#they just storm to den full of raiders

[lumitomu]

Combat Zone

[rotworld]

Vermundr's Pack: With Your Tail Between Your Legs

someone asked:

Hello! How are you? I have a question, how would the pack react if reader left to walk a little and came back really hurt?

it depends on how they got hurt. if it was an accident, getting scraped up in the woods, they'd be fussed over for a while and might have a chaperone for a bit. misadventure is part of life, they've all been there and won't stop you from exploring. but if their human gets attacked...

vermundr's pack/reader (mostly featuring vermundr and ormkell). contains gore, hurt/comfort, pack dynamics, mild feral behavior.

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Dusk casts heavy shadows as it drapes across the sky. The trees are silhouettes, black birdcage bars against the molten spill of the setting sun. The pack has lived and hunted here for years, engraving their favored paths into the dirt, but these familiar trails vanish as night creeps in. Places where the grass is thin and parted are hidden beneath the latticed shadow of the swaying canopy. It doesn’t matter. You know the way home.

Home, you think, bemused. When did you start calling it that? You lean against gnarled bark and rest for a moment, catching your breath. You can hear it—a steady trickle, like the last, stubborn drops of rain at the storm’s end. There’s a red blotch on the shoulder of your tunic, a blooming stain spreading slowly across your back. It throbs and oozes. You feel for the wound and hiss, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s raw and deep and feels like fire. If you looked, would you see bone? It’s awful. You feel nauseous and dizzy. Home. You need to get home.

At dusk, they light lanterns of pine wood and rawhide. The light is faint and ghostly, a curling glow like will-o’-the-wisps. It’s not for them. Wolves see just fine in the dark. But every night, without fail, the lanterns are placed throughout the clearing where the den waits. It’s these faint, warm lights that call to you through the trees, that guide you when your vision swims and your knees start to buckle. 

You hear the wolves before you see them. There are guests tonight, another pack from further west. A few of them roughhouse in the clearing, yipping and biting playfully at one another as they slip easily from human to wolf, wolf to human. Styrmir’s boisterous laughter echoes as he plays dice with a large, intoxicated group and Ragni has a group of pups enraptured with stories of the pack’s last raid.

It’s Vermundr who scents you on the wind first. He wears little in the warmer months, the sprawling ink of his tattoos on full display across his chest. He stiffens at the mouth of the den and you think he says something in their language, a rumbling sound that brings the festivities to a halt. You limp through thick foliage and brambles, your breathing shallow. Vermundr has already crossed the clearing when you emerge, his arms open, catching you just as your legs give out. Together, you sink to the ground.

“Rabbit?” he says. His voice is low and calm, but you can feel the pounding of his heart as he cradles your head to his chest.

“Humans,” you manage to tell him, squeezing the word through gritted teeth. Your word choice has him bristling. The wolves don’t think of the raiders as humans. They are allies, hunting kin, furless siblings. They have many names for them, but never “human.” What hurt you was something you thought you’d never see again. 

“Ragni,” Vermundr says. 

The other wolf is at his side in an instant, kneeling, peeling off your tunic. It’s ripped and sticky by your shoulder and you whine at the sting when it peels loose. Ragni hushes you, kisses your forehead and whispers soft reassurances. “I know. I know it hurts, rabbit. I’m so sorry.” There’s movement around you, murmurs and growls.

Wolves, some you know and some you don’t, gather at a distance. You hurt too much to be shy about your exposed chest. Vermundr keeps you steady and grounded, his hands on your hips and his gaze never leaving yours. You wince and whimper as Ragni examines your shoulder. Vermundr presses his forehead to yours as though trying to take your pain onto himself. 

There’s a flurry of movement nearby, a rush of footsteps. A whimper, and then someone else is beside you, squeezing in opposite Ragni. “No,” you hear, a hoarse, miserable whisper. You know your mate’s voice anywhere. Ormkell is fidgeting, restless, wanting to touch but not wanting to hurt you or get in Ragni’s way. He rakes his claws through the dirt out of desperation, needing to touch something, to hurt something for how you’ve been hurt. 

“Deep and uneven,” Ragni murmurs. “Hatchet wound.” 

Vermundr’s next breath is nearly a snarl. He says something in a tone reserved for orders and the other pack scatters, a stampede of half-shifted wolves streaming into the woods. Slowly, as though you’re made of glass, he gathers you up and hands you to Ormkell. Your mate trembles. He stands, cradling you against his chest. He scents you desperately, nuzzles against your face and your neck. “What do I do?” he says, his voice quivering. He’s asking the alpha. He wants orders. He wants something, anything to anchor him and help him focus.

Vermundr looks at your blood on his hands. “There are several things that need to be done, Ormkell,” he says. “I will tell you these things, and you will do them.” Ormkell nods eagerly. You cling to him, smearing blood across his chest, and it only makes him hold you tighter. Styrmir claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He brushes your bangs away from your sweat-soaked forehead and then he’s gone. You hear his gait change as he shifts, sprinting after the others. “Your mate needs healing. Ragni will remain here and help you administer the proper herbs and salves. Then they must eat and rest. We will all go to the baths together once the hunt ends. You must guard them, and the den, in my absence. Do you understand? Will you do these things?” 

“Yes,” Ormkell says, breathing again. “Yes, alpha. Thank you.” 

Hjalti passes him at the doors of the den, half-shifted, claws long and hooked. “If I find one with a hatchet,” he says, “I’ll bring him back for you.” They touch briefly, a quick, nuzzling motion. Ormkell makes a sound of gratitude and brings you inside. 

You stiffen when Ormkell reaches the nest and begins to lower you. “Blood,” you say, weak and tired. “My blood…I don’t…” You don’t want to ruin this special place.

Your mate’s expression softens with understanding. He lays down with you, curled up at your side. “I don’t care if you stain the pelts, rabbit,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. “We have many. We can always get more. There’s only one of you.” The kiss is chaste, too quick for your liking. Ormkell lingers only a breath away, studying you, holding you close. “I’ll be back,” he promises. “With something to ease the pain. I’ll take care of you, I promise. I won’t leave your side.” He fumbles with the furs wrapped around his waist, untangling one from the rest. He leaves it draped over you, a small blanket still warm with his body heat. It’s with great reluctance that he pulls away, and you hear him and Ragni speaking in hushed tones just outside. 

You hold the fur against your face. It smells like him. You smile, even through the pain. 

You made it home. You’re going to be okay.

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Revenge Never Felt So Good

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield

-Warnings: Guns, bombing, language, murder, blood, hints to smut (none actual smut), typos, shitty writing, torture I guess

-Words: 4.9K

A/n: Can we get back to mob stuff? Please. I want to apologize for this chapter, it is absolute shit and I could tell by writing it. Kind of a filler chapter. Sorry it is long.

Chapter 13: Revenge Never Felt So Good

Words: 4.9K

It had been a week, since you got your memories back and you declared your love for Tom once more. Right after that, you and Tom were on the first train to Paris, refusing to fly for awhile.

You and Tom returned last night, just in time to see Parker and Rosie off to school the next morning. While you and Tom had been enjoying a second honeymoon in the city of love, Nikki and Dom so graciously offered to watch the kids. Everything was falling back into full swing. Parker and Rosie were going to school regularly. Rosie spending all her time with Henry and Parker still living his secret double life.

Things going back to normal. Somewhat.

It was a typical morning, but anytime everyone every thinks that, something gets massively screwed up. You woke up early to make pancakes and bacon.

“So what is plan for everyone today?” You asked, sipping at your steaming cup of coffee.

“Well, Rosie and I have school,” Parker explained.

“I have plans with Henry,” Rosie chimed in.

“I have meetings all day, love.” Tom said, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Ok, so I’m all alone today,” you muttered, a little disappointed.

“I’m sorry darling, you could join me. You know much I love it when you sit in my lap during meetings. Really show them who’s boss,” Tom said, wrapping you in his embrace.

“No, it’s ok. I have some errands to run anyway.”

“Alright, angel. I love you. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“I love you too. Come on, kids. In the car we go.” You said, pushing everyone out the door.

“Why is Jared not driving?” Parker asked.

“Cause, I have errands to run and besides he’s driving your dad today.”

“Now let’s go.” You said as Parker and Rosie hopped into the car.

Tom was having a hard time returning to his mob personality. Some business was conducted in Paris, you tagged along and enjoyed every minute of it. Tom sometimes overcompensated for not being as dangerous and intimidating. He had grown soft taking care of you after the helicopter crash. Helping you get your memory took most of his time, he had to step away from the mob for awhile. But you were his top priority.

Tom couldn’t remember the last time he sat in his office doing business. He missed it. He missed the thrill of torturing someone, having them beg for their life in front of him. He missed the feeling of firing his gun.

“Tom, you’re late,” Haz said as Tom got out of the car.

“Sorry not sorry Haz, I enjoyed breakfast with Y/N and the kids this morning,” Tom responded.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What? It’s never good news if it’s right when I get here.”

“We’re down two more.” Harrison mumbled referring to then decreasing number of soldiers part of the Holland Empire.

“Are you fucking serious? Haz, I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit. My men are getting fucking killed. Everything has gone to shit,” Tom screamed, enraged.

“Tom, we’ll figure it out. Just need to keep your cool.” Haz said, trying to avoid Tom’s wrath.

“Easier said than done. Alright, who’s here,” Tom asked, trying to forget about everything else.

“William.” Haz said with a straight face.

“What? Why? He’s always been loyal,” Tom questioned. One of his most valuable men, working against him, the rat?

“I got word from the soldiers he has been taking bribes from Parker,” Harrison explained.

“What the fuck for? Well, I guess we’ll find out.” Tom said, walking into the main room of the warehouse.

“William, I’d never thought it would be you in this chair.” Tom said, walking up to one of his most trusted employees.

“Tom, you gotta believe me. I didn’t do anything. I’m not the rat,” William pleaded. He knew what had been happening to the mob.

“Did you or did you not take money from Parker?” Tom asked.

“Yes, he just wanted to get out of the manor at night. So, he paid me to turn a blind eye.”

“Where was he going?”

“I don’t know, I assumed to some girl’s house.” “William, I trust you. So I’m going to let you off with a warning, but you can’t let him sneak out anymore. I’m afraid we are being targeted. If he tries to leave, you have to tell me.”

“Yes, boss. I’m sorry.” William apologized.

“It’s ok, but you understand what needs to happen right? I can’t be looking like I’ve gone soft,” Tom asserted.

“Yeah, I can take it. It’s ok,” William said, gritting his teeth as he waited for the collision of Tom’s fist to his cheek. Tom winded up to deliver one swift punch to William’s left eye. Not breaking the skin but creating a dark purple blotch.

All of Tom’s frustrations have been channeled into his mob duties. Each punch riddled with anger and frustration. A release of catharsis combined with blood. Tom wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume.

The rest of the day was full of uneventful meetings. Meetings with business associates, actual business associates for the company.

When Tom came home, he planned to confront Parker about his whereabouts if he tried to sneak out again. Everyone retired, you went to sleep first and Rosie went to her room. Parker said, he was going to bed but Tom could see right through him.

Tom was sitting in the den, sipping a glass of watered down whiskey. Waiting for his son to disobey him. At 11:55 PM, Parker made his way downstairs ever so slightly. Only to be met with the dagger eyes of Tom.

“Where the fuck do you think you are going?” Tom asked as Parker tried to sneakily leave.

“I… I thought I heard noise outside and I’m going to go check on it,” Parker stammered. Getting caught by Tom was not part of the plan.

“Oh, ok. Parker the guards can do that. Go back to bed.” Tom said, turning back to the TV in the den, broadcasting Raiders of the Lost Ark.

“Ok. Night, dad,” Parker said, trudging himself back up the steps.

“Night…. I know, you’re lying,” Tom whispered loud enough for Parker to hear.

“What? I’m not lying.”

“Parker, I know you’ve sneaking out for weeks and bribing William.”

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Parker immediately started apologizing, no bother in trying to lie himself out of this one.

“Why have you been sneaking out?” Tom questioned, seething with anger but refusing to show it. Trying to have a mature adult conversation.

“I’ve been going to a girl’s house, her name is Jamie.”

“Oh, glad you find someone. You know after everything with Charlotte,” Tom replied.

“Well since I told you the truth, can I go? We made the plan a couple days ago and don’t want to cancel,” Parker lied.

“Alright, just be back before sunrise or your mother will have may head,” Tom informed him.

“Thanks dad, you should get some sleep,” Parker said, making his way out of the heavily guarded house.

Parker left as quickly as possible. He knew Wilson would be pissed for him being late. The talk with Tom was not how this was supposed to happen.

He couldn’t betray his family and himself anymore.

Parker hoped this was the last time he would have to talk to him. He planned to quit, after the conversation with Dom. Parker had become everything he hated, someone who kills for sport.

“Wilson, this is the last thing I’m doing then, I’m out,” Parker said, walking towards Wilson.

“We’ll talk about it later, my boy,” Wilson said, patting Parker’s shoulder.

“Alright who am I killing? You never gave me a target.” Parker shouted at Wilson walking.

“Oh, this isn’t a hit, it’s a robbery. Here’s your new firearm,” One of Wilson’s men explained, tossing a MP5K at him.

“You okay kid? You know if you’re too much of pussy the boss might understand,” jeered one of the men as Parker gulped at the size of the weapon.

“Fuck you, I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with,” Parker barked, trying to put his mind aside. He has never done anything like this. It wasn’t just one person he was killing, it was the possibility of having many causalities. Altering his persona from a hitman to a mass murderer.

A million thoughts flooded Parker’s mind. He wouldn’t be killing people who deserved it like before, contract killers or drug dealers, these were innocent people. Stupid people for gambling all their hard earned money away but nonetheless innocent.

Parker’s heart nearly stopped when he saw where the van pulled up to. A place he knew all too well, it was one of Tom’s casinos.

The company that Dom had built, but all the Holland boys sent thriving in the new century, was more than it seemed. Holland Exportation and Luxuries was much more than exporting goods.

It was casinos that ran all along the French Riviera, more specifically Monaco. It was hotels across the entire globe. It was a business but not the family one. More of a front for the mob but it paid the bills. Harry and Sam had been in charge of running and establishing the hotels and casinos across Europe.

“Y’know your way around, right? That’s why the boss put you on this.” One of men asked Parker as he fiddled with his new machine gun.

“I guess so.” Parker replied.

“Here’s a map. Where are the guards? Which posts?” Asked a soldier, pointing to the main entrance hallways, where security was sure to be.

“I don’t know.”

“So we’re going in there fucking blind? Fuck, thought you’d be good for something. Just stay out of our way,” yelled one of the capos.

“No. I’m taking point. If you have a problem, you can fucking talk to me about it along with my Glock,” Parker threatened.

“Alright. Don’t screw this up. The boss wants big bucks from this. Says “it’s step two in the fall of the empire.” Whatever the fuck that means.”

“On my count, 1, 2… 3,” Parker screamed.

They came storming in, barricading all the entrances and exits. Parker and Wilson’s men clad in all black and payday masks. All various colors and designs. They looked as they were trick or treating.

This was the last thing Parker wanted to be doing. He came today to quit and now he was robbing a casino.

Parker kept repeating a mantra in his head “Last one, then I’m done” as held his gun high. Pointing it directly at innocents, he could see them shaking in fear.

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND NOW!” He shouted, aiming his machine gun high.

“Don’t you fucking touch that button. I know what it fucking does.” Parker barks at the person behind the token counter. “Open the vault.” Parker said, pointing the gun at him.

“Why should I?” remarked the worker.

“Cause I fucking said so and I’m threatening your life,” Parker explained

“Enough of this shit!” He screamed, firing a few rounds close to the worker but not hitting him.

“You don’t have to do this. You could walk out of here, all of you. And we could go on with our lives. No need for money or the cops.”

“I think we both know that’s not gonna happen. I’ll ask nicely, please open the vault,” Parker mocked. “Boss said “start killing hostages in 10 minutes.” One of the other men whispered in Parker’s ear.

“Did you fucking hear that? We’re gonna fucking kill you if you don’t cooperate. So I suggest you open… the fucking… vault.”

“Sir, we can’t.”

“See this gun. LOOK AT IT! It has the power to put a bullet through your skull. Open the fucking vault. I won’t ask a fifth time.”

“That’s it. Now, type in the code.” Parker directed towards them.

The vault door creaked open, revealing trappings of pure wealth. Money stacked on tables, almost reaching the ceiling. And gold bars, glistened as the light reflected off of them.

“Now was that so fucking hard. Take all of it. Everything, even the gold.” Parker said, directly towards his men.

“Thank you, you’ve served you purpose,” Parker said to the worker, shooting him dead not even 3 seconds later. The screams of the other hostages echoed through the vacated room.

“Now to everyone here, there’s already one dead. I don’t mind making it more,” Parker barked.

“What’s your name?” Parker asked the nice looking girl kneeling on the ground.

“It’s not nice to not answer when someone asks you question, especially someone with a 9 caliber MP5K in your face. I ask again. What’s your name?” Parker spoke.

“Jane,” she whispered, shaking with fear.

“Well Jane, I want to thank you for your cooperation. You are in charge of talking to the cops, ok? And let your boss know, that Wilson is always watching,” Parker said, as he turned to leave.

“I will but you won’t get as far as you hoped,” Jane asserted, trying not to irritate Parker.

“And why’s that?”

“I know you. I remember you. You’d come in here with your dad.”

“You don’t know fucking shit!” Parker screamed.

“I know your name and that puts me at a high position of power,” Jane expressed, growing less afraid by the second. Realizing he is just some scared boy. Maybe not afraid of his own shadow but broken down by the fear of the world.

“I’m the one pressing fucking gun to your head. I HAVE ALL THE POWER!” Parker vociferated loud enough to shake the chandelier hanging above.

“You wish. Men like you always wish.”

“Seems like you’re doing some wishing yourself sweetheart. Wishing to be escorted out of here in a body bag. Now shut your fucking trap.”

“Hey. Let’s go. Leave her.” One of the Wilson’s men said, pulling Parker towards the exit.

“He still loves you and he’ll forgive you for this,” Jane shouted as Parker left.

Refusing to turn back, he had taken enough lives from this ill attempt at revenge. Parker didn’t know who he was fighting against anymore. Who was the hero and who was the villain?

All the wrongdoings as vast as the sea. All his attempts to make someone pay were misconstrued. Who actually deserved it?

The words of the woman replayed in Parker’s head. She was like a broken record, forcing him to listen to a truth he hoped to forget. How could Tom forgive him? Parker knew what he done was unforgivable. It was a mistake, all of it.

Parker marched into Wilson’s office and said, “Ever since I started working for you, my family has been in danger. I thought my dad was the reason for my girlfriends death, but I was wrong. I guess I’ll never know. Here Wilson, my gun. I quit.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I own you. I could end you, boy. Just like I almost did your parents,” Wilson barked.

“What?” Parker questioned, a look of confusion are on his face.

“Oh, please. You really think it was just a malfunction,” Wilson scoffed.

“What are you talking about?” Parker asked.

“Their helicopter. Pretty brilliant work, if I do say so myself,” Wilson gloated.

“They almost died.”

“Yeah and so? Your dad is my enemy. That is the whole reason you came to me in the first place.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt them,” Parker screamed. “Promises are meant to be broken. They don’t call me the Merchant of Death for nothing.”

Wilson was ready for the fight and been the one pulling the strings the entire time. Tom warranted no quarrel. Never being the instigator in a fight with Wilson.

They had been divided for years to come, focusing on their separate mobs. Only acknowledging each other if they accidentally crossed paths. There was Wilson’s mob, then a few others scattered round London such as Graham’s which was almost non-existent and Shaw’s which was mostly the drug scene. But Wilson was Tom’s biggest competitor. Being a part of then game for years before didn’t matter, Tom eclipsed Wilson just like the sun does the moon.

Or the moon to the sun, that was exactly Wilson’s play from the start. Taking out the pillars of Tom’s life. First a reason to have his son turn on him, the death of a loved one. Next, removing you from Tom’s grasp. Eventually a play had to be made on Rosie. Leaving Tom utterly alone.

Only thoughts that would cross his mind be suicidal ones, having lost everything he ever cared about. It was a long play, one Wilson vowed to see through. Wilson saw all his work as justice and merciful. Almost biblical, they way everything was playing out.

“It was you. All along. The fucking puppet master,” Parker mumbled under his breath.

“If you are talking about your little girlfriend, that was strictly business, nothing personal. But yes, I have been the one behind the scenes driving your father mad. Remember the note?” Wilson exclaimed.

“She didn’t deserve to die,” Parker shouted.

“What? Are you really upset? That was ages ago. Plus, I had to get you on my side somehow,” Wilson teased.

“Wait, you knew I’d come here?”

“Parker, how stupid are you? When will you grow up and learn this rivalry is just the beginning of a war. What side are you going to be on? You have a choice. I’ve warmed to you and I want you on my side as I take your daddy down.”

“That’s your first fucking mistake don’t have any weaknesses,” Parker admitted, taking a lesson from Tom. He drew is gun, point blank at Wilson.

“Parker, what are you doing? Put the gun down,” Wilson pleaded for his life.

“No, you made me into a cold blooded killer. Not my dad. I quit.”

BANG

After a loud thud sounded, the room was silent. Only a faint smell of smoke from the gun was there as Parker fled as quickly as possible.

Parker made his way home that night a changed man. All his kills in the pass were strictly business. Never driven by emotion but this one was personal.

It wasn’t a job or a hit. He was no longer a contract killer. Killing for the sake of money or an obligation. He was cold blooded killer.

In some twisted way, Parker enjoyed Wilson and his company. Looking up to him. He was then one who saved him from the horrible life he thought he was leaving behind. The one full of deceit and betrayal. The one with Tom, you and Rosie.

The one that led him to be next leader of the Holland mob. The one that resulted in the death of his beloved girlfriend. The one that had almost taken you and Tom away from him. The one that almost took his life. The one that forced him to kill for sport.

But no, he was wrong Parker brought that on himself. Parker’s naivety was his greatest enemy. He was just a child not too long ago. Once afraid of his own shadow, then afraid of failing at life and school, especially the SATs. Now, he was an adult burdened by problems a 16 year old should ever face. He could sit there and blame Tom, but it would do him no good when all he had to do was look in the mirror.

Parker was his own worst enemy. Searching for justice, when none could be found in a world wear mobsters roamed. Causing shootouts, robbing banks, and killing innocent people. People deserved to be avenged and Parker sure as hell wasn’t doing anything to aide.

Parker drove home, took four showers and threw his clothes away. Anything to wash off this abhorrent day. The next morning, Parker went on like nothing had changed. As if he didn’t shoot his boss and Tom’s rival in cold blood. As if didn’t only see himself as a cold blooded killer. Everything that he is and everything he owns soiled with the scent of murder.

He played it as though it was any other morning. Eating his pancakes and bacon before starting the day. Telling you about his plans for the day. Trying to keep his cool. The lovely morning breakfast conversation was interrupted once Tom’s phone rang.

RING, RING, RING

“Haz, why are you calling me? I’m having breakfast with my family,” Tom asked, annoyed his precious breakfast was interrupted. “Charlie is here, you need to get here. I have to tell you something,” Haz informed Tom. “Ok, I’m on my way,” Tom said, brushing off the request. Why would the

company’s electrical engineer for aeronautical transportation be there?

“Love, I’m so sorry but I’m needed at the warehouse. Thank you for this wonderful breakfast, wish I could enjoy it. Bye, kids. Have a good day at school,” Tom said, making his way out the door. Bidding you all goodbye.

“Haz, what’s was so urgent that I couldn’t finish my breakfast.” Tom barked, annoyed he was pulled away from you and the kids even on a Saturday.

“We were robbed last night. The casino.” Haz explained, his head hanging low.

“How the fuck? Did they catch them?” Tom seethed with anger.

“No, we do have eye witnesses though.”

“How much is missing?”

“About 11 million dollars, from cash to gold bars.” Haz said, waiting for Tom to explode.

“FUCK. We need to make them pay. I’m done playing fucking games.” Tom shouted, calming himself down for his meeting with Charlie.

“Now, you said Charlie was here, right?”

“Yeah, in your office.”

“Charlie? What are you doing here?” Tom asked, a little annoyed he was taken away from his morning with his family.

“Tom, I ran my report and did diagnostics tests and it’s not good,” Charlie started.

“What the fuck does that mean, Charlie?” Tom yelled.

“I think the helicopter was sabotaged.”

“What? You mean is that someone tried to take out my wife and I while we were on a helicopter,” Tom repeated, making all the connections necessary .

“Yes, it wasn’t just a normal malfunction. Did they ever find the pilot?” Charlie asked.

“No… Jesus fucking christ, if it’s true then…Fuck, I’m sorry I have to go,” Tom yelled, running out to the car.

“Jared, home now.”

“Mr. Holland is everything alright?” Jared asked, concerned by Tom’s frantic manner.

“No. I just found out the helicopter was sabotaged. I think someone might being trying to take out Y/N and I.”

“Come on baby, pick up,” Tom whispered, frantically dialing your number over and over.

“Y/N answer the god damm phone!” Tom shouted, when heard the same voice message over and over again, “Hi, this Y/N Holland please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“God fucking dammit. Fuck, voicemail. Jared do you know where my wife is?” Tom yelled, afraid what your silence meant.

“Last I heard she was at the store getting groceries,” Jared explained.

“Fuck, I have here location on my phone. Change course,” Tom barked, praying you were okay. With the information he just learned he didn’t want to leave you alone, not even for a second.

“Y/N! You’re okay.” Tom said, inhaling a breath of relief. You were coming out of the store pushing a cart of groceries.

“Tom! Of course, I’m okay. What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I’ll explain later. Get Parker and Rosie we need to go home now.”

“They’re already home. Henry’s there also. You’re scaring me.” You said, Tom never acts like this.

Being a part of a mob there is a constant fear of someone behind you. All throughout Tom’s life he only had to worry about himself until he met you.

Tom’s worst fear is him being the reason you no longer walk the earth. The last week he had glimpse of life without you and didn’t care for it one bit. You weren’t a weakness but at the same time, you were. For anyone with a dangerous job there’s always a target on your back.

“Come on, love. In the car,” Tom motioned towards the car.

“Tommy, my car is here. I’ll meet you there,” you said, kissing his cheek goodbye.

“Ok just be careful please.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Ok, Jared. Home now plea—“ Tom directed but was cut off by a loud BOOM.

“Jared, what the fuck was that?” Tom asked.

“Sir, it was Mrs. Holland’s car.”

“Y/N! Y/N?” Tom jumped out of the car. Nothing else mattered in that moment, only finding you.

Time stood still as thick black smoke bled through the air. Coating everything in its path with a faint ash. Screams echoed from the bystanders as the car went up in flames.

“Tom, I’m okay. It wasn’t mine.” You exasperated, coughing from the smoke. It wasn’t your car but it was close in proximity.

“Thank god. I can’t keep almost losing you,” Tom whispered, kissing you hairline.

“I’m here now.” The second you were in his arms you knew you were safe.

“Yes you are. It sure does look hell a lot like yours, though. Come on, I’m taking you home,” Tom said, wrapping his right arm around your shoulder.

Pulling up to the manor, everything looked different. There were more guards posted at every corner with heavier weaponry. Tom had the gate barricaded with another car in case some where to ram into the gate.

“Jesus, what took you so long?” Haz said

“They tried to bomb Y/N’s car. Thankfully the dumb fucks who planted it, picked the wrong car.”

“Tom you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I will. Family meeting in the living room. Now.”

“Some of us have some secrets to share. I want to know everything that happened here while your mother and I were in Paris. Someone start talking,” Tom said, pacing in front of Parker and Rosie sitting on the couch.

Rosie and Parker were both hiding something. Rosie’s however was a rather monumental milestone. Rosie reminisced of her wonderful night with Henry while you and Tom were away. She loved Henry so much and was overjoyed to share that experience with him.

Rosie had told Henry at the wedding that she was ready to take that next step with him. Seeing you and Tom re-commit yourselves to one another affirmed that for Rosie. That she loved him more than anything.

“I’m sorry, dad. You don’t have to worry, we were safe,” Rosie blurted out.

“What?” Tom barked growing more anger by the second.

“Henry and I used a condom,” Rosie responded.

“Rosie?” You questioned, knowing what she was talking about.

“WHAT?” Tom screamed.

“That’s not what you were hinting at?” Rosie stammered.

“No, this is about Parker,” Tom reckoned.

“Fuck,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Where the fuck is he?” Tom yelled, bolting out of the living room. Looking for the boy who had stolen Rosie’s innocence. You and Rosie soon followed hoping Tom wouldn’t do anything rash.

“Dad!”

“Tom!”

“Henry, you bastard! You fucked my daughter!” Tom shouted charging at Henry.

“Oh shit,” Henry muttered, he knew Tom could kill him in an instant.

“You went in my daughter! What’s stopping me from killing you right now.” Tom asked with gritted teeth, hoping this dumbass wouldn’t answer.

“Tom, put him down,” you said, as Tom was gripping his collar and dangling him in the air.

“Daaaadddd.”

“Tom, please,” you pleaded as Tom held a gun square to Henry’s head.

“The safety is on, I was never gonna shoot him. Just make him shit his pants a little. From now on, you two can’t be here alone. And if you are in your room the door needs to stay open,” Tom said, pointing fingers at Rosie and Henry.

“I believe we have more important business to get to. Now come on,” you said, pulling Tom away.

“Y/N, you know I was never going to actually hurt the boy right?”

“Yes, Tommy. Now please resume the family meeting.”

“Parker. Do you have something to tell us?” Tom asked, knowing his son will lie.

“I’ve been sneaking out at night and I’m sorry,” Parker started, you could hear the disappointment behind his voice.

“Why? I know it’s not because of a girl. I want to know everything,” Tom explained, fucking tired of all the lies.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Parker began by explaining how he felt by the loss of Charlotte and how he turned to Wilson. In Parker’s mind he was doing the right thing. Serving justice to those who wronged others. But in reality he was the one committing the wrongdoings.

Parker came clean that he was the one killing all of Tom’s men and that he killed Jazz. That he went Wilson before coming to Tom. Becoming Wilson’s secret hitman was never supposed to go this far. He only intended for it to be a big fuck you to Tom. Not destroy his livelihood and his family in the process.

Including all the details of Wilson’s secret agenda of taking you and Tom out. But Parker left out the fact that Wilson was no longer a threat. Having taken care of him the day before.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve never been this naive and stupid. I’m the one you’ve been searching for. I’m the rat,” Parker exclaimed. “Dad, say something,” he pleaded.

“Get out,” Tom said with an unchanging expression.

“What?”

“I said get the fuck out!”

“Tom,” you tried to reason.

“You are no longer my son. Betraying me, betraying your family. Get out.” Tom screamed.

A/n: I’m sorry. I like the content in this chapter but not the writing.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @dummiesshort @adriannauni @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

The Coming War for the North, Part 2: The Lost Wolves

In part 1, I talked about the coming battle of ice with Stannis fighting against the Boltons to take Winterfell. I discussed the situation there, the pink letter, and briefly speculated what the battle of ice will entail and who I thought would emerge victorious. If you read that, you know I argued Stannis would lose and the true battle for the North would be fought by Jon against Ramsay. In part 2, I'll dive into setting up the different factions left in the North (and beyond!) that I think will be integral to the northern storyline in TWOW.

A Trip to Skagos

Last we saw of Davos, he was not executed by Wyman Manderly, and Lord Manderly has sent him to retrieve Rickon from Skagos. Davos in TWOW is definitely going to be fun to read, as Skagos sounds like a very sinister place (or is it all that sinister?) and seeing Rickon again should be interesting. At the beginning of ADWD Davos was sent to parley with the Manderlys by Stannis, but the Manderlys imprisoned him, and per what we hear from in AFFC, executed him.

Of course, they didn't, and instead put him into the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle that is now used as a prison. Then Davos is freed and meets with Wyman in private, with Robett Glover in attendance, who say they are not with the Boltons, and were merely playing up the ruse so that Wyman's son Wylis would be returned safely without a hint of disloyalty towards the Lannisters. Instead, they are plotting revenge against the Red Wedding, and inform Davos that they found Wex Pyke, Theon's mute squire, who eventually revealed that Rickon has gone to Skagos. Wyman will support Stannis if Davos successfully brings Rickon back.

We don't know a lot about Skagos, and the little we do know paints it as a very sinister, savage place. They are rumoured to practice human sacrifice to the weirwoods and cannibalism in winter, and luring passing ships with false lights, more like tribes of raiders not too dissimilar to wildlings. They also rose in rebellion against the Starks during the reign of King Daeron II, which lasted years and claimed the lives of thousands, Lord Barthogan Stark among them, before it was finally put down. Also they ride unicorns, one horned shaggy goats.

I'm not sure what Skagos will ultimately be like, but I think it's probably going to be a weird mix of wildlings and northmen. There is also the question of their relationship with both. The northmen hate them and view them as savages, and they are built up as sinister people, but perhaps they only play it up in order to be left alone. Their historical connection to the North isn't very positive, so they might enjoy being isolated from the rest of the North, so long as they aren't disturbed.

That said, it is interesting that Osha chose Skagos to hide with Rickon. Anywhere in the North is dangerous for a loose wildling and a young Stark to be in... except Skagos, apparently. Do the Skagosi have good relations with the free folk? They seem to live more like the free folk and the island is further north than the rest of the North (bordering on the lands of the Night's Watch & even stretching beyond the Wall). Plus, Osha went there with Rickon to keep him safe, so the idea that the free folk and Skagosi have connections isn't too unikely.

The real question I am wondering is; how is Rickon doing? Last we saw him, he was only 4 years old, wild and untamed. I somewhat subscribe to the theory that the names of the direwolves hint at their future, and while there is a theory that Rickon is a shaggydog story (a long winded, complicated anecdote that goes nowhere), I think Shaggydog more or less foreshadows Rickon's wild nature. There is nobody training his warging abilities, and he was already wild to begin with, and now he's on a remote island in the middle of nowhere, so I only think he's going to grow more and more wild.

And, how are the Skagosi treating Rickon? Do they like him? They don't have good historical connections with the Starks, so they may not like Rickon when they first met him. Maybe they revere him since he is a warg? Or perhaps nobody truly knows who he is, but some kid with a giant wolf who knows lives on the island, and people give him offerings? Since we have little to nothing to go off, we have no idea what exactly Rickon has been up to since his exit from the pages in ACOK.

Regardless, Davos might find himself in a difficult position to convince Rickon to return. He's a complete stranger and nobody is going to trust his agenda, least of all Osha who was tasked with keeping Rickon safe. Given George has "important plans" for Rickon, I doubt Davos will fail to bring Rickon back, but it won't be easy, and probably will take some time.

From there, I see two possible places for Davos to go. While he would be tasked with returning Rickon to White Harbor, there is a possibility that the storms will force him to land in Eastwatch. Rickon could have a reunion with Jon Snow if that is the case, but I tend to favour Rickon being returned to White Harbor and used to rally Manderly and their allies against Ramsay. Wyman tells Davos all the value of having his House as an ally against the Boltons.

"I have been building warships for more than a year. Some you saw, but there are as many more hidden up the White Knife. Even with the losses I have suffered, I still command more heavy horse than any other lord north of the Neck. My walls are strong, and my vaults are full of silver. Oldcastle and Widow's Watch will take their lead from me. My bannermen include a dozen petty lords and a hundred landed knights. I can deliver King Stannis the allegiance of all the lands east of the White Knife, from Widow's Watch and Ramsgate to the Sheepshead Hills and the headwaters of the Broken Branch."

Stannis Baratheon

One thing to note is what Stannis will be doing. Say he, as I think happened, was defeated by the Boltons and faked his death. What is his next move? It's entirely possible that Stannis just retreats to the Nightfort, a location that he intends on sitting at one day, and in his desperation, burns Shireen to wake dragons out of stone (apparently people hate this take but it's a possibility in my mind). However, this isn't to say he is completely out of the game yet.

The Manderlys are open to allying with Stannis (should Davos be successful in retrieving Rickon), and they are part of the army sent in the battle of ice to do battle with Stannis. Could they possibly help fake Stannis's death in battle and have him retreat to a secret location? There is potential foreshadowing for this.

"White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need."

Could they have him retreat to the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle turned prison? There is a secret passageway connecting the Wolf's Den to the New Castle that Davos was shown.

While it might just be simpler for Stannis to retreat and die, this story is anything but simple, and I feel George is still having him around for a reason. He did send Justin Massey to Braavos to hire sellswords and sent them to him through Eastwatch (which is how I believe Arya will return to Westeros), so those might come in handy in the future. So while I believe the Starks will be the centre of defeating the Boltons and retaking Winterfell, Stannis could still have a role in this. One idea is that he actually takes the Dreadfort.

While the original idea posed by Arnolf was to merely siege it, and was supposed to undermine Stannis, interrogating Theon would be of some great use, as could the fleet of warships Lord Manderly has been building. Theon once escaped the Dreadfort through a postern gate that is either lightly or not guarded at all, with the help of Kyra, only for this to all be a game devised by Ramsay to hunt them back down. His knowledge of the Dreadfort could prove useful for Stannis to take it, while the Manderly fleet rows up the Weeping Water and lays siege to it.

A Blaze of Boltons

Now it's time to look at the Boltons. Say Roose is successful in holding Winterfell and defeating Stannis, and he gets rid of the Freys and Manderlys. What then? The northern houses are still only tentatively loyal to him, and he knows it. But the danger that poses to him is temporarily dealt with. The true danger was the fact that there was an option to join a new side against the Boltons, but once Stannis defeated, they are back to being all by themselves, knowing the Iron Throne is backing the Boltons and not risking their ire.

However, there is a distinct possibility that the Boltons will still lose support eventually, and by none other than their own hands, specifically Ramsay's. As a psychopath, Ramsay has an enormous ego, and is very concerned about his birthright, hoping he will one day be Warden of the North and Lord of the Dreadfort.

"My lord has a new wife to give him sons." "And won't my bastard love that? Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

Roose is aware of just how unhinged Ramsay is. He knows Ramsay will be upset if Walda gives birth to a boy, and knows Theon is reporting back to Ramsay. But Roose doesn't really seem to care all that much. Perhaps he would be amused if this did happen. Or perhaps he's just trying to comfort Ramsay to prevent this happening. Regardless, he also knows that Ramsay was responsible for his half-brother Domeric's death.

"Yes, m'lord. Domeric. I … I have heard his name …" "Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

It seems clear that Ramsay's murder of his half-brother Domeric is foreshadowing, not just for the eventual death of Walda's child, but for Roose as well. Ramsay is very close to one day snapping and doing something so horrible that he cannot go back from. And to make it more clear, there is a line at the end of ADWD that I completely overlooked that shows Walda is actually pregnant.

Roose Bolton entered, pale-eyed and yawning, accompanied by his plump and pregnant wife, Fat Walda.

Later Ramsay and Roose are seen arguing, and Walda seems very frightened, but Theon doesn't hear what they say. It's possible they were arguing about Ramsay's inheritance given that Walda is now pregnant (although I think they were more likely arguing about what to do with Stannis). Regardless, I think that Walda giving birth to a boy would drive Ramsay over the edge. Despite him being impulsive and angry, he's still quite capable of covering up what he does. So I think, just as he did with Domeric, he will poison Roose, Walda, and his newborn half-brother, leaving him the only Bolton left and asserting his dominance over the North.

Of course, this is going to have serious consequences for Ramsay, something I will get into in part 3, where I will talk at length about the coming Bastardbowl.

[foxtophat]

(still trying to figure out how i link these but whatever)

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! i decided to just sit down and hammer out the last edits for this lil one-shot so i could get it out today!

i’m gonna be real with you: the only reason i wrote this fic is because i couldn’t get the idea out of my head.  you weren’t supposed to see mercyverse for another month, honestly!!! but it’s been cold as fuck here and it’s made me fantasize about classic bed-sharing tropes, and so here we are!

this is a bit of a slice of life, to sort of give an idea of how day-to-day these guys all interact, especially now that carmina doesn’t have to pretend john doesn’t exist.  plus, i’m starting to see how the caches might be involved in the overarching plot???? awesome!!!

as usual, the full text is below the cut for my friends who don’t wanna leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy -- feel free to leave a comment, i loooove hearing from readers. likes and reblogs are also great! kudos are fantastic! adding to the hit counter is just fine by me!!! anything you do to show support for fanfic is a good thing imo.  i hope y’all have a happy wintereenmas or whatever and i will see you guys in 2021 with more mercyverse :)

The best thing Nick can say about the blizzard currently sweeping the county is that he could see that it was coming. They'd gotten almost a foot of snow the night before, which gets him worried about getting snowed in, and as the day progresses, the sky grows an ominous gray that Nick recognizes from a lifetime of living in the area. He knows that they probably only have a few hours left before they're going to want to get inside and avoid the worst a winter storm has to offer.

Nick and John spend the entire morning hauling wood into the house, while Kim does her best to clean out the broken chimney and ensure they won't die of smoke inhalation. They also pull in some pre-made stock that Kim had left in the freezer after it had gotten cold enough to use, as well as a few smaller pieces for miscellaneous projects. But with the storm rolling in overhead, they don't have long; they end up leaving a lot of things for later as the wind whips up around them and turns the snow sideways.

By two in the afternoon, they've closed the doors to officially bunker down for the rest of the blizzard. They have enough wood to last them three days, plus their military rations and plenty of coffee, so Nick isn't particularly concerned about their safety. The only thing he's really got to contend with is boredom, which is easier to stave off in the first few hours of captivity than it is later in the evening.

For the most part, Nick passes the time by sharpening their knives, cleaning their guns, and checking the radio every hour for any emergencies. The blizzard ensures that not many people are on, but at least he gets to check in with Jerome and make sure that Grace is safely in her bunker. It's unlikely they'll get in contact with the trailer park until after the worst passes, but that just means Nick's gonna worry about those jackasses all night.

Kim is probably the only one comfortable with the downtime, making the most of things as she chews on the radio's instructions. When the technical jargon gets to be too much, she switches to entertaining Carmina, who gets bored quick when her only job is to keep the fire going. The easiest distraction comes from card games; the deck they'd had in the bunker had shrunk to only 32 cards, but now that they've got a full deck to work with, Carmina is eager to relearn and master games like Go Fish and Old Maid. Nick doubts Jacob planned to be entertaining kids with his survival gear, but it's not like the guy's gonna complain.

Carmina isn't the only one that Jacob is keeping busy beyond the grave. Ever since they found that cache of his, John has been borderline obsessed with figuring out what the point of it could be. He'll go all day without mentioning the puzzle plaguing him, but any available downtime has him staring at the map and its coordinates. Nick and Kim have both been keeping an eye on it, just in case it turns into something worse than his usual tunnel-vision, but so far it hasn't gotten out of hand. If anything, John seems more aware and alert now that he has something to focus on, and now Nick can even pretend he's a normal guy for conversations at a time before being reminded otherwise.

Of course, the blizzard's making it impossible to find alternate distractions. John does spend part of the afternoon in his room, but eventually, he can't help but come downstairs to mull over the map. There's only one problem with that — they've hung the map up in the radio room, so there's about ten minutes every hour where Nick has no choice but to sit in John's presence. It probably wouldn't bother him so much if there was somewhere else either of them could be, but they're stuck for the foreseeable future. John's looming is just going to be part of Nick's life until the storm passes.

In the interest of keeping the peace, Nick reluctantly tries to have the same level of interest in the random dots that John shows. His attention, however, is distracted by the penciled-in changes that he, Kim and John have all been making to the landscape. The river's wider in some places now, and there are doodles of trees in spaces that were once open fields. A few X's mark places where bridges have collapsed, and Kim's circled anywhere they've made radio contact with. Their notations have scattered across the valley, and have even spread over to the river region thanks to Hurk and his raider gang, but they still don't know anything about the mountains, or even the spaces that are supposedly occupied by bow-wielding religious nutjobs. It's going to be a while before any of them get the nerve to go poking that particular hornet's nest.

John has his little notebook open, but he's not writing anything down. Nick's not sure what he would even put down, since they haven't gotten any more leads since early autumn, but he's always got the thing tucked in a pocket nowadays. Maybe Nick should be mad he outright stole that resource from the rest of them, but — well, come on. He can't yell at the man for taking up journaling, not without flying in the face of every therapist Nick had pretended not to listen to. It's just... well, what the hell is there for him to write down?

"Are you staring for any particular reason?" John asks, because of course he does.

"That's rich, coming from the guy lurking over my shoulder all day." Nick flips off the static-ridden radio frequency, leaning back in his chair so that he can get a better look at the map push-pinned to the wall. "I hear if you look at it just right, you can see a sailboat."

John's clearly not much of a Kevin Smith fan, because he only sighs heavily at Nick's flat joke. "If you have something better for me to be doing, I'm all ears," he says, revealing to Nick at last just how bored he really is. Weirdly enough, being in the same boat as John is somehow reassuring.

"Okay, fine. At least tell me what you're staring at, so I know what to fake interest in."

Even though it's mostly a joke, it lands softly enough that John doesn't take offense. Stuffing the notebook in his back pocket, he shakes his head, gesturing at the map. Getting John to explain himself is usually like pulling teeth, but right now he seems relieved to have someone to bounce his thoughts off of. It's a long way away from the guy Nick remembers saving, enough so that it almost catches his full interest.

"It's nothing in particular, really. I've already spent hours staring at this thing, but I'm... still looking for a pattern, I guess. Jacob was paranoid and secretive, but if there's a hidden code buried in these coordinates, it's beyond me to see it. And the snow was already keeping us from traveling too far — now with this blizzard, we're likely stuck with no new information until spring ..."

John sighs, rubbing his forehead as the pretense finally abandons him. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do until then."

That's certainly a feeling that Nick can relate to. Nick is less of a workaholic than John might be, but that doesn't mean he won't go stir-crazy without his own set of chores. Hell, that's why he's been hanging around the radio in between games of cards with the girls and cleaning whatever he can get his hands on. It must suck extra for John; the guy's been spinning his tires in the dirt for years, probably, and being this close to having a purpose beyond doing whatever chores Nick sets him to must be irritating.

Nick props one leg up against the wall, tapping his boot against the wood as he ponders the dots scattered around the map. There are a few still in the valley, but there's no driving until they thaw out. The points in the mountains are probably inaccessible to anybody, and who knows when they'll get to investigate the old vet center or find the Wolf's Den. There are a couple points nearer the trailer park, though, and not for the first time Nick tries to measure the distance from Hurk to the various red dots. There's one near the lumber mill, and one near where that godawful statue was, and of course one right smack dab in the middle of the original Peggy compound.

Nick can't imagine his truck making it all the way there and back, not without more information about the roads. Hurk might not have the same trouble. "I could send the trailer park a couple coordinates," he points out. "They might get to search before us, and it could cut the work in half."

Despite John's scowl, he only sounds tired as he replies, "I've considered it, but I don't trust them. Then again, I hardly trust myself, so who knows."

"I guess you're shit outta luck, then," Nick says. John takes obvious offense at Nick brushing him off, but hey, what else is Nick supposed to do? "God's giving you a freebie with this blizzard. Maybe you should try catching up on your sleep, or something."

"And ruin the precarious schedule I'm keeping?"

"Jesus, then go read a book! Just — you know, quit hovering over me all day. Don't you know how to entertain yourself?"

John seems unphased by Nick's half-hearted outburst. "This is how I entertain myself. Maps, resources, legal documents — that's probably the only decent outlet I've ever had." He stares at Nick's boot, unwilling to meet his eyes. "At least, it's the only one healthy enough to keep."

That is probably a safe bet, Nick realizes, quickly trying to backpedal away from the open scab that is John's history. "Uh, well, what about before the cult?"

John surprises them both with a brief laugh. "If I could source some coke, then yes, I would be entertained."

"Jesus, John."

"I'm not known for my healthy self-care habits," John points out, a little too smug to be truly self-deprecating. At least he seems to understand what Nick had been getting at originally, deferring with a vague hand-wave. "Is my loitering in the kitchen going to be too smothering for you, too, or is that okay?"

Nick rolls his eyes, flipping the radio back on to scan the channels once again. "It's fine, whatever. Just as long as you've got something better to entertain yourself than snaking the whiskey Jacob left."

"I'm more of a gin guy," John admits.

"Of course you are."

It's still a relief, though, knowing they aren't keeping an alcoholic too near his fix. On top of that, John's relaxed disregard for his past vices settles nerves Nick hadn't even realized were rattled. Sure, there's probably a whole other box of American Psycho- esque worms waiting to be opened up from John's time before Eden's Gate, but at least he seems to have comfortably packed that part of his life away for now. Unlike talking about the cult, John has no trouble dropping the conversation, just as casually as he'd brought it up. He retreats into the kitchen to mull over whatever he's written down already, leaving behind no traumatic story or sad-eyed stare — just the casual admission that he would really like to do some drugs.

Weirdly enough, that is probably the most respectable thing about John to date.

Nick spends another fifteen minutes checking the radio, scanning the channels he knows people use most. He winds up with nothing to show for it — either the storm is making radio communication impossible, or everybody else has given up on their radios. It's only after he's cleared the range twice that he flips the radio off and escapes back to Kim and Carmina, leaving John in the kitchen with a broad, somehow-sarcastic gesture towards the now unoccupied radio nook.

Carmina ropes Nick into a game of Go Fish, which Kim seems keen on losing. Nick isn't surprised — Carmina is a wily player, which is to say that she tries to bluff her way through hands with all the grace of a sledgehammer. Kim's not as willing to put up with cheating as Nick is, but neither of them are capable of even pretending to believe Carmina's poker face. It's going to be a problem one day, but Nick isn't exactly ready to teach his daughter how to lie to his face.

Well, that is until she and Nick are on their third round of Go Fish, and Nick has had to pretend not to see through all of Carmina's gambits.

He asks her if she has any threes, and she scrunches her nose up as she glances meaningfully at her cards. "Go fish," she says, making Nick regret not having Kim sit right behind their daughter as a referee.

"Fine," he grumbles, "If you say so."

Kim blinks skeptically at the pants she's fixing, but she doesn't offer Nick any out. If it weren't for his clumsy hands, maybe he could use darning socks and patching shirts as an excuse to quit playing, but as it stands, the only thing he has other than getting trounced is staring at the map with John. And since he already tried that and found it to be mildly aggravating at best...

"You know, this would be more fun with more people," Nick says, desperately glancing at Kim.

Kim, of course, gives him no quarter. "Why don't you ask John," she suggests rhetorically.

"John," Carmina calls out, "Do you wanna play Go Fish?"

Nick opens his mouth to chastise Carmina, but he realizes there's nothing to discipline her for. Especially not when John flippantly replies, "I think your father's looking to play with fewer cheaters, not more."

"I'm not cheating!" Carmina exclaims, not-so-surreptitiously pressing her cards into her lap to ensure nobody's looking at them. Between that and her guiltily furrowed brow, there's no hiding it. Her poker face needs a lot of work.

"Go Fish isn't even worth cheating at," Nick sighs, gesturing for her cards. "If that's the way you wanna play, at least do it the right way. Here, gimme your cards — John, come over here so I can teach my daughter how to lie to your face."

As if playing a game of cards with John wasn't enough to excite Carmina, she's doubly over the moon when he tells her the rules. After all, a ten-year-old girl is the prime demographic for the game Bullshit, especially when she's given carte blanche to shout cuss words at her dad. On top of that, it seems like bluffing really is half of the fun for his daughter — which is a little intimidating, sure, but at least he knows she's smart enough to understand the utility of lying.

John is... unenthusiastic, to say the least, but that only makes the prospect of humiliating him that much better. A few weeks ago, Nick would've thought John was too fragile to be messed with, but now there's a bounce in his step that will make taking him down easier. He's got to do something to remind himself that this nearly-tolerable man is usually a miserable sonofabitch.

Unfortunately, John has a fantastic poker face. Nick figured that from the get-go, but it's still daunting to play against a bored, uninterested party. That's probably why Carmina avoids John in favor of hounding Nick, calling out "bullshit!" with delightful glee whenever she thinks Nick has dropped the wrong face card or played a nine instead of a King. On the one hand, Nick appreciates that he can read her as well as she can, but on the other hand, he'd really like a chance to beat John. So far, he's the only one who's called John out, and all he has to show for it is the extra six cards in his hand.

Although Kim is on standby for this round, she keeps flashing Nick amused grins whenever Carmina calls bullshit. Nick almost hopes John can hold it together to be mundane for two entire rounds of cards because he wouldn't stand a chance against Kim.

Case in point, John lays down two cards that are meant to be threes, and Kim clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Carmina frowns up at her mom, who only shrugs and suggests, "I would call him out, if I were you."

John's neutral frown doesn't change. "Last I checked, you weren't playing," he says.

Kim only shrugs in response. Nick furrows his brow at Kim while Carmina squints suspiciously from the discard pile to John and then back again. Of course, encouraging a ten-year-old to swear is always going to win out, and so Carmina wrinkles her nose and calls John out with a slightly uncertain, "Okay, bullshit."

Without so much as a grimace of defeat, John lets Carmina flip his played cards — one three, and one dirty, rotten, lying, bullshit seven .

"That's what I thought," Kim says, flippantly triumphant. "Guess you're not as hard to read as you thought."

Nick sure can't tell what John's thinking as he lifts one shoulder noncommittally. "I stand corrected."

"Wait," Nick asks, "What gave it away?"

"I'm not helping you too , Nick," Kim laughs. "That wouldn't be fair."

"It's not exactly fair to help Carmina," John points out. Nick bets he's just as interested in what tell Kim noticed, although he manages to be less obvious about it. At least he can't crack Kim's smug smile any better than Nick, which is some small compensation.

Nick manages to win this hand, if only because his play strategy involves lying as little as possible. That seems to work against Carmina no problem, but Nick suspects John threw the game out of personal disinterest. If it weren't for the howling winds whistling through the roof and second story, John would probably excuse himself from another hand by retreating upstairs, but as it is he manages to sit through one more round of cards, this time with Kim joining in.

Carmina's poker-face doesn't improve by leaps and bounds, exactly, but she manages to fool Nick into picking up a fat stack of cards, so that's something. Too bad he'd been trying to teach her to lie to John , not her parents. Well — at least she's a nice enough kid to only do it for fun. He hopes, anyway.

Kim makes John's loss look more organic, at least, and she doesn't rub it in too badly when she wins. It's extra kind of her considering Nick is the one who called her last play bullshit, leaving him to rot in miserable third place after both his girls. Well, fine . At least Carmina seemed to have fun, even if Nick is now sitting with nearly half a deck in his hands. If the blizzard keeps up for too long, they might have to graduate to poker.

Before they can play any more card games, though, they take time out for dinner. It's almost normal, sitting around the fireplace with their military rations and some hot broth — if they were eating Marie Calendar pot-pies and watching Christmas movies, Nick would even be able to ignore John's presence sticking out like a sore thumb.

The next best thing to watching movies is talking about them, which has become something of a tradition between the Ryes. It all started in the bunker, where Kim and Nick ran out of normal Christmas stories and began taking turns narrating whatever holiday movies they could remember. They've run through all the memorable Rankin & Bass flicks, as well as a couple more contemporary ones, so they're starting to reach for their personal favorites or the very bottom of the barrel plots.

Nick intends to be paying Jingle All the Way a tribute tonight, but as soon as he mentions that the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle is one of his favorites, he's interrupted by John snorting derisively.

"Let me guess," Nick snaps, "You're one of those jackasses who pretends Die Hard is a legitimate Christmas movie just so he doesn't have to watch good, family-friendly content."

"It is a legitimate Christmas movie," John responds, just petulantly enough to tell Nick he hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Kim and I have already had this discussion — just because it takes place during Christmas doesn't make it a Christmas movie . Set dressing alone isn't enough!"

John raises his eyes towards the ceiling, which is as subtle as his eyerolls can get. "Whatever you say, Nick."

"What's Die Hard about?" Carmina asks, excitedly guessing, "Does Santa get to shoot people in it?"

"That would be a good Christmas movie," Nick replies. "No, it's just about some guy who has to fight bad guys in a building."

"During Christmas," Kim points out.

"Okay, fine during Christmas. But nobody's dressed up like Santa, nobody sings any carols, and there sure as hell isn't any Christmas magic that saves the day, so it doesn't count!"

"So what does happen?" Carmina asks.

Damn it — Nick should have known that talking about an action flick would immediately disinterest her towards any sloppy story about consumerism. She doesn't even know what a mall is — but she knows how to shoot a handgun, and now that Nick's thinking about it, she might need to use the duct-tape shoulder holster trick one day. It would be pretty bad-ass if she knew how, anyway.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it real quick. I don't remember all the parts, so Kim, you gotta help."

Real quick turns out to take almost as much time as the movie itself had. Kim interjects whenever Nick forgets a plot point, but at least he remembers the core conflict. Sort of, anyway — by the time he's done recounting John McClane's tale, John looks visibly dissatisfied, and Kim has a "well, sort of" expression on her face that implies he didn't quite nail the execution. Well, who cares what they think? All that matters is that Carmina is entertained, and of course she is. After all, narrated or not, it's still Die Hard . Just so long as she doesn't ask about the sequels, they should be okay.

The wind is still whipping overhead, and Nick can see nothing beyond the windows. There's no telling how late it's gotten. Although his internal clock insists it can't have been that long since sundown, Carmina has been yawning for a while now, and the fire's gone down again. It looks like sleeping through the storm is the only pastime left for Nick to try.

Carmina takes over stoking the fire for the final time before bed, while Kim makes her way upstairs to gather as much of their bedding as she can carry. John follows reluctantly behind, clearly unhappy with the prospect of facing his own cold room, but Nick figures he can deal for five damn minutes. For his part, Nick busies himself checking the radio one last time, just in case there's an emergency. He doesn't know what they'd be able to do if there was one, but that doesn't stop him from checking anyway.

With the radio situated just under the stairs, it's easy to listen in to Kim stomping around in the room above, desperate to keep her temperature up. Nick had put off too many attic repairs before this winter — he's going to have to make up for that in spring, when he and John can worm their way into the rafters and ensure that their next winter won't turn the bedrooms into a cold wasteland. Of course, even if they did patch up the gaps in the floorboards and do their best to insulate the attic, not much can beat a genuine fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

Nick isn't even paying attention to the radio, so he flips it off and trusts that everyone can keep themselves safe for another night. He hears the whump of fabric as Kim tosses their two biggest, least moldy blankets down for Carmina to start with, and the creak of footsteps on the landing overhead. Kim's voice isn't raised, but it carries down to Nick clear as a bell.

"John, you'll freeze if you stay up here," she says. "Get your stuff and come downstairs."

"It's not that cold," John says, attempting to deflect from one weak excuse with another. "I doubt Nick approved that suggestion."

Well, not technically, no, but Nick had sort of assumed they were already all on the same page. What does John think Nick's gonna do, force him to freeze upstairs so he can hog the fireplace all to himself?

Kim doesn't give the excuses a chance to breathe, replying with parental exasperation. "He and I both agree it's too cold to sleep upstairs." Nick can hear the teasing plain as day when she adds, "Just don't be weird about it."

Sure enough, suggesting John might be making things awkward is enough to get him to shut up and follow orders. Nick briefly longs for the days when John would mutely nod and do as told without any additional goading, but only for a second. Even that is long enough retrospection to remind Nick of how creepy and genuinely alarming it had been. Sure, John might get argumentative or exasperated now, but at least there's an actual person to communicate with. Nick might want to kick his ass more now than before, but he absolutely hated dealing with the hollow-eyed monster John had been.

Besides, it's way more satisfying being a dick to him now that he actually gets offended.

Despite John's furrowed-brow glares, Nick doesn't comment whatsoever on him trailing downstairs after Kim, clutching two actual blankets and a tarp that's weather-worn enough to pass muster. He stands and waits for someone to point him in the right direction as Kim and Carmina do their best to bundle together a soft place on the floor, but Nick studiously ignores him until he makes a decision himself. John takes a spot close to the fireplace, off to the right of where the girls are setting up. It's still plenty removed enough, so that nobody will get the wrong idea and think John is supposed to be welcome down here. Nick wonders who he's trying to convince, but there are so many damn demons in the man's head, it's anybody's guess.

With the fire roaring for the last time that night, all the blankets arranged and everybody looking exhausted despite not doing anything all day, Nick finally gets to crawl into bed and put this whole goddamn blizzard behind him. Hopefully, the weather has the common sense to clear up tomorrow — for now, it's time to shut out the cold entirely.

He must be tired. Nick barely stays conscious as Kim and Carmina climb under the blankets, the cool air rapidly warming as they begin to shift around and get comfortable. He rouses a few times at first as Carmina kicks his leg and Kim bumps into him, but eventually, he finds himself dozing in the silence of a quiet house. Far above them, the wind is whipping through the attic, but from down here, it sounds like a generic white-noise machine; coupled with the crackling fire, Nick is lulled to sleep by the sounds of peaceful normalcy.

Who knows how long it is before Nick finds himself conscious again. Even then, he only wakes enough to hear the dying fire popping by his feet. Maybe he should stoke it. But that would mean moving, and Nick is weighted down on either side beneath warm blankets, so that's a hard no. He tries first to roll towards Kim and Carmina, ready to curl into a ball and conserve even more heat, but his right arm is stuck. It takes a few bleary-eyed blinks to realize what's pinned him down, but he's barely coherent enough to make sense of it.

Sometime in the night, John must've migrated from the no-man's-land he'd made for himself towards the Rye's pile of blankets. Unsurprising, really — but more than a little awkward, given how he's pressed into Nick's side, pinning Nick's arm in place. Worse yet, half of his blankets have been absorbed into the mess that Nick's been using to keep warm, which is going to make extracting himself tricky if not impossible.

While he tries to figure out how to avoid making this mortifying situation worse, Nick watches John for any signs of consciousness. The guy usually sleeps light, but Nick watches his breathing for a solid minute and doesn't catch anything. Either his poker-face is just that good, or John is actually asleep. Deeply, peacefully asleep. Nick had assumed that was impossible.

If Nick were a better person, he'd probably be thankful to see it. Glad to know that John's insomnia might finally be coming to an end. But Nick is mostly just an exhausted, anxious mess, and now he's just wondering how to get out of the situation he's found himself in.

John shifts, and like a guilty ten-year-old, Nick immediately closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. If he's lucky, John will roll away of his own volition, or at least move enough to let Nick roll over himself. If only he'd decided to sleep on Kim's side — she wouldn't have the same trouble Nick has. She'd just kick him away and be done with it.

Slowly, John moves away from Nick. The relief is short-lived as John pulls back the covers enough to send a cold chill down Nick's side; it's a split-second decision that John immediately regrets, hissing under his breath and letting the blankets fall back into place as he recoils from the freezing temperatures.

Nick can't help his quiet huff of amusement — which is enough to break the illusion that he'd been asleep in the first place. He could probably still fake it, but if he does, John will definitely try to move his blankets, and that is going to be a much bigger problem than tolerating John in his personal space.

"Quit squirming so much," Nick mutters. "Gonna let in the cold."

John is silent and tense beside him, but he does stop squirming. It's like lying near a tense bar of iron. After a brief struggle to figure out what to say, John's embarrassment catches in his voice as he apologizes. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I — must have been tired."

Nick sighs. "Just don't crush my arm again."

Even though John moves as though Nick threatened him, he stops short of retreating from the blankets entirely. Nick can only imagine how cold it must be — every breath of his that makes it above the blanket-line comes with a faint puff of visible air. No matter how humiliating it might be to cuddle up to Nick, it doesn't seem like John had much of a choice in the matter.

Before John can decide to try escaping again, Nick repeats, "Whatever you do, don't let in the cold."

In for a penny, Nick decides, worming deeper into the makeshift bed so that John can have more room. Rolling over is the easiest way to avoid the mortifying process of finding a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Eventually, they wind up back-to-back; Nick normally wouldn't be able to stand John touching him, but the additional body-heat does a lot to soothe Nick's reservations. Who knew all he needed to tolerate John's physical presence would be cold weather and exhaustion?

The Deputy, probably, which only makes Nick grin in tired relief. At least they would be glad to know that Nick's grown as a person. They'd probably be glad to learn he's finally gotten on-board with not murdering the Seeds in cold blood — even if it took an apocalypse to get there. If they could see the shit he's gotten himself into now, they'd probably...

He sighs. It must be a heavier sound than he imagined, because John whispers, "What?"

"Nothing," Nick says immediately, as default an answer as John's yeses are. But that's not fair, he doesn't think, because they never let John get away with his obvious deflections. As late as it is, it's easy to blame his guilt on his exhaustion. "Just thinking about Rook," he admits.

"Oh."

John is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but he doesn't react when Nick continues sleepily, "They'd get a kick outta this, is all."

John hums. It's a quiet noise, but Nick can feel it vibrate through John's shirt. If there are two people Nick hates bringing Rook up around, it's Sharky and John. Sure, Sharky's crush was the one that was reciprocated, but Dep had always treated John's flat-footed overtures like creepy compliments instead of outright threats. They'd probably figured John's crush was superficial, whereas Sharky's had been more real than probably anything else Nick had seen the poor sap go through. John's infatuation had been about power, control, and Joseph goddamn Seed. Still, Nick can't help but wonder just how much of it might've been real to John at the time.

"They had a bad sense of humor," John finally responds, quietly enough that Nick almost misses the hurt.

"Terrible," Nick agrees.

When John sighs, Nick recognizes it as a sign of defeat. Whatever he's debating with himself, he's clearly lost. Although he doesn't speak up again, Nick isn't sure he's gone back to sleep. He sure hopes he didn't just instill another restless night in the guy, but that's John's burden to bear. Maybe he can use it to finally find some common ground with Sharky.

Nick isn't even sure that he can fall back asleep, but that doesn't seem to matter. Before he knows it, he's being woken up once more — this time by a glance of sunlight coming in through the upper part of the windows. It's just enough light to wake him, but he spends an exhausted minute staring at the wall over Kim's shoulder as he debates whether or not he's really committing this time. He's going to need to use the bathroom sooner or later — and just thinking that is enough to tell Nick that he's not getting back to sleep again.

John's back is still facing Nick, and Kim rolls away as soon as Nick starts to squirm, which leaves his path to escape much more open than it was a few hours ago. He manages to pull himself free without waking anyone else, but as soon as he does, John worms into the warm spot left behind. Nick should probably be upset, but mostly he just needs to pee. He can kick John out of his spot after he takes care of himself.

Nick leaves the rest of them to sleep as he tiptoes across the living room to the front door. Unfortunately, the door only wedges open an inch before it hits a wall of snow. Unwilling to wake anyone else up with catastrophic noise, Nick heads upstairs, going for the broken window in John's room. It's freezing up here, cold enough to keep meat until spring, and Nick pulls his flannel closer as he crosses the room, trying not to take too much stock of his surroundings. He doesn't care about the tallies John used to carve in the wall by his bed, and he definitely doesn't care to snoop through the pile of clothes that John's been growing in the corner. What he does care about is how easy it is to crawl out onto the roof from the window — after all, this isn't the first time Nick's been snowed in, and he's made escaping his childhood home an art-form.

There's a good three and a half feet of snow on the ground below, blocking any exit from the first floor. At least the gray sky above is calm, and the weather seems to have calmed down some. They'll have to prepare for another couple of inches before the week's out, but Nick bets the worst of it is over. Now he can think about breakfast — more specifically, coffee — and debate the best way to clear the doorways. They need a path out to the hangar, although they can wait another day or two before they'll need to press the matter. Nick's still convinced there's a set of tire chains hiding away in there, but it's not like the roads will be in any condition to drive on for a while yet...

Nick spends so much time thinking about what he's got to do, he forgets to consider how willing the rest of the house will be to pitch in. The top-of-the-snow sunlight isn't enough heat to make up for the lack of a fire, and getting Kim out from under the blankets is gonna be like pulling teeth until he does something about it. Worse yet, John's rolled into the spot Nick had occupied — not exactly sprawled out, or anything, but the guy is irritatingly close to Kim's sleeping back. If he decided to roll one more time, he'd probably end up smacking his face into her shoulder.

Nick considers throwing a fit on principle, but honestly, that's too much work. It's much easier to sulk, glowering at the bed he's definitely not getting back into before getting some logs to stack in the fire. He drops them noisily by John's feet, although he makes every effort not to accidentally pull a Misery on the guy.

The sound of hollow wood clattering on the ground is enough to stir John, who wakes with a sharp inhale, and cause Carmina to groan and turn away from the noise. Kim has probably been awake for a while now, but it won't make a lick of difference until the fire's on.

He turns away to toss the logs semi-haphazardly into the fireplace, then remembers the kindling and turns to get it. John has propped himself on his elbows, but his half-waking confusion causes him to overlook Nick entirely as he stares around the room. Seeing Kim and Carmina asleep next to him is initially met with confusion. He barely seems to recognize the shapes bundled in the blankets, but when he does he recoils in shock. All the nasty comments Nick had thought up take an abrupt backseat as he stops to marvel at the physical repulsion John shows. He's not sure if he should be offended or not. Probably not, but this apocalypse has got Nick wired all wrong.

"She's not gonna bite," Nick says. John whips his attention back to Nick the moment he raises his voice, only for Nick to realize that looming over the guy with a thick block of wood in hand might send the wrong message.

Sure enough, John catches sight of him, jerking back with a startled hiss. " Jesus !"

"Shit, sorry." Nick turns and drops the log, wincing at the noise that he'd moments ago been deliberately making. "Well, judging from that reaction, looks like this isn't the first time a man's caught you in bed with his wife."

John's withering glare is enough to lift Nick's mood right up. He turns his attention back to starting the fire, listening as John slowly shifts his way free of the blankets. Part of him wants to make a few more jokes at John's expense, but that can wait until John's coherent enough to be snide in return.

Nick gets the fire going and turns to follow John, who's made his way into the kitchen to peer out the window. "Completely snowed in," Nick tells him as he gets the instant coffee and the beat-up kettle. "But it looks like the worst of it's over."

"Seems to be," John agrees, adding, "We forgot the shovels in the truck. It's going to be difficult digging them out now."

"Not a lot of other options, unless you wanna stay inside until the big thaw. Don't worry, I'm sure Carmina will be excited to help us dig."

John hums in assent, although his mind seems to be somewhere else. Nick can't help but notice that John's pensive states seem damned near reasonable nowadays. He has plenty to think about, and he seems to be keeping one foot in the here-and-now. He's aware enough of his surroundings that he stops Nick before he can leave John to it.

He tries to stare Nick down, but he can't quite manage it. "Thank you for not..."

John gestures vaguely as the rest of the sentence fails to generate. Nick could probably wait it out, but he's just as embarrassed as John apparently is, and he would rather move past the whole thing.

"Don't worry about it," Nick says. "Just don't get too comfortable cuddling up to me."

Rolling his eyes doesn't hide John's faint smile, but he turns away before Nick can see if it lasts. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

Nick is surprised that he does, even for something as small and inconsequential as a joke. "Grab the mugs when you're done looking for Santa," he says, turning back for the warmth of the fire. A few months ago, Nick might've resented how eroded the line has become between John and his own family, but it's honestly too much work to keep up. At a certain point, they're just going to have to include John in their daily routines — Nick just hadn't expected that point to be made by sharing blankets during a blizzard.

Well, there's one good thing about that, Nick supposes — it means that somewhere up there, the Deputy is watching over them. After all, there's no way in hell random chance has the same shitty sense of humor as Rook had.

[vixthefantheorist]

The Last of Us - Thoughts

Now before anything, I want to say that I haven’t finished the game yet, I’m playing it with my brother as we take turns playing through areas and just having the experience. So I don’t know the ending and nor will I be looking to spoil myself to it. Even though I have been watching Jacksepticeye’s playthrough of it, ((I haven’t seen today’s video of it yet and not going to until I either finish the game or experienced the next area myself. He actually left off where my brother and I were at in yesterday’s video.)) But Seán had said he was curious of how people felt about things. So I wanted to say my two cents on things so far. I won’t go into details since I haven’t finished the game so I don’t know the full story yet. So please do not go spoiling it for me, that’s all I ask.

Joel’s death... I actually don’t have a real issue with, maybe it was a bit quick in a sense, but other than no real issues. Not even with how he died or why he fell into that trap so easily. In the first game, Joel is very bitter, wary and cynical. So if that kind of personality, he’s going to be constantly on guard, tense and thin patience. I mean after losing your daughter to the very beginning of the world going straight to shit and basically under the thumb of the very government that kinda shot and killed your daughter out of paranoia... you’re gonna feel that way. And it has been that for 20 years?  And that makes sense because he lost his daughter, he got into a fight with his younger brother who ran around with the Fireflies (who kinda threw people at FEDRA and not really give a fuck who was in the blast zone) and he worried that Tommy would get himself killed by the crew’s mindset, (thankfully Tommy left before that happened but he did learn some ugly tips and tricks but still) and they haven’t spoken for years. So he was hurt emotionally at least twice and closed himself off to avoid the pain again.  Doesn’t help that later on, he loses Tess in trying to get Ellie to the Fireflies, so that’s thrice there if barely. But it still hurt and he’s been emotionally distant for a long time and was used to that. And now he was along, dragging a literal child around across the country to get some cure to be made. Its clear from the very beginning that he stays gruff and cold to Ellie, just treating her as cargo.  And it would’ve stayed that way if Ellie hadn’t faced his gruffness with her own sarcasm, which both are defensive mechanisms they each had. And... that sarcasm reminded him of Sarah. Not to mention, Ellie’s enthusiasm of being outside of the QZ. Its was shown when she first saw the sunrise outside of the QZ and Joel had warmed up to her just a little... only to later clam back up after Tess died. And throughout the first game, you see Joel’s back and forth sway of how to deal with Ellie, cold and distant, close and warm with their banter... and even then he was trying to not treat her as a daughter. But eventually that fails after Ellie argued about her being scared of being shoved off to someone else (because by then Joel was getting attached to her and was actually scared to feel that pain again and tried to distance himself... that failed.); and then also after Ellie had to brutally kill David to save herself and Joel called her ‘baby girl’, a name he reserved for Sarah and he realized how much he did care for her other than ‘she’s the cure for infection’.  Now what does all of that have to do with Joel failing to be cautious and not die? Well, that’s because that’s all he’s really known in the first game, the hostility of others. He doesn’t kill crews just to kill them, if he could, he’d rather avoid them altogether to just get through the cities to get to the Firefly’s base. He could care less what other groups were doing as long as it didn’t bother with him or his goal. And that fact, that’s what he’s used to... being hostile and being met with hostility. That’s how things were and somewhat still are in areas with QZs. which the majority are large ass cities. Now, Jackson... is more remote. Surrounded by nature, mountains, snow storms, waterfalls and rivers to power their hydroelectric equipment. Did they have to deal with raiders? Yes, a lot which did make Maria’s group rather jumpy but not trigger happy, giving at least people warnings to fuck off or be shot. And it took them quite a while to not only build up Jackson but also to be less paranoid. Alert, but not paranoid.  And Joel, sadly became complaisant and relaxed because he thought he didn’t have to worry about Marlene coming after Ellie and the people that have been coming to Jackson were genuine people with no intentions to take over or kill. Just wanting a place to belong or were unsure and skittish. You can’t blame him after 4~5 years of not dealing with hostility on a hourly basis that he got careless around people.  Especially since, he was more focused on trying to be father but not father to Ellie, more like that awkward best friend. Because fatherly instincts were in full gear and he didn’t know how to figure that out, hence his awkwardness around Ellie. I mean 20 years without dealing with a teenage daughter, you fall out of practice to figure out what to do. So in meeting Abby being chased by a large ass horde of infected, her helping him and Tommy, even protecting both of them (when she could’ve just as easily focused on helping Tommy and not Joel or something)... Joel figured she was a good person. Just in shock and wanting to get back to her group.  That or Joel was just trying to keep polite and not raise tensions in a group that isn’t with Jackson, you got your younger brother with you, a snow storm happening and a group of infected still out there. You don’t want to cause problems, so you don’t show hostility and perhaps they wouldn’t either. Plus they had nothing on them to signify they were Fireflies. Just a normal, small group passing through.  Either case, he let his guard down significantly until he was too far into the lion’s den and too late to back out once his and Tommy’s names were revealed. Which is bother not normal for him but at the same time fitting given the time frame and the situation. And even then, it was mostly Tommy doing the talking and Joel was more or less quiet. As in, he was still wary but didn’t want to be very aggressive with it and be polite until the snow storm was over and they would just leave the group be. So that’s kind of what my thought process is of why I didn’t see the issue with his death as it is. I mean I understand the frustration about it and you’re valid to feel that way. I mean I was surprised completely by that, I didn’t see any of the leaks or looked up any info other than the release date since I wanted to be kept surprised when I played it. So I never thought it would that way. I figured he would die but at least maybe a bit more into the game. Then I realized that the game is supposed to be about Ellie’s struggles, not Joel’s. So it made sense to me. But again, this is just my personal thoughts and opinion about it.

[thatboomerkid]

The Halidom City of Rho

The Halidom City of Rho -- Urban Adventure Location for use with the GammaFinder Setting by Owen K.C. Stephens

It drifts along, some seven & a half miles above the scarred, broken wasteland stretched-out far beneath it, pushing effortlessly against the hellish winds of ash, glass, and the blood-thick dust of Empires.

Through storms of lightning and radiation, poison and caustic vapor, alien screams and unnatural flame ... it drifts.

It makes long, strange circuits over the shattered world below: loops & whorls across the wastes, following designs scarcely comprehensible to the tens of thousands who cling desperately to the titanic chains, ropes and improvised city-structures hanging from its impossible, ancient bulk.

Whatever insane gods constructed the massive, weightless behemoth upon which the Halidom City of Rho now grows & hangs, they are long-since dead.

And yet this triumph of esoteric engineering still edges along the bruise-colored skies beneath a half-shattered moon, sweeping lightly over still forests of soot-smeared rebar and through canyons of shattered asphalt & gore-spattered iron pipes. For those in need, stranded far out in the deep desert as it draws close, the leviathan of Rho is nothing less than a miracle: sunrise at midnight, a crack of bright lightning along the spine of the rainbow.

For those who clutch precariously at the long shackles which drape down from the eerie alien-wrought heavens, eking out a meager living among the clacking pillars of ozone & rust, it is a home: nothing less, and nothing more.

Brought to you absolutely free to play, to test & to share, as always, by the fine folks of my Patreon.

image from here

FUN FACTS ABOUT RHO

The gently-curved “Crown” at the absolute top of Rho hangs effortlessly in the sky at an altitude of about 12 kilometers (7.45 miles; 52,500 feet) straight up, drifting across the very bottom of the stratosphere. The very lowest levels of the city, conversely, are built to alternately hang a few feet into the air or drag gently along the ground, adjusted individually by the inhabitants of the Gasoline Docks to the specifics of the local terrain as needs arise.

The Crown itself is about 2 kilometers wide and generates a number of unnatural phenomena, the vast majority of which are indirectly beneficial to the maintenance of the city below. For example, every part of the great column beneath the Crown -- 151 cubic kilometers of swaying, densely-packed Urban city-sprawl -- has a breathable atmosphere and functions as a Low Gravity environment. In addition, the Crown seems to repel the worst excesses of wastelands weather by some unknown means: dozens of citizens die each year when Rho passes through truly lethal sections of the wastes, certainly ... but not hundreds or thousands.

The majority of Rho is anchored -- directly or indirectly -- to one of the massive crystalline “crown-chains” that descend from the superstructure above the city; constructed of an unknown, seemingly indestructible translucent material found nowhere else in the known world, these vast crown-chains provide more than simple constructional support: the chains generate soft lighting at night, produce electricity for those with the means to tap them, remain cold to the touch even in temperatures exceeding 140 Fahrenheit, and slowly absorb a variety of dangerous environmental effects -- including poisonous fumes and radiation -- into their milky, hypnotically-glowing depths.

The city generally moves at a speed of about 8 to 24 kilometers an hour (5-15 mph), making infrequent stops for unknown reasons; the longest recorded full stop lasted for just over 137 hours before the city abruptly began moving once again. The city follows something approximating a “route,” although attempts to predict where the city will move to more than a week out have only about a 20% chance of being correct. Some seemingly-arbitrary sites in the wasteland are visited seasonally (passing close-by three to four times a year), while other destinations are utterly unique: approached only once, then forever abandoned.

The city of Rho still passes within walking-distance of the twin corpse-pits where Alpha and Beta once stood, slowing to a crawl as it does so. In the wake of the Omega Invasion, Rho is perhaps the single largest and most prosperous city in the known world; Rho escaped the most direct attentions of Omega by pure good fortune, spending the majority of the invasion sailing across a near-impassable radioactive desert, all-but-inaccessible to the majority of Omega’s forces. Although casualties were still high, as the city more than once came under savage assault by aerial troops sent from distant Omega, Rho survived when far greater cities fell.

Exposure to the weird energies of the Crown and its chains is known to cause any number of particularly abnormal mutations; among the most extreme are those who -- born to human parents -- develop into haan at puberty. Haan who metamorphose in this way are believed to breed true and are viewed with a kind of quasi-religious terror by the more-human denizens of Rho; the majority of these creatures ascend to Crownside at the invitation of their predecessors, dwelling high above the city in what those below imagine to be an incomprehensible alien splendor. Foreign Haan -- those born outside of Rho -- are viewed with grave suspicion.

Rho has enormous sections -- some of them thousands of feet tall and hundreds of feet wide -- of abandoned, crumbling buildings damaged during the assault by Omega: foundries, laboratories, water-treatment facilities, power-plants, greenhouses, libraries, art galleries and stranger locales -- hanging amongst the otherwise densely-packed hovels, speakeasies, windmills, turbines, farms, tenements, gambling-dens and swaying rope-bridges. Superstitious locals avoid these corpse-buildings for a variety of reasons ... some of them purely practical, as bizarre alien predators birthed of Omega’s unnatural weaponry are, on occasion, successfully tracked-down and slain there.

History: No records purport to describe the construction of Rho; it seemingly was, is, and always shall be. As long as people have wandered the ashen-grey wastes in search of food and shelter, the Halidom City of Rho has drifted from horizon to horizon, endlessly spitting-forth shrieking raiders on motorbikes or loosing waves of white-robed flower-children tasked with spreading the gospel of their mysterious apocalypse-faith.

Rho has acted as a kaiju-scale mobile base to any number of cults, war-bands and forbidden esoteric societies over the centuries, and as many wars of conquest have been fought directly beneath the distant, ever-glowing glassy disk of the Crown -- staining the dimly-luminous chains of the city a dripping crimson -- as have been waged against the outside world by ravenous believers seeking to climb into heaven and confront God eye-to-eye.

In recent years, Rho has come under the control of a powerful, charismatic outsider: the mutant Atlas Hagane.

THE HAGANE TWINS

Fifteen years ago, Atlas & Althea Hagane were motorcycle-soldiers of the Kló Slátrunar, reaving across the Labyrinth-Trees Obsidian beneath the marrow-stained banner of Yotun Juss, Clanfather at the Seven Peaks of Xi.

Ten years ago, each of the twins was a blooded Flotaforingi of Clan Juss, commanding a full fleet in the name of their power-mad Yotun.

Five years ago, the smiling twins came to Rho with their Stríðsbandalag forming a vast war-procession behind them.

Today ... well, now Atlas rules the city -- presiding over the Council of Clockwrights with an iron fist -- while his sister operates in the shadows, working her strange flesh-sorcery wherever she pleases.

Atlas finds himself quite popular with the people after instituting reforms to curb corruption, relax taxes on several vices & abolish the slave-trade, and many low-born adore him for allowing certain neighborhoods in good standing beneath Clockside a token representation on the High Council. The people are less enthusiastic about Althea Hagane, admittedly ... although she is highly regarded in certain circles for her sponsorship in ordering the construction of several new hospitals in Rho.

That she uses these hospitals are her private feeding-grounds is a closely kept secret in Clockside.

Atlas is a technological genius with a mutant gift for manipulating large carbon polymers; this may be treated as a Super-Strength Tiered Mutation with a range of 30 feet (rather than touch) that only affects plastics. He is a lean & hungry man with sharp features, small round glasses, and a cold, brusque demeanor, known to smile only when he has outwitted an enemy.

Althea has some more-mysterious ability to manipulate biochemistry with a touch, although her gifts of healing & poison are little understood by anyone other than herself and her brother. Well-built, attractive and outgoing, Althea gladly plays the role of the blushing socialite for anyone stupid enough to fall for the act. In truth, she is far more dangerous than her “little brother”.

The two keep a close-knit gang of former motorcycle raiders -- blooded clansmen of Kló Slátrunar -- as their personal entourage, and rarely make appearances below Clockside without them.

Atlas dreams of finally unlocking the incomprehensible codes to pilot the Crown of Rho directly. Althea dreams of living forever, a goddess over the wastes, indulging her obscene appetites eternally.

Althea is far closer to achieving her dream than her brother is to realizing his own.

Economy: A city adrift, endlessly wandering, Rho is a massive trade-hub that gobbles-up & sheds cargo across the wastes. Exotic and high-tech goods are more common here than nearly anywhere else in the world, as the city makes brisk trade in oddities from every corner of the wasteland ... yet the Nomad City is ever-hungry for the most basic of goods, including potable water, medicine, building supplies, livestock, leather, weapons, steel, fuel and food.

Those who are willing to barter & bargain-hunt in the clanking, claustrophobic  markets of Rho soon find that the towering Halidom City more than lives up to its reputation: priceless relics and unusual treasures available nowhere else in the world can -- on occasion -- be bought or sold for little more than a loaf of moldy bread or a warm half-sixer of sugary, caffeinated Blood-Fast Juice.

A clever trader can make a tidy fortune here.

Of course, there’s a reason why one of Rho’s primary exports is stripped-naked corpses, littering the parched desert earth behind it in waves.

Government: Three distinct tiers of government rule over three distinct tiers of citizenry dwelling on Rho, although -- in theory -- all citizens living beneath the glorious heights of Crownside are obedient to the Council of Clockwrights and to their master, High Clockwright Atlas Hagane.

The unquestioned masters of Rho are the haan, who dwell above the disk and the city ... and who may or may not possess some means of guiding the Crown, steering Rho and her people safely through the wasteland to new destinations. There’s no actual proof that the haan have the technology or the know-how to even attempt such a feat, but that doesn’t stop citizens -- desperate for something to believe in -- from offering-up sacrifices & sacraments to the haan whenever they make their infrequent journeys below the gleaming heavens.

The haan communicate rarely, if at all, stepping along the petal-shrouded walkways before them to take whatever they desire from the city or her citizens in exchange for their eerie glowing-glass coins with little ceremony. Haan within the city are subject to no laws but their own: if a haan violates a Code under the Clockwrights, that haan is exiled to Crownside and -- in theory -- never seen again.

No one has ever gotten a straight answer as to what, precisely, the haan are doing up there.

Of greater interest to visitors is the legal code of the Council of Clockwrights. This parliament is elected democratically from among the citizens of Clockside (in theory, the finest minds in the known world) and their decisions are (again, in theory) reached via negotiation and compromise, implemented according to majority rule ... but it should be noted that their dictums are not subject to the legal restraint of a constitution or even of precedent.

In other words, if the Council decides that it wants you -- you, personally -- dead, they can simply vote to have you executed. Or, more likely, to place a sizable bounty on your head and be done with it.

LAW & ORDER

It’s worth noting that Rho doesn't have a standing police-force. Doesn’t need one, either. Instead, it uses a system of bounties.

Basically anyone can become a bounty-hunter, but you do have to register first; the Council of Clockwrights levies a small fee to register, and they can revoke your license if you piss them off. Anyone can place a bounty on anyone, but frivolous or malicious bounties may be nullified by a simple yes/no vote from the Council of Clockwrights; if they catch you abusing the system, you pay the full price of the bounty to the city’s coffers and half the price to the wronged target of your bounty ... or to their next of kin, if the Council didn’t get around to nullifying a lethal bounty-contract before a hunter could collect.

Most bounties are not lethal.

Most simply require the target to be brought before a judge ... sometimes by violence, of course.

97% of criminals in Rho are not hauled all the way up to the Council of Clockwrights to stand trial. The Council is busy, and they don’t care about you. Instead, the accused are subject to the whims of a traveling bounty-judge, who rules in the stead of the Council. Again, pretty much anyone can become a bounty-judge, but you have to register first. This is significantly more expensive than becoming a bounty-hunter, and you have to prove citizenship in Rho going back at least three years.

Note that you do NOT need to prove anything approximating “competence in adjudicating legal disputes”.

Both parties in a suit must agree to the use of the same bounty-judge; for this reason, bounty-judges carefully cultivate their reputations as fair, wise and impartial -- or at the very least easy to bribe -- so that they can ensure plenty of business.

The ruling of a bounty-judge is final.

People who don’t like a bounty-judge -- or the particular ruling of a bounty-judge -- usually make their displeasure known by murdering the bounty-judge. Popular bounty-judges are, of course, significantly more difficult to murder than unpopular ones, so bounty-judges have a distinct incentive to rule in a way that matches the expectations of the mob.

It’s a surprisingly efficient self-regulating system, if you care significantly more about maintaining a semblance of public order among desperate survivors & career criminals than some abstract concept of “justice”.

Rho has no prisons; punishments are usually levied in the form of involuntary indentured servitude, monetary fines, or as particularly amusing, poetic & ironic penalties: a man who steals fish from a widow might first be beaten with fish, then placed in a stockade dressed as a fish, then forced to spend a year -- dressed as a fish -- working in a hatchery of the Creaking Farms, with a portion of his wage garnished to support the victim & her family.

Bounty-judges with a sense of humor are more popular, so judges often compete to establish a name for themselves as “quirky”.

Theoretically, the Council is guided by an impartial High Clockwright: the wisest and most honorable citizen of Clockside, a population selected from the rabble below for their genius. In practice, of course, the High Clockwright is invariably the most calculating & charismatic strongman of their generation, ruling over a cowed chamber of hereditary senators through threat of violence.

Far beneath the glorious heights of Crownside, of course, rival gangs and cults extend their own rule just as far as their knives will allow, creating their own courts & punishments as they see fit. By the time a dictum from the Council of Clockwrights has trickled-down to the scavengers, scrappers, tradesmen, pirates, grease-monkeys and gamblers of the Gasoline Docks, it’s usually viewed as a little more than pomp & puffery.

SLICING THROUGH CHAINS

In the chain-forest of Rho, any weapon that can (quickly) carve through metal is strictly forbidden. The punishment for carrying or brandishing any weapon that could detach a chunk of the city -- and everything beneath it! -- in the heat of a brawl is swift, merciless execution.

For that reason, laser & plasma-weapons are the most valuable form of contraband in Rho, and make a tempting commodity for those who dare to try their luck smuggling such tech into the Halidom City.

Places of Interest:

Crownside: Above the clouds, above the great & shining disk, it is said that the haan -- the high aristocracy of Rho -- live much as the very wealthiest ancients of the Unburned Times once did: walking wide, well-swept cobblestone boulevards which curl & weave through sparkling forests between massive mansions, tending to their palatial gardens among riverbeds & waterfalls, doted upon by legions of well-bred servants. In their copious free time, it is supposed, they must somehow guide or otherwise serve the disk. Of course, no one goes Crownside except the haan and those they select to accompany them; what’s they are up to up there, precisely, only they know.

Clockside: Just beneath the disk, among towering buildings lit only by the glow of the Crown directly above, the Council of Clockwrights and their extended families inhabit a dense spider-web of laboratories & libraries, observatories & orreries, colleges & cathedrals brought up from the aching earth below at inconceivable cost. The Halidom City of Rho imagines itself the most glorious of meritocracies (technically, a geniocracy), wherein any mechanical genius -- no matter the station of their birth -- capable of puzzling-out the mysterious engines of the ancients may earn themselves a name & rank among the clerks and courts that eternally bet-upon the city’s next move.

The Creaking-Farms: Just beneath the illuminated marvels of on-high are cubic miles-upon-miles of hatcheries, hydroponic gardens and hanging plantations thick with cash-crops. Rho is, after all, fed not just by what can be stripped from the wastes below but also by industrial-scale agricultural engineering carried-out with brutal space-saving efficiency. Tenements of farm-workers are crowded upon one another in endless hive-stacks, mingling in filth with the insects & fungus they tend. The wet life-web of the Farms absorbs airborne pollutants from the Reaches below, while providing fresh delicacies for those above.

The Rusted Reaches: Beneath the farms, the smoldering and lightning-wreathed factories of Rho bustle with workers, churning out goods for trade, use & sale by the ton. Several of the massive, half-broken 3D-printing facilities plucked from the wasteland & caught-up in the iron webs of the Rusted Reaches are capable of producing objects otherwise unknown to the world: these ancient buildings strain, spark & creak, vomiting-forth weird, tilted treasures often less valuable than the raw materials used in their creation ... and, on rare occasion, devices more valuable than any cache of earthly riches.

Lower Depths: The detritus of six miles of industry & experimentation above is collected here, where gutter-rats scrape by filtering-out whatever valuables can be collected from the rain of poison, madness and shattered, ill-understood tech cascading endlessly down from the heights. This is the last stop for waste: anything that can’t be used here goes unceremoniously off the edge of Rho to topple a few thousand feet into that unforgiving desert which trails endlessly behind the city.

The Gasoline Docks: Rho lives or dies by what can be scrounged by hand -- often at gunpoint -- from the cracked, dust-choked & sun-baked earth below. The very bottom of the city thus represents a thriving, boisterous melting-pot of cultures, as the Nomad City pulls-in whatever it deems potentially valuable & discards the rest. This is the face of Rho to outsiders, as the great majority of visitors to the Halidom City never make it more than a half-mile above the surface of the planet before returning to earth ... one way or another.

Adventures in Rho

An Undiscovered Route: When word comes down from Clockside that the city has adjusted course and will soon be heading over nearly-impassible territory toward a new, unexplored destination, the excitement is furious. News travels fast in the waste, and soon raiders from nearby settlements have made the pilgrimage to Rho, hoping to ride the well-stoked, unstoppable leviathan to a treasure-trove of long-shuttered vaults of elder technology ripe for the taking. The locals are not necessarily taking this influx of new “citizens” to the Gasoline Docks well.

Neutral Ground: When two or more powerful war-bands of the waste must negotiate, the city of Rho often plays host to such parlay. If the PCs need to arrange a meeting with a dangerous & well-armed enemy, Rho can serve as the perfect odd & flavorful backdrop for an audience: the Gasoline Docks are made up of dozens of curious neighborhoods and districts, and the PCs should get a chance to explore the scum & villainy to their heart’s content ,,, and maybe get embroiled in local politics.

Theft from the Ancients: An up-&-coming gang out of the Gasoline Docks has an ambitious scheme: when the Halidom City next comes within a day’s motorcycle-ride of a building-sized technological oasis which serves as a crossroads between several small settlements, the gang means to steal it. Yes, the building. Armed with hover-skiffs, ropes, trucks, anti-grav plates, axes, welding equipment and explosives, the gang intends to lift the whole damn structure out of the ground and deliver it to back to Rho. They’ll need plenty of extra hands on-deck for a heist like this, for those with a mercenary bend.

Hired Help: The current High Clockwright and his twin sister are looking for something in the deep desert. Something old. Something valuable. Something they don’t want anyone in Clockside to know about. They have a few hints as to where this mysterious object might be found, somewhere out there in the wastes, but they can’t afford to send any of their private Kló Slátrunar clansmen to go poking around the radioactive dunes. That’s where the PCs, as outsiders to Rho, come in.

The Pillar of God’s Hunger: What the city of Rho wants, the city of Rho takes. A tiny farming-community built around a potent Halidom listening-device of the ancients calls for aide: the Nomad City is on the horizon, drawing nearer by the hour. When it sweeps close enough, Rho will very simply devour every last bit of the village: claiming food, livestock, water, building-material, human lives, stray technology, even the rich soil of the fields. The city cannot be stopped. Can the PCs evacuate the village & its mysterious treasures in time?

[aion-rsa]

Star Wars The High Republic: The Rising Storm Review

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Wave two of The High Republic has a lot to say about the nature of the Jedi…maybe. Glimmers of fun concepts and Star Wars Prequel commentary shine through a book dragged down by odd pacing and low stakes.

About a year after the Nihil raiders nearly destroyed a solar system in Light of the Jedi, the Republic is putting on a show. The Republic Fair — imagine a World’s Fair or Great Exhibition, not a county fair — will show off the glory of the unified systems. In particular, the chancellor hopes to convince the Togruta queen (that’s Ahsoka’s species) to join or form a closer alliance. When the Nihil attack the Fair, the Republic is outgunned. It’s up to the Jedi — dutiful Stellan Gios, maverick Elzar Mann, and young Bell Zettifar in particular — to defend the Fair and its ideals.

Maybe this is just a pet peeve — it’s been in the back of my head since the novel Kenobi — but maybe one typical tie-in novel just isn’t usually efficient enough to really dig into more than one character. There are just too many people in this book. Every side character has a full name, honest work aplenty for Wookieepedia editors but making it very difficult to know where a reader’s attention should be landing at any given time. The pacing is also odd, a long middle sequence leading to a relatively brisk final battle. In fact, it’s paced like a three-act movie…and there’s nothing wrong with that if the character beats give the story a shape.

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But The High Republic being an ongoing series hurts it here. Just as that final sequence gets going, it’s over. Other things that made the series distinct — the Jedi each experiencing the Force in a different way, in particular — are just not present in the second book. The philosophy about the Jedi not attacking first is still here, which is nice.

Connections to other parts of the Star Wars saga abound, on the smaller side of which are some surprising and brief The Clone Wars cameos. What I’d consider the larger ones are thematic. The characters in this era are Jedi on the back foot; while they’re enjoying a golden age, not facing any Sith, they’re also still overwhelmed by the Nihil. It was fun to see Jedi adapt, coming up with tactics that work particularly well against the Nihil.

In the comics, we have an interesting comparison to Anakin Skywalker: Zeen, a young girl who has been informally admitted into the Jedi Order as a young teen. This book’s Anakin is Elzar Mann. I adored him in the first book, and in the first scene of this one: a grumpy, reclusive Jedi, he struggles to connect to the Force. Scenes show without telling his feelings of the universe being against him, of the way his thought process is trapped in some juvenile generalizations.

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A particularly notable comparison between the High Republic and the Prequel era is the way the Jedi handle the dark side. Elzar has some problems in common with Anakin: he slaughters Nihil “like animals,” he has disturbing visions, and he places his fate in the hands of a powerful woman — several, in fact. This is an Anakin without a Padmé, and I’m not sure whether to feel sympathetic or not for Elzar’s emotionally intense attention shifting from one woman to another. His Jedi friends are kinder to him than Anakin’s were, offering meditative retreats and a shoulder to lean on. But what this exactly has to say about the Jedi and attachment, I’m not sure. Meanwhile, Avar in particular has a surprisingly small role for a character who served as a through-line for Light of the Jedi. If she’s the epitome of the Jedi, isn’t there room to show what that means through her?

The other major Prequel connection is that these Jedi are in conversation about a changing “covenant” between them and the Senate, perhaps a decision that will lead them to go along with the Clone Wars more easily hundreds of years later. Stellan criticizes the Jedi’s actions at the Fair, and he’s right. Along with the Jedi having brief and airy conversations about whether the way they’re fighting is effective, The Rising Storm continues to show that this is an era in which people generally mean well, even former rivals. That positivity is nice.

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Author Cavan Scott comes from comic book writing, and you can tell; scenes are very visual. In some sections the perspective swoops around like a camera on a track, and it’s impressive to be able to link those perspectives together smoothly. It’s also jarring next to the rest of the prose, which varies from fine to sophomoric. At times, the story seems to intentionally focus on the characters with the least information about each situation for the sake of cliffhangers. But it’s just missed potential for more detail about the people we’re supposed to be spending a long series with.

I liked Light of the Jedi despite it having a lot of the same technical flaws. Unfortunately, the second volume failws to lock in my affection for the concept of some of these characters. There are too many names and not many solid character arcs. So far, this series has been best when the new cast can bounce off one another; look at the burgeoning mentorship between Stellan and Bell. But, otherwise, there are too many solo adventures and not enough of the characters forming meaningful relationships with each other. Even a cool finale, with Bell and Loden as stand-out characters as always, can’t make the fair and the disparate, flat storylines come together.

Perhaps the series shot itself in the foot by trying to make each book both stand alone and hook to the larger series. The result is static characters and a world that gets more compelling just as the last page turns. There were dragons in this book, and somehow I was still bored. The High Republic has so, so much potential. It’s a pity the execution is so uneven.

The post Star Wars The High Republic: The Rising Storm Review appeared first on Den of Geek.

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The Bear’s Den, March 7, 2019

BEAR DOWN, CHICAGO BEARS, BEAR DOWN!!!!

BEARRRSSSS

Wood: As Free Agency and the Draft Approach, a Full Breakdown of the Current Roster - Da Bears Blog - Let’s start by looking at players they already have under contract. A rough depth chart for that is shown below; players who have not played meaningfully in the NFL are not included.

Emma: Bears Sign Kicker Chris Blewitt - 670 The Score - The Bears have added more competition with Cody Parkey on his way out.

Zeglinski: The Bears’ 2019 defense may regress, but they can close better – The Rock River Times - A perfect storm is an event brought about by a series of seemingly random occurrences, happen stance, and sometimes an all-important final mix of hard work and talent. First officially coined in 1718, a perfect storm is an analogy used in not only literature, but popular culture. A perfect storm doesn’t have to be negative, it only has to possess a rare mix of what look like unpredictable circumstances in hindsight.

Bocker: Five Combine Studs Who Fit the Bears Offense - Chicago Audible Blog - Here are some offensive players that showed out at the combine and should be realistic options for the Bears in the draft.

Cox: Bears add a new name to kicker competition - and it's an interesting one - NBC Sports Chicago - The Bears added another (very interesting) name to the kicking competition — Pitt product Chris Blewitt. (Yes, that's his real name.)

Stankevitz: How will the Bears approach a loaded safety free agent market? - NBC Sports Chicago - Could stars like Landon Collins and Earl Thomas drive down the price of Adrian Amos, or another member of a deep class of free agent safeties, to fit the Bears' budget?

Cox: Kyle Long’s contract restructure leaves Bears with big decision next offseason - NBC Sports Chicago - The details of Kyle Long's contract restructuring emerged, and it doesn’t bode well for his long-term future in Chicago.

Cox: Matt Nagy ranked 12th among NFL head coaches for 2019 - NBC Sports Chicago - The NFL's coach of the year didn't fare as well in Rotoworld's rankings.

Bears Reportedly Sign Chris Blewitt to Contract - NBC Chicago - The Chicago Bears continued their search for their new kicker on Wednesday, and they’ve reportedly landed on a contender with an interesting name.

Mayer: Bears ink former Pitt kicker Chris Blewitt - ChicagoBears.com - The Bears on Wednesday signed kicker Chris Blewitt, who spent four seasons at the University of Pittsburgh from 2013-16.

Mayer: Bears hoping to unearth more draft gems - ChicagoBears.com - The Bears traded away their picks in the first two rounds of this year’s draft, but 2017 fourth-round choices Eddie Jackson and Tarik Cohen are proof that they can land impact players in the middle rounds.

Bears Care Gala tickets now available - ChicagoBears.com - Tickets are now available for the 24th annual Bears Care Gala to be held on Saturday, May 18 at Soldier Field.

Chalk Talk: Which top kickers were drafted? - ChicagoBears.com - Senior writer Larry Mayer discusses how many of the NFL’s top kickers were selected in the draft, which NFC North rival will pose the greatest challenge to the Bears in 2019 and where Mitchell Trubisky ranked in passer rating.

Eyeing Potential Bears Free Agent Targets: Kicker Stephen Gostkowski - Bleacher Nation - The best kicker on the market is a first-team All-Pro with a ton of postseason success under his belt, but signing him could be costly.

Medina: Da Bears Blewitt, And Other Obvious Headlines About the Kicker They’re About to Sign - Bleacher Nation - Chris Blewitt once nailed a game-winning 48-yard field goal to knock off No. 2 Clemson.

Medina: Potential Bears Free Agent Target Eric Weddle Joins a Class Loaded With Safety Talent - Bleacher Nation - If your team is looking for safety help, then look no further than free agency.

Biggs: Bears sign kicker Chris Blewitt after he emerges from a group tryout at Halas Hall - Chicago Tribune - The Bears conducted the second known tryout of the offseason in search of their next kicker and signed Chris Blewitt to a contract. Blewitt, who played in college at Pitt, gives the team two options as it seeks to replace Cody Parkey.

Biggs’ Bears Q&A: Could Ryan Pace target Justin Houston or Landon Collins? What are the options if Bryce Callahan leaves? Might they draft a receiver? - Chicago Tribune - Brad Biggs answers your Bears questions weekly. Could Justin Houston or Landon Collins be targets for Ryan Pace? Who would the Bears pursue if Bryce Callahan departs in free agency? Is there a chance the Bears draft a wide receiver? Plus much more.

Finley: Bears sign kicker Chris Blewitt - Chicago Sun-Times - He’ll become the second kicker, beside another unproven choice, Redford Jones, to fight for Cody Parkey’s old job.

POLISH SAUSAGE

Denver Broncos release safety Darian Stewart - NFL.com - Darian Stewart is joining a crowded veteran safety market. The Denver Broncos released Stewart on Wednesday.

Jets, Raiders among teams with most at stake in free agency - NFL.com - Gil Brandt examines the seven teams with the most at stake in free agency, including Adam Gase’s New York Jets and Jon Gruden’s Oakland Raiders.

Raiders deal to stay in Oakland could apparently fall apart over one ‘significant’ issue - CBSSports.com - The Raiders might need to find another city to play in for the 2019 season

KNOW THY ENEMY

2019 Detroit Lions free agency preview: Quarterbacks - Pride Of Detroit - We kick off our positional free agency breakdown with quarterbacks... or backup quarterbacks.

Report: Roc Thomas charged with felony drug possession - Daily Norseman - He’s due in court on 16 March

John Kuhn will retire as a member of the Green Bay Packers - Acme Packing Company - One of the team’s fan favorites from the past decade is coming home to call it a career.

Why the Packers should consider Vikings LB Anthony Barr in NFL free agency - Acme Packing Company - His linebacker skills alone would be worth a high price tag, but add in his athletic traits as a pass rusher and former UCLA standout Anthony Barr could be a star in Mike Pettine’s defense.

How can a stat-head properly contextualize NFL Scouting Combine results? - Acme Packing Company - The combine just happened. What do we know, what don’t we understand, and what’s with those graphs?

IN CASE YOU MISSED IT ON WINDY CITY GRIDIRON

Sunderbruch: Here’s to a boring free agency - Windy City Gridiron - The Chicago Bears are unlikely to make waves in free agency this year. That’s a good thing.

Householder: Chicago Bears sign Pitt kicker Chris Blewitt - Windy City Gridiron - He Blewitt. I mean, that’s the guy’s name.

Wiltfong: 2019 Chicago Bears 7 Round Mock Draft - Windy City Gridiron - Check out my first Bears’ mock draft of the offseason right here...

Schmitz' Breaking Down the Chicago Bears: Don’t Trade Danny Trevathan - Windy City Gridiron - After hearing some suggest that Danny Trevathan ought to be traded, Robert S. dives into his film to prove he should stay

WCG CONTRIBUTORS BEARS PODCASTS & STREAMS

2 Minute Drill - Website - iTunes - Andrew Link; Steven’s Streaming – Twitch – Steven Schweickert; T-Formation Conversation - Website - iTunes - Lester Wiltfong, Jr.; WCG Radio - Website - iTunes - Robert Zeglinski

THE RULES

Windy City Gridiron Community Guidelines - SBNation.com - We strive to make our communities open and inclusive to sports fans of all backgrounds. The following is not permitted in comments. No personal attacks, politics, gender based insults of any kind, racial insults, etc.

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[vinnysouther]

@whatcharisma

“What do you mean, you don’t have it?”

Vince sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes skyward, barely veiling his frustration. He had been on a fruitless hunt for a rare chem for days, occasionally coming within an inch of strangling passing caravan leaders in frustration. His annoyance was so profound that he could hardly listen to the trader standing in front of him as she tried to explain away why she hadn’t been able to hold up her end of their bargain. Hours spent risking his neck taking down an entire camp full of raiders single-handedly, and for what?

The young man held up his hand to interrupt the trader. “I’m–yeah, okay, I’m gonna stop you right there. Bottom line, no bullshit, will you or will you not be able to get me some X-cell by the end of the week?”

The trader didn’t speak for what seemed like a full minute. Finally, she said, “No. But you can try Chem-I-Care, in Diamond City? Maybe Marowski, usually operates out of the Rexford in Goodneighbor…Here, uh, I’ll give you some caps for the trouble.”

Vince stuck his tongue in his cheek and bit it to avoid saying anything inflammatory around the armed caravan guards. That was a problem he didn’t need today. With a growl, he snatched the caps stash out of the woman’s hand, then turned on his heel and stormed off.

“Fucking Chem-I-Care,” he hissed under his breath, “‘Oh yeah, I never fuckin’ thought of that. Thanks for the tip.’ Gotta be fucking me.” Solomon’s chem store had been the very first place that Vince had looked, but Marowski, though…that was more interesting. Since leaving the Brotherhood a few months prior, Vince had visited Goodneighbor a total of twice: once getting lost on his way to Diamond City and again because he couldn’t shake the curiosity that the sign for the Memory Den had planted in him. It’s the only real lead I got, he told himself. Be a shame not to check it out.

The caravan had met Vince close enough to Goodneighbor that he was able to duck through the doors before the sun went down. As usual, the townfolk paid him only spare glances as he made his way deeper into town towards the Hotel Rexford.

Vince entered the hotel with his guard up: he’d never had a problem in Goodneighbor, but Brotherhood habits died hard. He was puzzled to find that the main lobby was completely empty aside from someone holding a broom disappearing up the stairs. “Hey,” he called, jogging lightly to catch up and frowning when the stairwell before him was just as deserted as the lobby. After some brief hesitation, he began to climb the stairs. 

“Hey.” Vince addressed a young woman in the hallway, giving her a once-over before continuing. Average height. Green eyes. Maybe twenty…three? He had never been good at guessing ages. She wasn’t holding a broom and she looked a little hardened to be hotel staff, but– “Uh, you work here? I’m looking for somebody.”

[aion-rsa]

What Star Wars: The High Republic Reveals About the Galaxy Before the Movies

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This Star Wars: The High Republic contains spoilers.

With Star Wars: The High Republic, Disney and Lucasfilm set out to explore a new galactic era that looked and felt different from anything that came before. Long before the rise of the Empire and the fall of the Jedi, the Republic was stable and prosperous. In fact, the High Republic books and comics released so far show Jedi using their skills for situations other than all-out war.

New Star Wars characters, villains, and settings are enough to get any fan excited but getting in on the ground floor of this era is an endeavor spread across several different books and comic series, each providing a piece of a much larger puzzle and a backdrop for future stories. If you haven’t had a chance to jump into the new series yet and want a primer on what’s new, here’s what The High Republic tells us about the Star Wars galaxy as it was 200 years before the start of the film saga:

A Time of Peace and Expansion for the Republic

The High Republic era may look unfamiliar to even fans of the Legends Old Republic stories told in classic games and comics like Knights of the Old Republic. Neither Sith nor droid armies menace the galaxy in The High Republic, although the Republic does have to grapple with its own moral role.

The High Republic era is a time of exploration and expansion. The Republic is careful not to colonize inhabited planets but also eager to bring other civilizations into the fold. They’re expanding out into the Outer Rim, the region of space that contains some familiar out-of-the-way planets like Tatooin, but hyperspace lanes so far away from the Republic capitol are still poorly mapped and potentially dangerous. In fact, control of hyperspace lanes in this part of space is a major element of The High Republic story as a whole.

One interesting detail about this era of expansion is that it’s led to new scientific discoveries, including a familiar substance with incredible healing properties. Bacta is the Star Wars universe’s medical miracle gel, responsible for Luke Skywalker’s survival after being attacked by the Wampa in The Empire Strikes Back and countless other acts of all-purpose healing. In the High Republic era, we learn that bacta is one of the exports of the planet Hetzal, and that scientists have only recently discovered its medical use. Bacta is “supposed to revolutionize medicine if they could ever figure out how to farm it in volume.”

The chancellor of the Republic in this era is Lina Soh, an optimistic true believer in the democracy of the galactic government. During her term, she has created an initiative of Great Works, including the Starlight Beacon, a space station and cultural center that serves as a symbol of the Republic and as a guide for starships navigating uncharted parts of the Outer Rim. This is a chancellor long before the corrupt times of Palpatine, and she does not, as far as we can see, have any Sith Lord whispering in her ear. Instead, she has a pair of alien lions as pets and a deep sense of commitment and duty.

The creative team behind the High Republic have compared this era to the Kennedy era and the optimism of the space race, and to its namesake, King Arthur’s Camelot.

Familiar Jedi, But New Force Powers

Like in the Prequel era, the Jedi Order is led by a High Council of Grand Masters. Despite the 200-year jump back in time, you’ll undoubtedly recognize some of these council members — Yoda and Yarael Poof are already leading the Order, and their presence is felt far beyond the halls of the temple on Coruscant. In fact, the High Republic Jedi have multiple temples spread across the galaxy, including one at the Starlight Beacon. Some Jedi even serve as “marshals,” upholders of a mixture of local and Republic law, in the far reaches of the galaxy.

The Jedi of this era also experience and connect to the Force in vastly different ways. One Jedi can experience the Force as music, while another feels the energy field as an ocean. These personal visualizations of what the Force is seems to have totally died out by the time of Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Or perhaps The High Republic is just striving to go much deeper into individual Force experiences than past stories.

Along with the above, one of the other dramatic differences between the High Republic Jedi and the ones in the movies is the type of starships they pilot. Unlike the starfighters made for Jedi during the Clone Wars, the knights and masters of the High Republic seem to each have personalized ships for travel and combat. Called Vectors, these silver and gold ships don’t have conventional keys, and are instead activated when a Jedi hooks their lightsaber hilt into the control console.

Far beyond Luke Skywalker lifting an X-wing out of a Dagobah swamp, many Jedi have the ability to pilot their ships with the Force alone. By using the kind of Force powers seen the now non-canon Legends stories, the Jedi can mind-meld to coordinate their ship movements in a technique called the Drift. Two hundred years later, this connection between the Force and technology seems to have been lost.

Another obvious difference is the aesthetic and style of the High Republic Jedi. The Jedi of the High Republic wear white and gold ceremonial robes and have elaborate lightsaber hilts. Meanwhile, their day-to-day outfits aren’t as different, using the same earth tones as Jedi in other eras.

Very Different Villains

It might surprise some to learn that the biggest threats to the Jedi and the Republic 200 years before The Phantom Menace pirates and plant monsters!

The Nihil, explored in detail in Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule, are raiders whose raison d’etre is to secure their own fortunes by stealing from others. They’re led by Marchion Ro, the so-called Eye of the Nihil, whose secret access to safe hyperspace routes outside traditionally mapped lanes makes him the key to the Nihil’s hit-and-run attacks.

Along with using custom technology called Path engines to jump through their secret hyperspace routes, the Nihil distinguish themselves by using poison gas and other exotic weapons during their attacks. The gas masks many of them wear are a practical tool for breaking into ships they’ve already filled with deadly toxins. They’re also a fashion statement often paired with face paint, brightly colored hair, and post-apocalyptic looking armor. The Nihil are a force to be reckoned with against the Jedi because they run in packs and fight dirty, but they don’t tend to have a direct connection to the Force.

The other major threat comes from the Drengir, a hivemind of plants filled with “murderous intent.” Drengir wear bark as armor and wield tentacle-like vines. A species called the Amaxines imprisoned them using the Force until the Jedi of the High Republic accidentally released them. In fact, the Drengir are completely new to the Jedi who encounter them, but had waged war across the galaxy in the distant past, seeking to expand their domain.

While they can speak, the Drengir aren’t much interested in conversation, instead seeing humans as “meat,” suggesting they eat people. Drengir present a physical threat because their bodies can grow back in seconds, making a lightsaber slash an ineffective defense against them. Their role in Into the Dark by Claudia Gray is brief, but they seem to be poised to make more appearance as The High Republic continues.

The High Republic story will continue in The Rising Storm by Cavan Scott, the next adult novel in the series, which is out on June 29. Check out our full reviews of the adult, young adult, and middle grade High Republic novels below!

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