something loosening in her chest and escaping her, sailing far, far away. "She is, I swear, she's alive and well, and on her way to Haven right now. She's with Jaune and Ren and Nora. Weiss and I are going after her. You see... the silver light... it's a long story. Ozpin admitted her to the Academy because she had silver eyes, just like her mom, Summer Rose. That made her have this power - she still doesn't know what exactly it is, with Ozpin gone and unable to explain - that laid dormant, latent, inside her. It was triggered when she watched Cinder betray her and... and do what she did. The power exploded all at once and froze everything within the mile - that's what that chill you mentioned must have been."

"So..." Blake murmured. "She's changed, then. She'll be very different."

"I expect so, with the burden of responsibility she must have now."

"If Ruby's alive, then Pyrrha—?” Forbidden hope danced through Blake eyes, and sadness once more squeezed Yang's heart in a cruel grip.

"No," she said, "no, Blake, I'm sorry. She's gone. Ruby watched her die."

Blake swallowed. “I had hoped…” She shook her head. "She deserved better. She was the best of us, Yang. She deserved better than a cold death, alone, and she deserved more than some trite eulogy from a coward who fled before she drew her last breath. But there is still some mercy left, I think. Some beauty, despite all the ruined wreck of loss." Blake took her hand and kissed her knuckles, her lips chapped and cold. "You found me."

Yang closed her eyes. "Ruby was the hero of that night, you know. She went through the most, and lost the most. But she's still standing, my small sister, the miracle we didn't deserve... and underneath her exterior, there's a warrior tough as steel."

"It must run in the family." Blake's smile faded to an uncertain expression. "I... are you quite certain about... not wanting me to go? If they find us— me with you after all that happened… you run the risk of getting hurt more than you have been before. We both risk losing more than just a partner or an arm. We could lose it all.”

“I understand the danger, Blake. I understand the risks, of the White Fang, of what I could lose still… and I know that’s why you ran. Because you wanted to keep me safe from them, so I could live a normal life. But I don’t want that, I don’t want safety or normalcy, not if the cost is losing you. Don’t you get it?” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “I just want you. I need you, Blake… like I need oxygen and the sun and everything to live, I need you. If we face the White Fang again; then we will… together. Make no mistake. When that time comes, I'll be ready. I have enough to fight for. And as for you coming with me and Weiss? Well... I'm not afraid.” She brushed back a curl of ebony hair from Blake’s forehead, and Blake closed her eyes, inexpressible anguish in her expression. “I know who I fell in love with, all those months ago back at Beacon… and I’ll always, always choose you. Just as we always choose each other, as we always love each other…”

“And fight for each other,” Blake echoed, bowing her head. “Even if it ends in tragedy?”

“Especially then.” Yang tilted Blake’s head up, her hand under Blake’s chin, infinitely gentle, and their eyes met. “Even if I am your girlfriend, first and foremost, I am your partner, with all that entails. I will never give up on you. I promised I would never leave you. Even if everybody in the whole world was against you, I would stand by your side. I will be your pillar. I know the risks, I know the cost of everything I have to lose… and I'm willing to make that sacrifice for you. If you're with me, I'm strong.”

“I— I understand. If you know… if you’re willing to risk the White Fang, I won’t say no to you. Not again.” Blake swallowed and rubbed her eyes, looking away. "What now?" she murmured. "How do you move on after what happened to us? How do you cope with that kind of tragedy?”

“The same way we always have.” Yang took Blake’s hands between her own, skin against metal. “Together.”

Blake nodded, something in her eyes wavering and shattering, and Yang felt almost relieved as she realized that she could— once more— sense her certainty. A Bond to last a lifetime.

“I still love you,” she whispered. Tears were coursing down Blake’s face, and she brushed them away. “I never stopped loving you… even when it seemed that way to myself. I never could.”

She slid her hands into Blake’s hair, leaning in slowly to kiss her, letting her pull away, if she wished, but Blake did not, and she captured her partner’s mouth with her own. They melted together, clinging to each other in the silence, one of Blake’s gloved hands sliding up to tangle in the hair curling from the back of her neck. It was utterly quiet, the only sound in the air of the snow crunching under Yang’s boots, and the branches rustling together above their heads. Blake shuddered at the touch of the cold prosthetic on her skin, but she didn’t pull away. She leaned forward, kissing her back with such abandon it was painful, shivering through every fiber of skin with a sharp, aching agony.

It could have been an eternity or only seconds, but they broke apart, still clinging to each other, Blake’s hands resting over her heart, Yang’s hands on Blake’s shoulders, and they looked at each other. The sea whistled its lonely cry in the background, and the wind picked up, stirring her hair and sending it spilling to the side.

“You’re here for something else,” Blake said at last, her face full of the resolve she had always held. “Aren’t you? You’ve got that… that look in your eye.”

Yang let out a small huff of laughter, her breath clouding on the air. “I came to ask if you'll join me on my journey."

"Journey?”

“Ruby is still out there,” Yang said.

“Are you… you’re going after her, all the way in Mistral? But… why?”

"She's my sister," Yang said simply. "I love her. I could never abandon her."

There was a long pause, and then, her eyes blazing, Blake nodded. “Okay,” she breathed, as if she had wrestled with her thoughts, and won. “Yes. Yes, I’ll come with you. Every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” Yang whispered, the edges of her eyes stinging with tears, but these, unlike all their predecessors, were ones of happiness. “I’d better go introduce you to Weiss so she doesn’t think I’ve been out here getting gobbled up by a Beowolf, shouldn’t I?”

At that, Blake smiled through her tears. “Yeah, I think you’d better.”

/ / /

They found her in the trees, crouched amid the dead leaves, fiddling with a map and looking strained as she pried deeper into her Bond than she had ever gone before. Yang felt a flicker of pity, before she cleared her throat as they both trundled into the clearing, hands linked together. “How are things with your ‘tracking Ruby’ endeavor, Weiss?”

Weiss sounded distracted and tired. “Decently, I’d say. I’ve found her location, Yang; she’s somewhere just over the mountain pass in Mistral… she’s still weeks and weeks away from Haven, but if we hurry, we could catch up in less than a—”

Blake coughed, almost inaudible in the silence, but Weiss visibly went stiff before whipping her head around, eyes rounding comically as she saw Blake and Yang, hand in hand.

“Blake?” She croaked, before shaking her head. “No, I’m having a hallucination… this journey’s deluding me, right? All these sleepless days and nights…”

“No, Weiss, it’s real,” Yang said, and Blake glanced at her.

“I’m really here,” she murmured, and then Weiss scrambled to her feet, flying at Blake and almost knocking her down in a hug. Yang caught the words “stupid”, “left”, “could have been dead”, and “idiot”, and Blake, albeit with a degree of hesitance, returned the hug, her eyes softening as Weiss let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle.

“Thanks,” she said, voice hoarse. “I missed you, too.”

Weiss’s eyes were red when she pulled away, and she dashed at her cheeks.

“Group hug?” Yang offered, attempting a joke to break the silence, and they all embraced each other. Yang let out a deep breath, tears springing to her eyes as she wrapped her arms around them, one around Blake and one around Weiss.

My family is coming back together again.

Her heart swelled, fuller than it had been in weeks. She had missed Blake more than anything, but she had missed her team, too; they were as much of a part of her as her own bones. It was a tangled sort of a hug, and the absence of Ruby was more conspicuous than ever, but they were together, and for now, that was enough.

“What’s the plan now?” A shadow of fear still lurked behind Blake’s eyes, and Yang tightened her grip on her partner’s hand.

“Even if the White Fang try to catch us,” she said in an undertone to her, “they can’t hurt us, okay? Divided, we’re weak. Together, we’re strong. We’ll leave Vale and go to the coast near Beacon. If they don’t let us on one of the boats… we’ll pull a Sun Wukong and stowaway, if that’s what it comes to. I’m not letting anything short of the apocalypse stop me from finding my baby sister.”

“There’s the determination you’ve been lacking,” Weiss smiled, clearly delighted, a new radiance in her face. Having Blake back had lifted both their spirits immeasurably— one of their objectives was cleared— but Yang knew it would only be completely okay when they found Ruby again. “Are we ready to leave?”

“Well,” Yang said with a smile that, for the first time in a month, lit up her whole face, “I’m not sure how we’ll be able to fit the two of you on Bumblebee, but we’ll have to make do. Let’s pack up and get going.”

Weiss and Yang packed up their duffels as Blake shouldered her own, and they walked over the cycle, parked in the shadow of an enormous tree.

“Did Yang tell you how we got here, Blake?” Weiss joked, climbing on the back of the cycle and clinging on precariously, Yang in the front, Weiss on the back, Blake sandwiched between them. It felt protected and secure, and as Yang tied her duffel to the side, Blake slid her hands around Yang’s waist for better purchase. She welcomed the warmth and safety Blake’s presence always brought her, the feeling that she hadn’t thought she would experience again in a long, long time.

“Tell me,” Blake murmured, resting her chin on Yang’s shoulder, her breath stirring the fine curls of hair on the nape of her neck. “Tell me everything. I’m right here, and I’m not letting go, ever again.

Yang turned the keys in the ignition, something within her glowing warm as the motorcycle purred to life beneath her, and they shot out of the grove, whooping aloud in the thawing winter morning as the last leg of their journey began. “Well,” she began as the forest and the sea receded behind them, the faintest shadow of Mistral waiting on the horizon, “it all starts off with the story of a girl called Yang and a boy named Sun who snuck out of Patch one winter morning…”

A/N. Hamilton reference, because I can. ‘It’s Quiet Uptown’, for anyone curious— the mood of that song really fits this chapter, and I love its tune, anyhow. The ending is close. Next chapter is white-rose centric. :)

Also, for those who might be curious: Yang was able to catch up to Blake for one simple reason: a motorcycle is a hell of a lot faster than traveling by foot. I imagine Yang told her about how she tracked Weiss, how helpful Sun was, their meeting with CFVY, and about Khione. Blake, of course, was relieved to hear that her aunt was alright after the Fall.

#RWBY #Bumbleby #Yang Xiao Long #Blake Belladonna #RWBY V3 #Adam Taurus #Weiss Schnee #Ruby Rose #whiterose #white rose #Pyrrha Nikos #my writing #the final warning

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gramilano · 4 years

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The first live dance event in Italy took place at the Nervi International Festival of Ballet and Music, opening the two-week festival in Nervi’s coastal park with a backdrop to the stage of palm trees and sea.

The idea for the evening of dance, called Duets and Solos, came from Daniele Cipriani, the Italian dance impresario, who, while watching couples sitting close together while eating in restaurants as Rome reopened after the lockdown, thought that the same would be possible for dancers – households can remain together. Silvia Azzoni and Alexander Ryabko from Hamburg Ballet, and Iana Salenko and Marian Walter from Berlin, are offstage couples and were therefore allowed to dance together. Salenko and Walter had their two children with them so, in theory, a pas de quatre would have been permitted. They were joined by Hugo Marchand from the Paris Opéra Ballet, Matteo Miccini from Stuttgart, and the Spanish dancer Sergio Bernal.

Music was provided by the brilliant 26-year-old Italian pianist Beatrice Rana – “Her playing was refined and soft-spoken in its brilliance throughout. She had the audience rapt,” said The New York Times reviewing a performance – and respected cellist, Mario Brunello, whose international career was launched after he won the International Tchaikovsky Competition in 1986.

They played for an audience of 1,000, which is the maximum capacity for open-air events in Italy at this time (600 indoors), and the seats were spaced out to leave an empty metre around each spectator. Everyone had their temperature taken before entering and consigned a form with their name and telephone number for eventual contact tracing. Masks were worn, at least until seated, and the programme was without an interval to avoid a chit-chat crush in the aisles.

Marchand and Bernal were dancing for the first time in front of an audience since the beginning of March. I imagine that it was the same for the other dancers, finally performing again after the enforced four-month pause. There was a tingle of tension in the air, both from the performers and the audience.

It was refreshing to see a gala without Tchaikovsky and Minkus! With a cello and piano, an obvious choice of music was Saint-Saëns for The Dying Swan. Two versions became the bookends of the evening: Iana Salenko’s willowy limbs were bewitchingly beautiful in Fokine’s well-known choreography, while Ricardo Cue’s version, called The Swan, saw a pliable but muscular Sergio Bernal as the suffering creature – the piece has rightly become his signature work.

Marchand jumped in at the deep end after his lockdown break with the stamina-testing A Suite of Dances, a work created by Jerome Robbins for Mikhail Baryshnikov to four movements from Bach’s Six suites for unaccompanied cello. It contains everything imaginable that a choreographer would want to include if he had Baryshnikov in front of him in the rehearsal studio, and Marchand executed each passage with nonchalance. He didn’t even appear to be out of breath as he sat impishly watching the cello during the final bars.

Young Italian dancer Matteo Miccini danced Edward Clug’s Ssss, set to a Chopin nocturne. The Romanian choreographer created it for Stuttgart (Miccini’s company) in 2012. Miccini is an impressive spinner and jumper, but here did neither of those things in this contemporary dance work. Ssss demands rapid and complex arm and leg movements contrasted with absolute stillness, moments upright mixed with floorwork sequences, soft port de bras alongside fast jabbing gestures. Miccini did it all beautifully, and it was perfect for a balmy Ligurian evening as was John Neumeier’s Nocturnes to another Chopin, ahem, nocturne. Azzoni and Ryabko were enchanting and embraced its Chekhovian mood. She is dreamy and yearning while he’s lost in a book, before they come together with all the push and pull of disorientating desire. They are both accomplished actors, and this scene was a mini-play for them to act out, with its beginning, middle and end – a little jewel.

Of course, two people can dance together while still respecting social distancing which is what Bernal and Miccini did in Folia de Caballeros, a piece choreographed by Bernal and Joaquin De Luz. It’s a sort of ‘anything you can do I can do better’ piece – if one jumps the other jumps, if one pirouettes the other won’t be far behind. It uses the antique Folia Española (Follies of Spain) melody, and is a delightful five minutes of bravado. The piece was slightly adapted to avoid the few moments of physical contact in the original. Bernal also created a thrilling Zapateado for the occasion to Gaspar Cassadó’s Suite for Cello Solo.

Uwe Scholz, who died when he was just 45, became director of the Zürich Ballet when he was 26. In 1987 he created Sonata for the company using Rachmaninov’s Sonata in G minor for Cello and Piano. It gave Azzoni and Ryabko another opportunity for a dreamy pas de deux, though Sonata requires concealed strength as it is sustained throughout with each lift in slow-motion as though underwater, and the dancers are almost continually in perpetual motion.

Another perfect choice for a summer evening was Roland Petit’s Méditation from Thaïs, performed by Salenko and Walter. They dance it with great intimacy and perfectly coordinated lines which are rarely seen, but often longed for. She was like a wisp of sea mist floating above the stage, and the effect was quite magical.

Apart from the cleverly chosen dance pieces were the apt musical interludes as both had ballet connections. Rana played Ravel’s La valse – used by both Ashton and Balanchine – with breathtaking power, and Rodion Ščedrin – Maya Plisetskaya’s husband – threw down the gauntlet to Brunello with the fiendishly tricky Quadrille from his opera Not Love Alone.

This was a delightful programme of dance that not only matched the mood of the evening but also gave a big thumbs-up to music and dance made in the now. Videos offered online by arts organisations throughout the world have been a blessing during the last few months, but as Duets and Solos eloquently showed: nothing can substitute live theatre.

Duets and solos in the open-air – live dance returns to Italy The first live dance event in Italy took place at the Nervi International Festival of Ballet and Music, opening the two-week festival in Nervi’s coastal park with a backdrop to the stage of palm trees and sea.

#Daniele Cipriani #John Neumeier #Maya Plisetskaya #Mikhail Baryshnikov #Roland Petit #Sergio Bernal

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recentanimenews · 5 years

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Ciconia When They Cry to Get Simultaneous Japanese/Western Release

Featuring illustrations by Ryukishi07 along with music from dai, Luck Ganriki, xaki(Pomexgranate), Akiyama Uni, and others, Ciconia When They Cry is currently set to launch in Japan at this year's Summer Comiket. Good news popped up for English-speaking fans at this weekend's Sakura-Con 2019 event, because MangaGamer announced the intention to provide a simultaneous English release on MangaGamer and Steam.

MangaGamer is currently working closely with 07thExpansion and Witch Hunt, the team behind the localization for Umineko. Stay tuned for more as we approach this summer's Comiket, and check out a preview in the original Japanese trailer for Ciconia below.

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Description:

In Ciconia When They Cry, World War 3 has come and gone, with nuclear winter only narrowly avoided with cutting-edge technology leading to the development of a new ultimate military technology, the Gauntlet, which allows those wielding one to fly like fighter jets, fight like battleships, and repel attacks like tanks without any additional equipment. The Gauntlets require particular talent and special training administered from a young age in order to control, and the young boys and girls capable of mastering of them become known as Gauntlet Knights. The main characters of Ciconia When They Cry will be a group of these young Gauntlet Knights who, after the peaceful competition in the International Battle Standard Festival, become fast friends vowing to prevent world war together. However, world events are leading directly to World War 4 like a cascading row of dominos, and these “main characters” are nothing but pawns in the global games played by those with a right to sit at the table. Will these youth be forced to murder each other? Can the tragedy of war be prevented by mere pawns? Who are the real players in these games, and will you, the fans of When They Cry, fight for your seat at this deadly game?

Via Gematsu

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Joseph Luster is the Games and Web editor at Otaku USA Magazine. You can read his webcomic, BIG DUMB FIGHTING IDIOTS at subhumanzoids. Follow him on Twitter @Moldilox.

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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nailtravels · 6 years

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The gypsy girl said it herself, the cards looked good. But what did that really mean? And good for whom? There was lots going on here. Were we now putting our faith entirely in the hands of the unknown, like buffalo teeth and painted chicken’s feet? When you believe in things you don’t understand, then you suffer superstition. Methinks this does not bode well.

Mercury was supposedly in retrograde, whatever the great Gravy Crockett that meant. And this was somehow supposed to translate into everything coming up wine and roses? With hindsight being twenty-twenty, the lens of wisdom would surely suggest nades. F’sho, no. Who could know that the red haired gypsy girl’s words would herald both delicious ecstasy and unimaginable peril? Such is the way here in the proverbial pocket of things. Welcome to the Mother Land. This is the briar patch and you, little mister, have enlisted in the Army of Northern Virginia. Don’t worry. We won’t have you hiking through the brambles. This is Thomas Jackson country and The Low-Brow Summer Tour 2018 has come to a close with the nailtravels team mounting a guerrilla offensive on Lockn’ Festival. Mission accomplished, it’s Lockn’ 2018: The Lowest Brow.

Ambassadors extraordinaire, Lockn’ 2018

Lockn’ Festival, formerly known as Interlocken Music Festival, is an annual four-day music festival held at Oak Ridge Farm in Arrington, Virginia. It is a headier-than-thou, jam-band, wavy gravy, funk heavy camping/music experience in the gentle hills of southern Virginia. It gets it’s name from the rotating stage that showcases performers as the end of one act overlaps the beginning of the next. Bands like Lettuce and Umphrie’s Magee played to and with each other as the musical transition took place to the seamless delight of thousands.

Past artists include Gov’y Mule, String Cheese, moe, John Fogerty, Greensky Bluegrass, The Avett Brothers, Ween, Phish, Twiddle, My Morning Jacket, John Butler, Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Little Feat, Robert Plant, Jefferson Airplane, Carlos Santana, Tom Petty, The Wood Brothers, Willie Nelson, Hot Tuna, Zac Brown, Jimmy Cliff, Col. Bruce Hampton and who cares? That’s plenty.

Main stage, LOCKN’ Sat. night: photo by Jessica Brightsen.

For once, Baitbucket felt reasonably healthy. The yellow foam had stopped seeping from the corner of his right eye and his back felt strangely quiet. The knees and ankles were holding together and, barring an unforeseen incident, he might be able to run the gauntlet. A gauntlet to be sure. infinity Downs Farm is a gigantic property littered with rvs, tents and ez-ups. Laid out over miles of hippies and clay trails, every exploratory adventure covers several square miles of travel. And that doesn’t include the multiple unexpected detours that seem to be popping up all the time. Jubba jubba.

Bobby

New friends.

Dead & Co. LOCKN’ 2018: photo by Kevin Crowley

Johnny and Bobby, LOCKN” 2018

The fam. LOCKN’ 2018

Dead & Co. with Branford Marsalis, LOCKN’ 2018: photo by Neal Hart

Sugarplum and Huckleberry get hitched at Church, LOCKN’ 2018.

Argentina, John and Sugarplum, LOCKN” 2018: photo by Liz Riddick

Scott and Joe solving the mysteries of the universe, LOCKN’ 2018.

And another thing, LOCKN’ 2018

Jaime and Argentina, LOCKN’ 2018

So pretty, LOCKN’ 2018

Lockn’ 2018 Breakdown:

Wednesday: Welcome to the Leaning Tower of the Yoga Machine. Broken beads, broken backs, cool nights and warm days are the order. For festival fun, it doesn’t get any better. It’s way too early to be having this much fun and besides, the cards wouldn’t lie. Please be sure to check your gluten at the flap. The yurt was set up in High Field RV with three recreational vehicles, three tents, three awnings, two ez-ups. It’s true, the Huckleberries and the Baitbuckets of the world can come together and let PBR and Natty Light fans play together as one single neck of color. It’s a fact, some people should not be in charge of putting up the yurt. Namaste.

Thursday: By Thursday evening, cat head mushroom chocolates had turned many of the festivarians into silly puddles of unraveled string. There were even reports of dead people. Go figure. Imagine live Lettuce into Umphrey’s into Lettuce with the funk and back into Umphrey’s. Some of the Umphrey’s show was, as usual, hard to wrap the head around. Kind of like Chinese math. In the words of Lord Buckley, “They stomped on the terra.” Joe Russo’s Almost Dead closed out the night with a set that included an Easy Wind and Row Jimmy. Thank you Sarah and Steve for the late night fellowship at the Jerry Garcia Forest. It’s better when we camp together.

Late night on the mountain, the light fog blurred the edges of the rising moon. By Sunday Funday, it would be full and the patients would surely be running the asylum.

Friday: Umphrey’s Mcgee did what they do again, and along with Jason Bonham and Derek Trucks, they shredded the Zeppelin cover, “Whole Lotta Love”. After a complete afternoon of funk it would be up to WSMFP and the Spreadnecks to deliver the big punch Friday night and, as always, they were up for the challenge. Clayopheus III the Destroyer showed up toward the end of their set and things would never be the same. Late night on the way to the Jerry Garcia Forest heralded the arrival of a new, bright green planet in our own solar system. Imagine the surprise.

JRAD Friday Midnight Setlist

Tell Me, Momma Viola Lee Blues St. Stephen The Eleven St. Stephen reprise Ophelia Atlantic City Viola Lee Blues jam China Cat Sunflower I Know You Rider Feel Like a Stranger Shakedown Street

The Friday night party ended up at the Jerry Garcia Forest for a night of Jerry bluegrass and dancing in the street. Baitbucket couldn’t yet locate the Michiganders, so he found his way back to J’s Dablature Experiment for late night cordials and low-temperature silliness. He was last seen, walking around in small circles looking for his campsite until the wee hours of the early morning. Worm hole Watusi of the first order, to be sure.

Saturday (SNUCKN’): The Lowest Brow–Stonewall’s festival experience had found the perfect rhythm. He’d ingested a virtual cornucopia of unknown chemicalia into his blood stream and his head was all right. He’d lined himself with such a bouquet of uppers and downers, just to let them fight it out, leaving him somewhere close to level. The Mafioso had come bearing enough gifts, like Shawsville strawberry moonshine and recreational bath salts, to weaken a large pack animal, and throughout the tents and shade canopies that lined the festival fields, candy was being tossed around like Mardi Gras Tuesday. It was around four in the afternoon and the day had left him careless and fancy free. He was heading in to see Pigeons Playing PIng Pong thinking about E A Sy. For a gangster, he loved that band and never missed a chance to see them. It would be cooler if he was here packing a vat of his crotch whiskey. Not a single care in the world. Walking through the security checkpoint, he broke the fourth rule of adult caution and forgot about the container of contraband in the lower pocket of his cargo shorts. Oopsie…Upon detection, Stonewall made a confused mumbling sound and turned to walk away in a reserved and patient manner. In retrospect, he might should have hauled some serious ass, but he liked to think that the days of barefootly climbing chain link fences were behind him. For some reason that can’t be explained here, the security volunteer alerted the legitimate gestapo and they lit out in pursuit of the unsuspecting perp, faster than a West Texas jackrabbit. What was happening? In one nanosecond, he was back in the clutches of the pigs and they were already predictably obstinate. Things had turned due south and this was certainly not one of those “good choices” that Sunshine had suggested, in some other place and some other time. As he strode away from the security guard he removed the small vial from his pocket and began dumping out it’s contents into the Virginia brush, until a police officer donned in a black golf shirt, rudely snatched it from his hands. He pushed into Stonewall’s face and shouted, “Why did you try and dump it out?” “I figured if I dropped the whole thing it would be conspicuous,” forgetting, yet again, that honesty is never the best policy when dealing with law dogs of any kind.` With the click of the handcuffs, he accepted the fact that this was definitely on and he had finally managed to reach the lowest brow. Having penned the term, Darth Waffle would be pleased. Things were finally getting colorful. He was tossed into a cop golf cart and taken to a cop single wide modular home where his fate lay in the hands of cops on computer monitors. Visions of Spring Reunion began flashing in his mind’s eye. Never tie a pit bull to a wheel barrow.

Seated in the well-lit room next to a gaggle of child cops, the next immediate goal was to hold it together and not appear too faded. Apparently, it can be a crime. Who can imagine how his outward appearance physically looked under a careful and prolonged examination by these trained Nazis? In a well-lit room, it seemed like a real long shot. If these Virginia puerco even suspected what drugs he’d ingested, he’d be on his way to the hospital for a good old fashioned stomach pumpin’. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what he’d taken during the first half of this day, which seemed so far away. The walkabout had lasted most of the morning, visiting the headiest folk around the site and ingesting God only knows what. Here in the mid-afternoon, his innards could only be characterized as a chemical toilet. Mission accomplished yo.

As the interrogation lingered, his mouth began to fill up with what he imagined creosote would taste like and the sweat, once again, began to foam and burble. There was still the business card of acid in his wallet and a couple ten strips already cut. Hopefully he wasn’t sweating so much as to render it useless. When the pigs looked closer, and they surely would, they’d find it and ship him off to Red Onion State Prison for the rest of his days. Finally, the silly dream of freedom would be, once and for all, put down like a rabid cur. As he spoke with the local magistrate via skype, things continued to get increasingly foggy. There were so many questions. The whole thing seemed to be going to hell as he began to turn into warm mush right in front of the magistrate. “Did you get a DUI in Colorado?” “Nope. Detained but no charges.” Complete lies. “Are you sick?, Do you have any needles in your pocket?” Stonewall replied, “Not sick and no idea what’s in my pocket.” The next few minutes blurred into each other and accurate reporting was impossible. The magistrate switched off and he asked the young cop a questions. “Can you please let me know when this process has moved upstairs, past your influence, so I’ll know when to stop worrying?” “We’re going to need to go to your campsite and go through your tent to check it for contraband,” they mused. Stonewall’s face hardened as he considered the idea of sheriffs loaded up in golf carts assaulting the camp site of his new friends. “That’s gonna have to be a no,” he finally said. “It would not be classy to pull up, in front of the campsite, with a bunch of unshaven gestapo. Besides, I don’t even know what’s in the tent.”

“Why are you saying that you don’t know what’s in the tent?” “It’s not my tent. Those thugs are from North Carolina. Who knows what kind of contraband they’re hauling around. Just leave me out of it.” For some reason, this seemed to placate the law dogs and they forgot about raiding the campsite. All good news, but they weren’t handing over the keys to the city just yet. A cop sat next to him, while they waited for the magistrate’s decision and struck up a little small talk. “Thanks for being cool about everything. We appreciate your cooperation. We had another guy come through here and shit everywhere. The walls. The chair you’re sitting in. Everything. He sprayed his filth all over the place before we got him out of here.” Stonewall considered the raw nature of man and the unfiltered savagery that might reveal itself as the cold gates of the underground begin to seal itself. The possibilities were endless. Stonewall looked over at the cop, “I have to admit, I considered it. If you knew you were going to jail, it might be a pretty funny way to go out.” The cop smiled, “Plenty of people think that. It’s not funny.”

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” Good news from the magistrate. This was just one spun hippy and these nice folks had bigger fish to fry. There would be free air to breathe for one more day. Park employees, however, were waiting with scissors in hand. “If you are found on the property you will be arrested” the supervisor grumbled. He was given one more free golf cart ride, past the cars and tents, by the front gate and all the way to the Thomas Nelson Highway. It was a dark time but it was better than jail. This whole trip was had cost a pretty penny and now he was going to spend Saturday night in a local saloon. Weak.

Heading west on highway 29, he walked against the traffic on the gravel shoulder and considered his options. He could continue this way until he found a gas station. That would supply him with enough cigarettes and beer to make it to a hotel or a bar. He still had his phone and wallet, even if the rest of his paltry possessions were still at the yoga machine. It would all be fine. He would find a hole in the wall bar and drink scotch until he felt better. Then, he would take his first shower in days and sleep in a freezing hotel room. Not too bad for a plan B.

The whole idea made him absolutely sick.

He knew the people he was leaving behind and the fun they were going to be having together. He was reminding of Thatcher at Spring Reunion and how the family suffered after Live Oak law dogs took him away in chains. The party goes on, but profoundly suffers for the lost soldier. He would also be spending somewhere in the neighborhood of two-thousand dollars before this exercise was finally concluded, and that was worthy of a most serious effort.

Maybe there was another idea.

As he walked toward the interstate, he surveyed the layout of the surrounding fields and thicket. It was dense forest patches separated by farm fields and a few houses. For about a mile, he studied the lay of the land and began to consider the possibility of sneaking back into the festival without a bracelet. It would be straight out of Vinny’s book. Or Scotteesha. Or even Thatcher. Heckfire, this was out of Thomas Jackson’s book. Just down the street from Danville and Apomattox, welcome to the Army of Norther Virginia. Wearing flip flops, he was going to hump four square miles through country forest and sneak back in like a damn hippy. Cheyenne was right. He was the wook his parents had always warned him about. He turned off the road into the treeline, ate a five strip of acid and headed south. He would stay in the shade until he was off the main road, then all he had to do was follow the music, all the way home. For the moment, things were looking up,

As he hiked through the Virginia underbrush, sunset brought out the woodland critters. Deer and owls joined him in his hunt for the back door. Day turned to night and he took his time through the brush. He figured being impatient would lead to injury or cause him to be discovered traipsing through the brambles. Flip flops seemed like a silly way to navigate the streams and fields, but at least he wasn’t barefoot. The briars and thorny vines clung to his arms and legs as he lumbered through the dense thicket. The moon was going to be a waxing gibbous, which would surely assist with navigation and each time he drifted too far south, the sing-song voice of Susan Tedeschi guiding him back through the Virginia woods. The distant rumble of such tunes as Statesboro Blues, Alabama, by Neil Young and Mahjoun with Brandford Marsalis, kept him on the right trail. Behind Tye River Elementary School, back into the brush and then to cross Diggs Mountain Road. He was guided by the Aretha Franklin cover, “I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Loved You)”, “Bound For Glory” with Ivan Neville, “A Song For You” by Leon Russell. into “Little Martha” and “Whipping Post”. Thanks for the breadcrumbs, lady. After walking for a couple of hours, he came across some tents in the woods. This would be Forest Tent Camping, which happened to be directly across the street from High Field RV and his campsite. Things were beginning to look up. It was time to change the shirt and hat and sit down for a cold brew. The party would just be getting started.

He wasn’t entirely ready to give up on the music. He came to this festival to see Dead & Co. and that still needed to happen. Stonewall poked around the VIP area and behind the stage, looking for a chink in the armor, some place he could slip in. He spied an opening in the fence and started up a conversation with the nearby security guard. The guard lamented over the piece of broken wooden fence. “These hippies try to sneak in here, legs all slashed up and with no bracelet. They even broke my fence.”

Stonewall’s brain lit up with a new idea. “It’s real interesting that you should say that, because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I need you to let me get through that opening in the fence.”

He asked, “Do you have a bracelet?”

“Nope. They cut it off when they threw me out. But it would be real cool to get back in and rejoin my people before Dead & Co. kick off.”

The security guard began looking over his shoulder at the other gates and leaned in. “There’s folks working inside that fence and if they see you, they’re going to say something, so here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll take you by the shirt like you’re in trouble. We’ll walk right by everyone and when we get out of sight, I”ll lose you.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Dead & Co.: Back into venue just in time for Oteil’s birthday. Both the rail and field were thick with the best vibe ever. Something about the good ol’ Grateful Dead. They just make everything so much fun. It was a night for adventurous lurking. The first set brought out a Ramble On Rose-Alabama Getaway-Cassidy. The second set blew up an, Oteil-led Fire On the Mountain into a celebratory China Cat Sunflower. Two hours earlier he’d been alone, hiking through the back field of Ol’ Virginny, now he was sitting on a blanket, surrounded by the most beautiful people ever. Colorful.

Highlight of the festival: Saturday night’s midnight set included Lettuce with Eric Krasno Celebrating JGB, joined by Bob Weir, John Mayer and Oteil Burbridge in a set that tore up the mountain and set the beat for the rest of the night.

Finders Keepers I Second That Emotion Stop That Train (Oteil Sings) After Midnight ( John in for the jj cale spectacular) Sugaree (let Bobby sing) Tangled Up In Blue (that makes sense) That’s What Love Will Make You Do (it’s too serious to be funny) How Sweet It Is to Be Loved by You (the alpha and the omega) Cats Under the Stars (second one of the weekend) They Love Each Other (holy moly)

Lettuce called it a celebration of the Jerry Garcia Band after it was all said and done, a celebration is exactly what it felt like.

Dead & Co. Another Saturday Night, LOCKN’ 2018: photo by Karley Bear

Sunday Spunday: All hail a festival that uses it’s Sunday for a good cause. Bloody Mary brunch was served at Chris’ Opium Den near the Jerry Garcia Forest. Thank you SolarWolf and LunarWolf for the most seriously fun time ever. Thank you El Capitano for physically removing all the love governors. You’re headier than thy? The party got riled up when Cheyenne began lopping off her dreadlocks to trade for hugs. Fortunately, she was sedated before she could do too much damage. God willin’ and the Creek don’t rise. Check out the new Google map application that allows you to easily search for “tweakers near me”. Congratulations to Sugarplum and Huckleberry for getting hitched at Keller Williams and Grateful Gospel during Eyes of the World. These folks met at the same show, at the same spot three years earlier. It certainly is the dismal tides when Cook County trash can come down south and pilfer our own belles. It has been a proven formula for the ages, church is a great place to meet girls. Go Cubs.

Dead & Co.: And things were going so well for Stonewall. Left by Clayopheus, his recently acquired Staff bracelet was no more than a tattered chicken bone of a thing, held on by other bracelets and falling off every few steps. It was so frayed and torn, it looked as if he’d eaten if off of his wrist. Even the beer girl noticed when he wasn’t wearing one, and beyond the recognition, said nothing. All in all, he was back into the venue, this time enjoying the entire Tedesci-Trucks show into the night’s Dead. Then it happened… “I take a little powder, take a little salt, put it in my shotgun, I go walkin’ out…” Oh lordy, not this. The first set smattering Grateful ettoufee spun into a Mr. Charlie→Tennessee Jed→Althea that tripped every breaker on the mountain. The second set showed an Eyes of the World and Morning Dew with Branford Marsalis that left tears staining the front of tie dyes everywhere. Wolly bully. Mr. Charlie told me so.

Sugarplum and Huckleberry, Sunday at Tedesci-Trucks Band, LOCKN’ 2018.

Bob, John and Oteil join Lettuce and Eric Krasno for the JGB tribute Sat. night, LOCKN’ 2018.

Be sure to check out Roadtripmojo for more LOCKN’ gibberish and follow their social media channels on Facebook and Instagram.

Headed back to South Florida, for days the toenails would still be dyed with Virginia red clay. Charlotte storms postponed our flight and the guitar was destroyed by baggage carriers. That’s three guitars since Hulaween. This lifestyle is getting expensive.

“Does this mean I can use your ticket for Floydfest?”

Visit the Lockn’ website and follow their social media channels on Facebook and Instagram.

For our first Lockn’, it really had a little of everything you look for in a festival. Deer, dead people, research-grade narcotics, moonshine and spilled wine. Everyone brought their best effort and after it was all said and done, very little was left on the vine. Old friends came together with new ones and alliances were formed that would last a lifetime. We are on the lookout for Brian at Live Oak and his Mr. Clinkies. October is one of the best times for festivals at the Spirit of Suwannee Music Park in North Florida. Get ready for Suwannee Roots Revival and Hulaween coming up fast. See you under the Thunder Chicken.

LOCKN’ 2018: The Lowest Brow The gypsy girl said it herself, the cards looked good. But what did that really mean? And good for whom?

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trevorbailey61 · 6 years

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The Arcade Fire

Genting Arena, Birmingham

Sunday 15th April 2018

“They build it up just to burn it back down”. The large frame of Edwin Farnham Butler III is hunched over a small keyboard placed on the rotating central part of the stage as he delivers the words into the microphone in front of him. A quiet moment of reflection during the sensory overload that is The Arcade Fire’s return to this arena on the outskirts of Birmingham after a gap of nearly eight years. In the meantime they have conquered all before them, playing to audiences numbering tens of thousands in vast open air shows and headlining almost every large summer festival across the world. The words are from the song “Rococo” and as it was taken from their third album, “The Suburbs”, the one they were touring on their last visit, it was then a regular in their set. Its subdued tone and the cynicism in its lyrics, however, made it a awkward festival song and it rarely makes an appearance now, just twice before on the tour that began in the autumn of last year. The song uses the ornate, highly decorative but ultimately insubstantial art movement of the 18th century as a take down of the vapid, insipid hipster culture where modern kids are “Using great big words that they don't understand”. Whilst Butler’s words were directed those who in a desperate attempt to stay at the forefront of popular culture will discard music almost as soon as they have picked it up, it is tempting to also see it as a dig at those shapers of opinion who having loved them were starting to pick at every fault they could find; the knives that were already being sharpened then have found their target as the popularity of the band has soared.

Back in the middle of the noughties they announced themselves with “Funeral”, right up alongside “Marquee Moon”, “Are You Experienced” and “Unknown Pleasures” as being one of the great debut albums. As the title suggests, death formed its dominant theme; still in their early twenties, the grief experienced as ageing relatives passed away was all the more painful as it was being felt for the first time. Whilst sickness and death may form the backdrop, however, there was also a strong sense of rebirth and renewal, seen at its most powerful in “Wake Up” where Butler urges; "Children, wake up … before they turn the summer into dust”; a reminder that glory will only go to those who dare to seize it. The complexity of its emotions, the transition through life, death and rebirth and the staggering anthemic momentum of the music led to five star reviews and an almost universal top placing in the album of the year polls. With the follow up, “Neon Bible”, three years later, the mood had started to shift and with each subsequent album they have found it increasingly difficult to elicit the praise that was heaped on “Funeral”. Inevitably their most recent, “Everything Now” has received the most polarised reviews, some noting that it sees them at their most accessible whilst others saw a dark and joyless album where the social commentary lacked the insight they had shown on their debut. Needless to say it featured in few end of year polls. The naysayers have a point, there are moments on “Everything Now” where you have to question how a band capable of producing that glorious debut could have sunk so low. The clumsy synths of “Peter Pan” would easily be the worst thing they have ever recorded were it not followed by “Chemistry” which manages too be both cloying and corny without showing any irony or humour making it significantly worse; fortunately neither are played tonight. Then if all albums were judged on their weakest moments few would achieve greatness and even at their most transitional, there are still songs of majestic brilliance which, mostly, are the ones we hear tonight.

Perhaps, the critics had been too successful in identifying the next big thing and as the band outgrew their indulgence, they began to resent the success that they had helped to bring about. The band were undoubtedly highly ambitious, eagerly moving on from clubs to concert halls, arenas and beyond, writing anthems to draw in these big crowds and producing ever more spectacular shows. It no longer felt as intimate and like many before, they found that those who had championed them at first turned increasingly hostile, “they build it up just to burn it back down”. The mixed reviews for “Everything Now” are right to identify its flaws but as they began the tour to promote it, the live reviews followed a similar pattern, a reluctance to identify the strengths and an over emphasis on any perceived weaknesses. There may have been some early tour teething troubles and the corporate concept initially used certainly distracted from the music but regardless of the the opinion as to their merits in the studio, there can be no doubt that The Arcade Fire are a formidable live act. Anything that fails to acknowledge that and the enthusiasm that they can generate in their audience makes it look as it the writer is out to be negative just because they can.

Formidable they are. From the the moment the faceless cowboy projection announces that they are about to arrive the build up is relentless in its intensity, heightening the anticipation and generating fervour in the crowd. The strains of “A Fifth of Beethoven”, a nod to the disco mood of their recent work, merge into the introduction to “Everything Now” as the announcer covers their awards and achievements in the style of a heavyweight champion. The boxing analogy is carried into the staging, performed in the round with roadies holding the ropes up as the performers enter the ring. Then seamlessly they pick up from recorded introduction for a spectacular “Everything Now”; each member of the band facing out from a different side of the stage, the drummer rotating around the middle; they were everywhere, Butler’s younger brother Will even abandoning his musical duties altogether to run laps around the stage. The song stands out on the album showcasing what they are good at; a simple hook to draw you in, a bright intoxicating melody, banks of strings and piano, ghostly backing vocals and a epic scale; live it was immense. It was a masterclass in how to start a concert and as the thumping introduction to “Rebellion (Lies)” was followed by the disco groove of “Here Comes the Night Time” the only doubt was whether they could maintain such a ferocious pace and supreme quality for the next two hours.

They could, of course. There were a few quieter moments, the relatively sparse “Electric Blue” where Regine Chassagne’s falsetto soars into the stratosphere, the repetitive and moody “Neon Bible” and the aforementioned “Rococo”, and these helped to highlight just how climatic the peaks are when the full force of the band is unleashed. The driving beat of “No Cars Go” hits its groove perfectly and the doomed romance of “Put Your Money on Me” is suitably brooding and even starts with Win and Regine having a smooch. The nine piece band regularly swap instruments so “Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels)” sees drummer Jeremy Gara taking a break from his rotations as Chassagne takes the opportunity to pound out the rhythm. He returns to share duties on the folky swing of “The Suburbs” which segues wonderfully into the urgent overwhelming surge of “Ready to Start” before giving way once again to the Regine’s eerie falsetto in “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)”. Light scattered from the opposing glitter balls on either side of the stage, an appropriate setting for the glam disco beat of “Reflektor” and the perfectly crafted “Afterlife” which followed. Even when it seems as if everything has already been thrown in they still manage to find something extra for the darkly flamboyant “Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out)” before they eventually make their way out through the audience, shaking hands and posing for selfies as they leave. They are soon back to show that they can do restrained and sensitive with the sombre “We Don’t Deserve Love”, the delicate counter melody provided by striking empty wine and vodka bottles. As the refrain of “Everything Now” bookends the show, the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, who had earlier played a superb support slot, return to add to a colossal rendition of “Wake Up”. With the chanted refrain echoing around the hall, the band leave as they had arrived, running the gauntlet of eager fans hoping to shake hands, grab selfies or just touch the conquering heroes. Even with the audience starting to move towards the exits, they still hadn’t completely made their escape.

As an introduction to “No Cars Go”, Butler notes how the song was crafted during their early days in Montreal where they performed it to just a handful of people. Over the years it has grown into the immense anthem that it now is, a perfect example of how their sound has developed to fit the scale of their live show. In that time it has been there as they have become one of the best live acts around, masters, as they showed tonight, of arenas but also able to expand their sound to vast open air venues. It would be easy for them to rest on their repertoire but whilst much of what they played tonight was recorded at least a decade ago, they are still able to add new twists and turns as well as seeking to push their boundaries in their new music. It may be the case that not everything they try comes off and the mixed critical reception to “Everything Now” may encourage them to be a little more ruthless with their creativity when the results are below the standards they have set. In avoiding the clunkers and toning down the mock corporate concept that proved such a turn off during the early days of the tour, they have shown that this self analysis has already started leaving nothing to distract from what was an incredible gig. Stunning, mesmerising and uplifting, the champ pulled himself off the ropes and delivered the knockout punch.

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