before it became a complicated mess

anonymous asked:

Can you write a fluffy Drarry getting together drabble where they've both been hanging out with Teddy, and they're not together. But like, Teddy doesn't realize because they act like a couple already, and he asks why they don't do couple-y things like Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron, and it leads to Drarry. I absolutely love your writing, and I'm glad you've gotten your spark back. It sucks to be a writer with no inspiration (been there, done that).

thank you so much!

My Writing

Harry arrived at Andromeda’s house to see that Draco was there once again. He had been there hanging out with Teddy the past three times Harry was there. It was nice. The two of them actually got along now, and they enjoyed spending time together and with Teddy.

Harry smiled to himself before greeting Draco and Teddy.

“Hey you two.”

Both Draco and Teddy turned to see Harry standing at the door.

“Harry!” Teddy shouted happily and ran over to give him a hug.

Harry chuckled and hugged him back before looking at Draco with a smirk.

“Do I get a hug from you, too?”

Draco’s cheeks turned pink, and he playfully rolled his eyes before turning away to begin picking up Teddy’s toys.

Harry’s smirk grew as he walked up behind Draco and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“By that I meant, please give me a hug, Draco.”

“Shut up,” Draco mumbled, blushing even more, but smiled at Harry.

Harry continued flirting with Draco throughout the night, and he found Draco’s reactions to be extremely amusing.

The three of them then moved to sit on the couch just to chat for a while, and Ron and Hermione somehow came up in the conversation.

“The two of them are going out to a fancy dinner tonight. Hermione is really excited because they haven’t been on a date in a while.”

Draco nodded in understanding, and then Teddy cut into the conversation.

“How come you two never go on dates?” He asked.

Harry smiled down at Teddy.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you two are together, just like them, right? So why don’t you guys go out to fancy dinners?” 

Harry chuckled. Teddy, only being seven years old, must have mistaken Harry’s teasing flirting as them actually being a couple.

He glanced at Draco to see him looking down at his hands and his cheeks a shade of bright red.

“We’re not together, Teddy. Not like Ron and Hermione.”

Teddy cocked his head in confusion.

“But you act like they do. Like giving each other hugs and stuff.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well it’s just…different.”

Teddy then turned to Draco.

“But you like Harry, don’t you, Draco? I head you telling my grandma about him just last week.”

Draco looked at him with wide eyes and refused to look at Harry.

“W-Well I…he’s nice and…I-I like him as a friend, but we’re not…” Draco trailed off, not wanting to embarrass himself even more.

Harry smiled to himself and decided to let this slide…for now.

They played board games for a while until Teddy got tired and wanted to go to bed.

“So,” Harry began as he and Draco walked out of Teddy’s bedroom. “You like me?”

Draco wanted to slap the smirk off of Harry’s face.

“No, I hate you, Potter. You know that.”

Harry’s smirk only grew, and he stepped in front of Draco so he couldn’t continue walking.

“Mm, it doesn’t seem that way.”

Draco huffed and tried to step around Harry, but it was to no avail. Harry just moved with him, and then backed him up against the wall.

Draco quickly became a flustered mess.

“I like you too,” Harry whispered before softly pressing his lips to Draco’s.

Draco gasped as their lips connected, but then quickly responded to the kiss by wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck.

They stood there kissing for what seemed like forever until they were interrupted.

“I thought you weren’t a couple!” A small voice nearly shrieked.

Harry whipped around to see Teddy standing there, looking at them with wide eyes.

Harry grinned at him.

“It’s complicated, Teddy. Just go back to bed and don’t tell your grandmother about this, okay?”

Teddy nodded hesitantly and walked back into his bedroom.

Harry then turned back to Draco to resume their kiss.

I think I’m on tenterhooks about the KS season…finale? thing? 19. chapter 19. For the wrong reasons. 

Cause it was certainly an effective shock to remind the reader so nastily of the fallout of YoonBum’s actions when the person he’s stalking ISN’T a serial killer. The question is now what the plot’s gonna do with it. Like, that….needs to be addressed. And we need to get out of Bum’s head again to really properly do it. And all this is complicated by the problem that we now have two murderers motivated by misogyny in a comic that’s until veeeery recently been totally anemic in its portrayal of women. So that’s an uphill climb. And if we’re just heading into the two of them doing murders together until the cops come in to clean up the mess…I’m not really here for that. 

This isn’t Hannibal, where it eventually built the two up as equals before they became Murder Husbands and whatnot. If the story continues on with this trajectory, where Bum’s a murderer and the eventually he kills Sangwoo, or they both die, or he gets rescued and then continues doing the murders, whatever, then we end with a story where Sangwoo wins even if he dies. And I don’t just want him to die. I need him to lose, and for hims to be revealed not only as monstrous but petty and small. To strip any glamour away.

Most importantly, if Bum isn’t conflicted or trying to escape any more, then the dynamics of the story switch from Sangwoo vs Bum, Bum vs Self, and Sangwoo vs Seungbae to a far more simplified inside the house vs outside the house. With the number of tension elements the first arc of the story juggled, that shift would be really disappointing.

Fools (Part 8)

Next part will be the finale to this mini series! Thank you so much for reading and keeping up with this series!~

Group: BTS

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Taehyung

Word count: 3314

Plot: Jungkook gets jealous when you start hanging out with Taehyung// also inspired by Jungkook and Namjoon’s cover of Fool.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||  Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Finale

Originally posted by hellosarang

Keep reading

Kitchen Beginnings (Part One)


(Synopsis: What if Eun Sang and Young Do had met a few years earlier? Set during the time when the unfortunate Kim Tan is in California and our YoungSang are blissfully unaware of his dramatics.)

Eun Sang didn’t know who everyone was whispering about at first.  When she eventually spotted him, she assumed it was because of the bruises that sometimes lit up his face. It was surprising that anyone would be willing to take him on, given his height and fearsome expression. But it was clear that someone—or perhaps several someones—had.

He made no effort to engage any of the kitchen staff. He didn’t seem to speak to anyone really. He did the dishes and the grunt work—which generally matched his expression, if she had to be honest. They may have been roughly the same age, but it was clear that life and circumstance divided them.  She had thought she had it rough; it was clear that there were others who had it even worse. Eun Sang could tell that he would murder anyone who showed him pity though. She felt the same. And besides, she didn’t have room to give it to him even if she wanted to.

However, she had even less room to spare for interruptions and complications in her work life.

The first time one of the servers ran into him, she thought the man was being overly kind as he bowed repeatedly in apology. Eun Sang politely helped to clean up the subsequent mess before resuming her usual duties.

The second time there was a disturbance by the sinks and the boy received only polite bows, the grumbling began. The others clearly did not like the treatment he got and in their resentment the polite bows evaporated as the disturbances continued. Slowly it became a thing for them to do, the hazing that they reserved for the younger hires. The boy only worked weekends and some evenings, same as Eun Sang, but the bullying was prevalent regardless.

It took three weeks before the boy finally reacted.

One of the junior servers, only newly appointed to the position himself, came to scream at him for a dirty fork. It didn’t matter that the boy hadn’t been working the day before, nor had he been on shift long enough for any of his dishes to be in use.

But in the kitchen none of that mattered.

The boy stood with his gloved hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead. He was nearly a foot taller than the irate server, which made the tableau even more ridiculous. The other members of the kitchen staff ignored the scene or smirked in pleasure in accordance with their personalities.  Taking comfort from the fact that no one was willing to stick up for the boy, the server suddenly accentuated his angry points by poking the boy’s forehead.

The first poke was unexpected, the second humiliating. On the third, the boy caught the offending digit and bent it viciously.

The server screamed and collapsed to his knees. The staff, despite the shock, seemed fairly unsympathetic at the change in events. As much as they enjoyed tormenting the boy, the server was still an asshole by everyone’s standards and in no greater position for sympathy.

But Eun Sang could see something had snapped in the boy and knew the situation would only escalate. She had just made it to the other side of the kitchen when everyone heard the audible crack of bone breaking.

“Yah.” She grabbed the boy’s free hand.  “Come with me.”

She knew from experience that saying “stop” in that sort of situation was rarely successful. But diverting someone…that’s how she learned to defuse situations in her own life. Her mother never openly opposed their employer, but she certainly knew how to get the ahjumma off topic. Eun Sang learned from the best.

Her intuition seemed to be correct; the boy allowed himself to be pulled out of the kitchen. Eun Sang was too tired to be pleased with herself or make conversation as she towed him through the empty service tunnel to the back entrance. Once outside however, she was greeted by a bitter chill and it roused her enough to regret her dramatic gesture. She had promised herself she would keep a low profile at this job and give no one a reason to notice her. She thought working in the back could afford her that kind of anonymity, and now she had ruined it.

When she finally looked over, she noticed that the boy was watching her, waiting for her next move. He did have something feral about him, always waiting to see if he would be kicked or petted. And, as she had already noted, the petting didn’t seem to happen that often.

Eun Sang didn’t oblige his clear expectation though. Instead, she seated herself on the curb and dug her snack from her pocket. She proceeded to shovel the sweets into her mouth, ignoring him.

After several moments he sat beside her, folding his lanky legs up like an accordion.

They were silent for several more minutes.  She felt no compulsion to speak and he was clearly not going to take the initiative.  Eun Sang did eventually offer him the bag of candy though.  The boy hesitated before plunging his hand inside.

“Thanks,” he muttered. Eun Sang only nodded.

And that was how their strange friendship began. Eun Sang hadn’t been looking. The boy hadn’t been asking either. 

Luke Imagine: Trying to Fix a Divorce Part 3

Author: Rhine

Part 1 / Part 2


He took baby steps.

He gave you space, even though the other side of his bed was cold without you by his side.

He gave you time, even though every fibre of his being was craving your presence.

He gave you what you needed because he knew he had neglected you for too long, even though now all you needed was to have him away from you, just for a while.

And it was difficult, sleeping on a bed made for two; blankets too big and mattress to empty. It was difficult opening the closet and seeing just his clothes there when he was so used to having to fish them out from underneath a pile of your shirts; to walk through the house and not hear your daughter’s chatter or the quiet ruffle of you turning the pages of a book in the morning.

But he knew it was nothing compared to what he did to you.

So he waits because he knows that you need time to mull over his words; that you’d need a few nights curled up on the couch weighing your options and a few days full of coffee and pursed lips to decide what to do with his promise.

And he slowly makes his way up.

A text, telling you good morning. Another wishing you a good night.

You don’t reply to it, and for all he knows you don’t see it at all – but you know and he knows that you open every message from him and you analyze every word before you go to sleep at night.

And when he starts to get a reply – however curt and cold, it’s still a reply – he makes small conversation, light and casual.

-Hey, how are you?


-How was your day?

-I survived.

He makes stupid jokes that take you back to the time when you were seventeen and reading his texts from your phone beneath the desk, trying to supress your laughter in the middle of a lecture.

-Why can’t zoo animals take tests?

-Are you serious?

-Because there’s too many cheetahs!

-You’re so stupid.

He laughs, and it’s not from his own stupid joke – there’s a small smile on his lips because he can hear your voice saying that phrase that you used to tell him so many times before it feels so familiar, and he’s missed it so much.

You feel too much like a stranger and he wants to erase all the bitterness in your words that he caused and fill it with all the love he wants to recreate with you.

In time. He’s still taking baby steps, after all.

And so are you.


He starts off small and the progress is slow, but Luke makes his way from a one-worded text reply to a fairly decent conversation with you.

And it’s not the banter he used to have with you, but it’s more than what he had a few months ago and he’ll take anything at this point.

He works up the courage to call you and he’s scared that he’s moving too fast; that you’ll see his number and you won’t pick up.

But after six agonizing rings, he hears your voice on the other end.


And he thinks he stops breathing because he hasn’t heard your voice in weeks, since you’ve given him another chance, since he started to change his ways.

Hey. I… I just wanted to hear your voice.

He blurts out the words before he can think it through, and he’s mentally berating himself for sounding like a lovesick fifteen year old who’s watched one too many rom-coms.

You’ve forgotten yourself how much you loved Luke’s voice, how it used to lull you to sleep with soft whispers against your skin and how it used to wake you up with gentle words in the morning light.

You remember how it’s the voice that sang his very songs to you in his bedroom and his acoustic guitar, how it’s the same voice that you memorized; every husky tone and low timbre and every playful joke and light whisper.

But hearing it through the phone call again is like hearing a friend but talking to a stranger and you’re not sure what to say to Luke any more.

The conversation is quick and casual and you hang up, staring at your toes and hugging yourself tight.

But he calls back every night at the same night and even though the conversation starts off strained, the two of you get into some sort of rhythm; an offhand beat of a conversation that’s awkward and a little tense but you’re still dancing you’re still talking and it’s something it’s something.

The awkwardness slowly fades away and while flickers of it remains – the two of you hop over the topic of the divorce and you both know what you’re trying to avoid – you don’t feel as if you’re talking to a stranger anymore, not when the voice on the other line makes you smile to yourself despite your best efforts not to.

You feel like a schoolgirl again, waiting for Luke’s calls at the same time every night.

The shyness, the hesitancy, the hint of awkwardness – you feel like you’re reliving the days when you first started dating Luke all over again.

But if it’s a cycle then you don’t want to relive the heartbreak again.


Can I… can I see her again?

He works up the courage to say those words nearly two months after you agreed to give him a chance.

Two months of texts and calls and working at this relationship, piece by piece – you’re not strangers but you’re not lovers but he misses his daughter and he misses you.

And just like how he craved hearing your voice, now that he has at least that every night, he wants more – he wants to see you in person and he wants to see your smile and he wants to see his daughter.

Yeah – yeah, I mean I guess you can.

There’s hesitation in your voice but it’s been two months and you think Luke deserves at least that much for his patience.

He said he would give you space and he said he would give you time but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him, too.

You tried not to – you tried to forget about him, you tried to erase him and his stupid effect on you from your life – but you suspect there’s a part of him that’ll always be with you, just like how a piece of you is always with him.

You arrange a date and a time and he marks it down on his calendar, excitedly circling it with a red marker.

You end the call, and even though his bed is still half empty without you, for the first time in a long time, Luke goes to sleep with a smile on his lips.



She runs towards him with the biggest smile on her face, and he can’t remember the last time he’s been so happy; his lips about to split his face in half with how wide he’s grinning at the sight of his beautiful daughter again.

It’s been so, so long.

And he lifts her up and twirls her around she’s shrieking and squealing and he’s laughing and holding her close, pinching her cheeks.

He forgets how her eyes are just like his, how her lips are just like yours; how she’s something the two of you made and if everything is in ruins then at least you still have this angel.

How she’s the product of love and how she’s a reminder that there was a time when the two of you were more than just strangers, more than just friends – that you two shared more than just a bed and more than a name, that the two of you shared love.

And you can’t help but to smile faintly at Luke and your daughter, laughing with glee and spinning around in delirious circles until they were both a heap of laughter on the floor.

Daddy missed you so much, princess.

I missed you too, daddy. Are you gonna stay this time?

The words break his heart because it tells him that he’s left one too many times, but he looks over at you with a hopeful smile and sees you grinning back despite your previous hesitation.

He turns back to his daughter and kisses her on the nose, watching as she scrunched her nose just like you did when he did the same to you.

I sure hope so.


It was slow and tedious, but not once did Luke regret ever coming back to you.

One visit became two. Two became three. And three became babysitting regularly on certain days of the week.

And he worked his way up to asking you out to coffee – awkward greetings and bashful smiles, but he still remembers your order and you still sit in the same booth that you did when you dated the first time.

And coffee turned into a dinner; stressing over what to wear and paying for the bill and walking you to the doorstep and kissing you goodnight before driving back home again.

And dinner became a movie where you sat away from him before the two of you ended up sharing the same cushion at the end of the night, throwing popcorn at each other like kids despite the fact that you were grown adults.

It was like loving Luke all over again; the clumsiness of the first few dates and the sweet little gifts, but you remind yourself that this wasn’t a honeymoon and you weren’t looking for a high before falling again.

And the two of you don’t talk about your hopes and dreams and all those fanciful things that you used to before – it takes a while, but after months and months of this dysfunctional relationship of caring for a child and dating for the second time, you find yourself lying on his chest and telling him about all the things you missed.

All the things that went wrong. All the things that you still need to fix.

You’re no longer teens that dreamed about a future together, just two adults trying to fix all the bumps from your past.

And it’s slow and it’s difficult when you’re still trying to work on opening up to someone that hurt you so much before, but you get there, one step at a time.

When cuddling on the couch became a norm, no longer an awkward fumbling of trying to recreate what you once had. When kisses became regular, and not stolen as if was forbidden after your previous relationship. When the two of you could go out in public with your little daughter and hold hands and smile proudly when people say you’re such an adorable family instead of becoming this stuttering mess of trying to explain the complications.

When you move back into the house you once shared with Luke, one box at a time.

When the smiles become more natural, when it becomes normal – when it feels normal to have Luke integrated into your life again.

And it takes months and months and you watch as a year or two fly by, but you’ve been working on what you had and so has Luke and while your relationship was still far from normal, it’s a work in progress for something beautiful.

And it won’t be what you had last time – you don’t think you’ll ever have what you once had with Luke again from the past – but you’re both different people now, and you’re learning to love who the other person has now become.

You’re working on changes for the better, for a home that feels right in your bones, for a family that makes you feel complete again.

From wishful lovers who dreamed underneath the stars and danced in the kitchen with no music playing to strangers that knew each other all too well and not at all.

And now?

To a family that shared more than just blood; to a future that would be hazy and uncertain, but one spent by each other’s side.


request gifs, tweets, & imagines here! 

I Saw the Light

I Saw the Light

Posted December 1 2015 — 10:00 AM EST

“Everybody has a little darkness in ’em,” says Tom Hiddleston in the first trailer for the Hank Williams biopic I Saw the Light. “I’m talking about things like anger, sorrow, shame. I show it to them, and they hear it, and they don’t have to take it home.”


How Tom Hiddleston wound up playing Hank Williams in ‘I Saw The Light’

Written and directed by Marc Abraham and named for a 1948 Williams tune, I Saw the Light traces the singer-songwriter’s rapid rise to fame and his turbulent personal life, which had its own share of darkness in it.

Though he became one of country music’s first superstars, Williams also struggled with substance abuse, a spinal condition, and a complicated relationship with his wife, Audrey Mae (played by Elizabeth Olsen), before dying tragically young.

As Williams says at one point in the trailer, which debuts exclusively via EW and People today, “Boy, I’m a professional at making a mess out of things.”

If Hiddleston seems a surprising choice to play Williams — he is, after all, a British actor best known for playing a magical Marvel supervillain — he studied for months to sing and play all of Williams’ music in the film himself.

Earlier this year, Abraham talked to EW about how Hiddleston got into character, working with Grammy winner Rodney Crowell to hone his skills.

“Every note, every line, everything is Tom,” Abraham told EW earlier this year. “He’s crazy talented. If you didn’t like him, you’d be jealous of him.”

I Saw the Light hits theaters March 25. Watch the trailer below.

The “gendered” status under patriarchy is the problem, not the womon who falls within one or another limiting “type” on the basis of the toxic standards laid down on us by men for their own gain. 

My girlfriend has long hair because she is a runner and can tie it back out of her face easily this way. She does not have long hair because she is a patriarchal dupe. She has her hair long so she can do this activity which makes her body stronger and her psyche happy. It’s not a “gender performance” in its intent. If she could exit patriarchy and leave behind those connotations, she would. She does a hell of a lot to take down the machine. If anyone thinks this makes her inherently different from a butch womon who has short hair, buddy you are drunk on jender juice. They will be treated differently in the patriarchal society. They are not inherently different “genders.”

As a girl I “dressed like a boy” for a variety of complex reasons–some healthy expressions of female self-possession and resistance and some reactionary shame-based impulses to hide my body. Then as a teen I transitioned FTM and found myself at the rock bottom of an intense pecking order due to inborn traits I could not change with T or surgery. When I detransitioned I tried to be “femme” for a variety of complex reasons–as a signal of defeat; trying to put the transition behind me; trying to prove that I could achieve this if I wanted to; trying to master this thing that had kept me a failure and an outsider all my life; trying to retain a place in the gender-happy queer scene I had been part of until that point, which only had room for people with extreme “gender expressions;” trying to keep my relationship with a womon who wanted/required this performance from me; channeling all of the body-checking and ritualistic body-behaviors that I had practiced during transition into new form; creating a mask, so that it wasn’t really “me” interacting with the world; self-harming through the torture/self-abuse practices we call “beauty;” enabling dissociation; humiliating myself because I thought humiliation was kinky therefore good; trying to believe I was someone worthy of being adorned; trying to believe my body could be a sensual place; occupying an infantilized position as a reaction to trauma; forcing the world to confront my “freak” body instead of hiding it away in shame (and angrily confronting men daily for the way they reacted to it); “you want target? i’ll show you a target!”; showing the world once and for all how totally ridiculous it is when I try to comply with its fucked up demands; thinking that the falseness of it showed clearly that I was not really female; and many others. I’m still making sense of it all.

I have now come back to something like the place where I was as a girl, when I resisted patriarchy and asserted my right to possess myself, but before I conceptualized myself as “trans.” I think I’m doing all right with respect to these things, these days. I wear what I wear for function and comfort and to be nondescript because I am made uncomfortable by attention–and because most self-adornment is not psychologically healthy for me. There was a time post- “femme” era when I wore nondescript women’s things primarily, because men’s stuff gave me a trauma response because it reminded me of transitioning. Transition was traumatic in itself, even though it was also a response to trauma, and trying to wear men’s clothes became distressing. (I can’t explain that. I know it sounds silly.) I’m past that now, obviously, but I had to first understand that I am actually female, before it became okay for me again. My head was messed up on jender juice, really messed up for a really long time. As all of us are, and it is a delicate and highly personal process, coming to terms with how to navigate this in as healthy a way as possible under the circumstances.

All sides of these experiences have been complex and complicated for me, but I have actually been the same person the entire time. I have always been a womon, I have always been a lesbian. Same person.

It is a peculiarity of having a body/manner that is up for interpretation, not definitively, inherently read as butch or femme but subjectively interpreted by all comers. But from this vantage point I very much do not trust either the naturalizing of our experiences in patriarchy as inherent “genders” within lesbian community, or the denial that these “gendered” experiences in patriarchy have disparate impacts depending on where we fall according to the male-defined measuring tools, often due to our bodies alone regardless of our behavior.

It is their practice of measuring us that is the problem. It is the use of this measurement against us as a whole. The women who are measured up differently than you are not the problem. In lesbian community no womon has been helped and supported in her struggle to make her way through all of this mess, by being treated like she is the problem.

REVIEW: Tomb Raider: Definitive Edition (on PS4)

Before I get to my opinion of this game, I first want to state the only other Tomb Raider game I every really played was the original one and at that time in my life I was more concerned about boobs then I was about games. At this point in my life I’m about 50/50 as opposed to 80/20 then.

Secondly i’d like to state that I didn’t even want to buy this game. I’ve played every game out for the PS4 and grew very very tired of them… The only game I have now is Assassins Creed 4 and Tomb Raider. in other words, I bought this game out of boredom. Anyway on with my review.

I went into this with very low low expectations which was wrong of me because I should’ve had more faith in Square Enix and Crystal Dynamics.

From the moment of the first cut scene I was hooked. As I stated just a little up above, I played all the games on PS4 (minus Injustice) and felt like most of them were just ports or nothing to really care about. But the moment I played this game I couldn’t put it down.

The thing I love about this game on PS4 is the functionality of the controller with the features of the game. For example, Lara had just found a radio and was trying to call an SOS. What caught me by surprise was the fact that my controllers middle speaker was responding to her calls. I usually hate stuff like that, but to see the PS4’s functions used where I hadn’t seen that before was refreshing.

Now! with that being said I did have some complications because I didn’t know the controller could hear my voice without knowing it was me. I was in a party with a friend playing and in our conversation I said the word Pause… and the game paused. I thought my controller was broken or the disc was messed up and it became a little annoying but once I figured out what was happening It wasn’t all that bad.

Graphically the game is the sharpest I’ve seen on this console. Its a solid 1080p and though it doesn’t always run at 60 frames, whenever it drops below 60 fps, it’s still wonderful.

The dynamic camera is an extremely intricate part of the experience. I would even go as far as saying if it wasn’t there it would possibly break the tone of the game’s cinematic structure all together. When your in a jam and the camera is showing you how to get out or when you go into a dark tomb and the camera is more on Lara to create a eery feeling, that’s the kind of feeling that makes this game so great!

The Collectables actually have a purpose! Each collectable will tell you something about the island or the others you’re with. Everything from relics to diary journal entries serve a great purpose.

The combat is phenomenal. It made me laugh because I said that before I found out the combat was upgradable. Once I upgraded my abilities, the combat hit a whole new level of awesome. 

I truly enjoy how challenging the game is. I played on normal which serves no real tutorial and where I thought that would be a problem it was actually a huge benefit. It made me focus more on what’s around me and different methods of stealth, combat, and strategy with every foe from wolves to psychotic men.

I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’d have to say this game is damn near perfect. I’ve never played anything more fun than this (strictly talking about single player).

If you get a chance I highly recommend you pick it up!