way-of-the-sword

Sauron had taken the proffered bait in jaws of steel. Little time was left to Aragorn for the ordering of his battle. Upon the one hill he stood with Gandalf, and there fair and desperate was raised the banner of the Tree and Stars. Upon the other hill hard by stood the banners of Rohan and Dol Amroth, White Horse and Silver Swan. And about each hill a ring was made facing all ways, bristling with spear and sword. But in the front towards Mordor where the first bitter assault would come there stood the sons of Elrond on the left with the Dúnedain about them, and on the right the Prince Imrahil with the men of Dol Amroth tall and fair, and picked men of the Tower of Guard.
—  the last stand before the Black Gate, The Return of the King
5

Inktobers 21-25

i - A Knight’s Focus

ii - Judgement

iii - Warrior of the East

iv - Moon and Blade

v - Death’s Hand

Part 1 of 2 of my Knights of the Round series. For this batch of inktobers I decided to stick with something I’m a little more familiar with and build upon that. I’ve always loved fantasy and the like and so it was lots of fun designing these characters. Enjoy! More on the way!

Okay so hear me out. Blue Diamond mentions that Pink Diamond was shattered with a sword. But we know that It couldn’t have been Rose’s sword since that sword is made specifically so that it poofs a gem, but never shatters it.

But tell me

Who else do we know in the Crystal Gems who knows her way with swords

Originally posted by suastrology

Who had a PRETTY strong reaction to Pink Diamond’s mural and the mention of her death in Back To the Moon?

Originally posted by lions-universe

👀 👀 👀

The Queens

Queen of Wands is like that creative spark of energy. Your summer bonfire. Fireworks on the Fourth of July. She’s full of passion, energy and sparkle. Warm, friendly, and has the ability to charm her way. She’s also fiercely loyal. Sociable. She’s the best friend you know you can confide in and she will just hug you so tight while making plans in her head to either cheer you up or go after the boy who made you cry. She is a force to be reckoned with. She is the lioness who will always protect her cubs. She will defend the underdog. She’s like a field of wildflowers and dancing in the rain. She’s like the scent of sweet amber and sandalwood musk; sensual and romantic.
Astrologically speaking, she represents the Fire Signs: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius

Queen of Cups is like the perfect temperature of pool water. It’s not too hot or too cold, it’s comfortable. She’s like… that like feeling you have when walking into your grandmother’s house and smelling fresh baked cookies. She is the mom of the group. Her friends are her family, and her family is everything. She is homelike and nurturing. She’s like that feeling you get after you walk in the door from a long day at work and you take off your heels and bra. It’s like total comfort. She’s the care package your mom sent when you moved away for college. She’s like a vase of beautiful roses. She is the sound and tranquility of a quiet babbling brook, but her emotions can be dark and strong like a raging river. She’s beautiful and compassionate. 
Astrologically speaking, she represents the Water Signs: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces

Queen of Swords is like that quick-witted girl you wish you could be more like. Have you ever played a scenario in your head over and over about what you should have said? Or like 3 hours later, you come up with a brilliant comeback? She already thought of those brilliant words, said them, and walked away. She’s like the sharp-tongued Great Aunt who cuts through the BS and won’t put up with it. She’s also quite clever, bit quirky, always thinking, and figuring things out. While the Queen of Wands can put on the charm to get her way, the Queen of Swords uses intellect and reason. She is a woman of her word. She means what she says, and says what she means. She has a good heart and has the best intentions, but would rather not sugarcoat things. She’s like the cool, crisp air in the early morning.
Astrologically speaking, she represents the Air Signs: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius

Queen of Pentacles is like walking into an old library and breathing in that familiar scent of books. Or a stack of money. She’s the boss lady. She has great work ethic and incredible dedication. She is seen as the “roots” of the family. The Matriarch. Where the Queen of Cups is the mother, this is the grandmother. The top lady that everyone respects and values. Someone who is grounded, stable. She’s the valedictorian at your high school and voted most likely to succeed. She is practical. She’s the foundation of the strongest building. She can be stubborn and set in her ways, but she can see what others cannot. She is down to earth, wise beyond her years, and very responsible. She is like the root of the strongest oak tree. It’s possible that she’s not wealthy in a monetary sense, but her wisdom and life experiences make her the richest woman in the world.
Astrologically speaking, she represents the Earth Signs: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn

Meta Post: How did Shiro get his scar?

So a few days ago I did a post about Shiro’s prosthetic arm and the response was amazing! Many of you also showed interest in me doing one on Shiro’s scar as well, so here we are. This one took me a lot longer to make because it’s not as cut-and-dry as the arm. There’s a lot of variables and speculation. We can’t really know for sure what DID happen, but we can most likely deduce what DIDN’T happen. (WARNING–I’m going to discuss some graphic stuff, blood/gore/injuries, etc. So be aware.)

In this post we’ll go through the possibilities and see which ones are the most likely to occur. There will be one numbered point per general option, and I will narrow them down to the ones I think could happen. I would love for you to share your thoughts on the matter! At one point most of us, myself included, assumed Shiro got the scar on his face during battle, so this brings us to the first option:

1. The scar is the result of a sword or other blade swipe during battle

Let’s take a look at what would have to happen for this option to be the case. There’s an easy way to visualize this in 10 seconds or less.

Keep reading

Sanders Sides as Thing me/friends have said pt
  • Morality: I've eaten 15 mini bagels and I regret nothing and everything at the same time.
  • Roman/Prince: That is not the proper way to sword fight. Have you even had to battle for your life?
  • Logic/Logan: I'm taking honors classes, so naturally I live off the tears of the weaker students.
  • Anxiety: Can someone please just stab me with a spoon so I can get out of here.
This Weapon is Your Life

“This weapon is your life,” is a statement that, I believe, gets a lot of unwarranted criticism and is frequently misunderstood, particularly amongst the Western, Star Wars fandom. The general opinion that I have found on the subject is that it indicates that the Jedi are teaching people to think of themselves as weapons, and/or that it shows hypocrisy as Jedi are supposed to discourage “possession,” and/or that saying a weapon is your life, encourages or advocates violence. I am here as an apologist for that phrase, because for the reasons indicated below, I think that that phrase is awesome.

What one must first understand is that George Lucas took a lot of inspiration for Star Wars from eastern sources, Japan in particular. Darth Vader’s mask was based upon the Samurai mask, C-3P0 and R2-D2 were inspired by a Japanese movie told from the perspective of two slaves who are caught up in the conflict going around them, and the Sith and the Jedi were inspired by the notion of rival Samurai clans. As such, I feel the lightsabre, its value, its treatment, and its symbolism come from Bushido, the Samurai code, and the katana.

Keep reading

gods of wood and stone

(this may or may not ever turn into something, so I thought I’d leave it here as the product of my procrastination.)


Obito gets lost on the way back to the afterlife.

It sounds like the start of the worst joke ever, like something Kakashi would mock him for forever after finding out about it, but it is, Obito admits to himself with great reluctance, actually true. This is definitely not the Pure Land, Rin is definitely not waiting for him, and he is definitely alive, because apparently using Kamui to skip out on your path to the afterlife leaves you alive even when you don’t want to be.

The worst part is, Obito can’t even regret it. He’d make the same decision again, because Kakashi needed his eyes so he wouldn’t just stand on the sidelines like a useless lump or throw his life away trying to take a hit. With Kamui, Kakashi has a chance at getting them a victory against Kaguya. Without it—

Without it he’s dead, and Obito doesn’t need the blood of any more teammates on his hands.

Cursing quietly, Obito pushes through a particularly tight net of tree branches, trying to figure out where he is. Another dimension, he can tell that much—Kamui gives him a good sense of such things—but unless he wants to kill himself with chakra exhaustion he can’t teleport back out of it. He could try it to get back to the afterlife that way, or just use a kunai, but—

Obito is a stubborn bastard. He was fine dying to save his friend, because there was no other choice and he was dead at the end of the war anyway, but if he’s alive? Yeah, fuck that, Obito is going to survive. It’s what he’s always done, and even if it’s against the world’s best interests, Obito is going to keep it that way. He’s alive, and no one can take that away from him.

The forest thins out up ahead, the spaces between the tree trunks widening as the ground grows rocky, and Obito makes for it, hoping to find some higher ground so he can at least get a look at his surroundings. The earth is covered with old leaf-litter, soft and silent underfoot, and Obito feels like he should know it, like this whole area is familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

He rounds a thick stand of trees, pushes through a thicket of brambles that curl away from the touch of his Mokuton, and hears—

War. War like the one he just left, the one he started, but without the monstrous roar of the bijuu or the overwhelming lash of chakra from shinobi with no concept of human limits. The earth trembles beneath his feet, the air rings with shouts, and there’s a clang and crack of weapons meeting. Fire roars, the smell of scorched cloth and flesh rising in its wake, and there’s a loud cry.

A familiar cry.

Obito reacts without even thinking. He dodges around the last copse of trees, chakra already surging within him, and bursts out onto the battlefield just as there’s a flash of yellow light.

Years of learning how to craft a plan, how to alter it on the fly, how to act and react and take advantage of every skill he’s managed to cultivate—that’s enough to let him take in the fight in one swift glance, ignoring that fact that it should be impossible. Senju on one side, heavily armored and fighting desperately; Uchiha on the other, backs bared because their stupid pride won’t let them wear armor, but pushing the Senju back. Two sources of chakra brighter than the rest—one on the far right, two heads with long black hair, a dragon made of wood, a familiar gunbai and a curl of scorching flame. The other is at the far end, almost dead-center. A fading glow of gold, black hair, Uchiha symbol, and he’s turning but it won’t be fast enough.

But Obito has faced a man who’s even faster, and he can make it in time.

It’s nothing conscious that drives him—the connections are simpler than that. Half a moment to judge, another bare fraction of a heartbeat to let Kamui whirl to life, and there’s a beat in Obito’s blood that sounds like the cause the cause the cause. Nothing solid, nothing certain, but trained instinct and denial working in tandem as he whirls off the battlefield. A portal into the Kamui dimension, and almost before he fully materializes he has another forming, leading right back out, and he snatches up a staff from a pile of stored weapons and is gone. As soon as he’s through he shifts his body sideways, back into the other dimension as he phases through the man—no armor, just robes, and fuck but Obito can’t believe he’s part of a clan filled with such arrogant assholes, thinking they’re too good to wear armor in a fight—and brings the shakujo around.

A sword collides with it in a flash of yellow light, and red eyes framed by white hair go wide.

Obito snarls, in no mood to call for a truce here and now, and plants the butt of the shakujo in the ground. He leaps, using it as a pivot, and slams a foot into Tobirama’s armored chest with all the force of his chakra behind it. The future Nidaime goes flying, and Obito lands lightly, yanking the staff up as he turns.

Uchiha Izuna rounds on him with a victorious laugh, red-and-black eyes bright with triumph, and opens his mouth.

Obito sweeps his feet out from under him, dumps him on his ass, and buries him in grasping roots that drag him to the ground and pin him there. “When the hell is it ever going to be enough for you bastards?” he snarls right in the man’s dumbfounded face. “How many innocent people need to die in this stupid fucking war before you finally decide that you’ve had enough revenge?!”

There’s no answer, only blank gaping, and Obito growls, pivoting on his heel. Several knots of fighting shinobi are watching him with one eye, clearly wary, but not enough to stop their own battles. It’s not going to be enough to save them, because in a split second Obito has made up his mind. It’s a stupid decision, probably the worst he could come up with, but if there’s a chance in hell of stopping all of this before it starts, Obito will take it.

“Stay there,” he growls at Izuna, leveling his shakujo at him, and then turns. A burst of speed sends him hurtling right at a Senju kunoichi with her hair in a topknot and the ponytailed Uchiha she’s fighting, and he shoves right behind them, knocking the woman into the man and pinning them both with Mokuton. The Senju lets out a startled cry, but Obito is still moving. Branches and roots erupt around him, grabbing for shinobi without discrimination.

Those in Obito’s path don’t have nearly as much of a chance to fight back; Kamui makes him a ghost, and even when he’s tangible his speed leaves him all but untouchable. He plows through the ranks separating him from the other fighting pair, drives forward with a wave of Mokuton subsuming everything behind him. There’s a snarled knot of fury growing larger and larger in his chest, a twist of something that’s very close to grief, and he’s had enough.

With a shout, Madara shoves Hashirama away, then whirls in, sword sweeping down. Hashirama catches it on a thick burst of wood, shoving him back, and in the same moment Madara’s eyes flicker up above Hashirama’s shoulder, taking in the rest of the battlefield in an automatic sweep.

Obito, barely three yards away with his shakujo already swinging, catches his eye and bares his teeth in a wolf’s grin.

Oh, he’s going to enjoy this.

Hashirama must see something in Madara’s face—either that or his instincts give him warning, but Obito likes the idea that Madara’s dumbfounded expression serves as warning enough. The man ducks, rolling to the side, and the ring of the shakujo sweeps across the space he just occupied. It just misses Madara as he leaps backwards, a fireball bursting from his lips, but Obito phases right through it, landing lightly and spinning the staff through his fingers.

Madara feints left, but this is man who trained Obito to begin with, almost a century younger and far less skilled, and Obito easily spots the misdirection. He lunges the opposite way, catches Madara’s sword when he reverses directions, then twists past the blow, drives an elbow into Madara’s gut, grabs him by his long, thick hair, and uses it as a handhold as he spins, knocks Madara’s feet out from under him, and drags him down to the ground.

From above and behind him, there’s a cry, and Obito wrenches the sword from Madara’s hand, keeping the other man pinned with the shakujo against his throat, and half-turns to level the blade at Hashirama. It taps the Senju’s chest as he pulls up short, eyes wide, and Obito snorts.

“One move and I’ll happily put another hole in this waste of space,” he growls, seeing the way Hashirama’s eyes flicker from him to Madara and back.

Hashirama stares at him for a long moment, then nods and takes a careful step in retreat. One half-glance around them and he says very quietly, “You have Mokuton.”

Madara makes a sound like a pissy cat dropped into a pond. “You have the Sharingan,” he spits, as though this personally offends him. “You’re an Uchiha.”

“And that fact has been responsible for pretty much all of the misery in my life,” Obito retorts, and for a breathless, terrible moment he’s back in that clearing under the full moon, a handful of seconds too late to save Rin from Madara’s manipulations. One blow and he can stop all of that here and now, can prevent so much of the pain that might come.

Hashirama must see something of that in his eyes, because he takes a quick stride forward, only to pull up short when Obito snarls and levels the blade at his throat again. “Please, don’t!” he insists.

“Get lost, Senju!” Madara snaps at the same time. “This is an Uchiha matter, I will handle—”

“Clearly it is a Senju matter as well,” Tobirama says coldly, coming to a halt a short distance away, but his eyes are on Obito’s sword where it touches his brother’s collarbone.

“I don’t think so,” Izuna counters, equally chilly and just as biting as he edges closer, Sharingan eyes narrowed and wary. “Just because some Senju bastard couldn’t take no for an answer when it was coming from an Uchiha kunoichi—”

Instantly Tobirama whips around, offended rage written clearly across his face, and he grabs for his sword, only to be pulled up short when Hashirama reaches back and grabs his wrist.

“But—” Tobirama starts to protest.

“Izuna,” Hashirama says, carefully even, and he doesn’t look away from Obito but there’s a spark of tightly contained fury in his dark eyes. “Mind. Your. Tongue.”

Izuna flicks a glance between Hashirama and Tobirama, swallows, and takes half a step away from them. “Brother,” he complains.

Madara gives Obito a dark look, but he doesn’t try to move. “You wouldn’t stand for such an insult to our clan, Izuna,” he huffs. “Don’t expect the Senju to have any less pride.”

Narrowing his eyes, Obito presses the shakujo in a little more firmly. “Don’t bother taking that high and mighty tone, Madara,” he bites out. “You’re the one I hold responsible for all of this, and I’m going to fucking take it out of you hide.”

Red-and-black eyes go wide, and Madara almost flinches away from him, hands rising in something like surrender.

Obito doesn’t want surrender, though. He wants to rip into Madara the way he wasn’t able to before, wants to get a hand in his chest and tear the heart right out of him, pay back every bit of pain that Madara inflicted on the world, through Obito and through Zetsu and by his own hand as well. Wants to rip and slash and hack away until this monster is nothing but a pile of bloody flesh, unable to hurt anyone ever again. It overwhelms him for the space of a breath, white-hot rage the only thing inside of him, and before he can think to stop himself he tightens his grip on his shakujo and—

Big hands grab him, one arm around his waist and the other around his chest, and with a jerk he’s hauled right up off of Madara, dragged back against a broad chest as dark hair tumbles around him. “No,” Hashirama says, halfway to a plea, and his grip tightens enough to force the air out of Obito’s lungs.

Obito freezes, stiff and stunned at the touch of another human. Years, it’s been, since anyone touched him to do anything but inflict pain, and his muscles go tense and tight in anticipation of a blow.

There isn’t one, though. No hit, no pain, no kunai slid into his kidneys to gut him and leave him for dead.

No pain, just—

A trickle, wet and hot, against the back of his tattered robe. Blood, by the smell, and since Obito doesn’t bleed anymore it has to be Hashirama’s, has to be from when he knocked the sword aside to save the man who will eventually kill him.

It’s too much. The thought of it, the reality of standing here over Madara, able to end everything before it begins, and Hashirama is the one to save him—

What Obito did, the people he killed—that’s on his head. But it’s on Madara’s too, on Zetsu’s, on Kaguya’s. Uchiha Obito should have died in a cave-in when he was thirteen, but he didn’t, and the reason for that is right in front of him. The reason he didn’t carved a seal into his heart, killed his best friend, and gave him a twisted, broken vision of the world as an illusion, and then set him to unmake it.

Obito is responsible for his own actions, and he knows it all too well. But Madara was the trigger. If Obito was the sword then Madara was the hand that forged and wielded him, and that has to mean he bears at least a part of the blame from the hell of the past few years.

No,” he snarls, and though he shoves backwards to loosen Hashirama’s grip and get away he doesn’t reach for Kamui, doesn’t try to hurt the man (again, again, something in him whispers, hurt him again you mean). “Let go of me! He deserves whatever I do to him!”

Hashirama’s grip isn’t harsh, but it is immovable, and he’s as solid as an oak as he drags Obito back another step. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “This isn’t the way.”

Naruto, Obito thinks, guilt and grief and regret and anger all wound up and tangled together. He curls his fingers into fists, takes a breath that vibrates with anger, and does the hardest thing he’s ever managed in his life.

He opens his hand and lets the weapon go.

Dream boat

Part 1:
The mission had gone perfectly.
Too perfectly.
They had managed to trap Hagar in a Glara hanger completely cut off from any reinforcement and surrounded by all five paladins.
They should of known the moment it looked like the witch was about to surrender that it was a trap.
No one knew the exact moment she sent the ball of black energy flying at Shiro, they didn’t even see her so much as twitch.
No one had done anything.
No one but Lance.
Voltron’s resident sharpshooter not only saw the danger but also acted quick enough to push Shiro out of the way.
Keith charged forwards with his sword and Hunk shot a few blasts as her. But before any could hit Hagar clapped her hands together and disappeared into the shadows.
“Quiznark” Keith cursed kicking the ground in frustration.
“Lance?” Shiro’ worried voice cut through Keith’s anger like a hot knife through the food goo.
Pidge and Hunk were already there surrounding the blue paladin and Keith quickly joined them.
“Shiro what’s wrong?” He asked coming to stand behind the leader.
Shiro had Lance’s head cradled in his lap, his usually dark skin was a sickly pale in comparison. He had a shine of sweat on his forehead and seemed to be in pain.
But that’s not what worries Keith.
Lance wouldn’t wake up no matter how much Shiro shook him, or even Pidge giving him a shock with their bayard.
“He’s not responding!” Shiro gasped frantically shaking the younger paladin.
“What’s going on!” Allura yelled over the coms.
“It’s Lance, he’s down!” Pidge yelled back on the verge of tears.
“I’m bringing the castle round to your location, we must get him to the infirmary as soon as possible!”
———————————–
“It’s a fear spell” Corran supplied brushing Lance’s hair out of his face with as much love as a farther may do to his child.
“What does that mean? Will he wake up?” Shiro asked standing a little away from where Lance was lying in the infirmary.
After getting back Allura had informed them that without knowing exactly what the spell was they couldn’t simply just put him in a pod and hope for the best. It would take a few hours and despite the numerous protests Shiro sent the rest of the team to rest, leaving only him and the two Altean’s to watch over him.
“A fear spell forces the victim to live through their greatest fear… until their heart can’t take the stress anymore and they die.” Allura frowned.
“There has to be something we can do! We can’t just let him die.” Shiro snapped uncrossing his arms and stepping closer.
The two Altean’s exchanged a look.
“What?”
“Well there may be a way but…. it’s very dangerous.” Allura bit her lip “if someone were to enter Lance’s mind and wake him up that way he may just survive.”
“May?” Shiro asked.
“You have to understand that with both magic and the mind nothing is certain…” Corran looked distraught as Lance whimpered in pain.
“I’ll do it.” Shiro declared “I’m the leader this is my responsibility.”
“No Shiro I will. I’m the one who brought you all into this war, I should be the one to take the risk.” Allura argued.
“I’m afraid Princess in order to go into another’s mind you must be the same species in order for it work properly.” Corran explained placing a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s up to you ma boy. Bring him back to us.”
———————————–
A little while later Shiro was lying next to Lance on a spare bed with a weird alien mind share head band on both him and Lance.
“Remember Shiro, you have Lance in the nightmare and convince him to wake up.” Corran said as he activated the headbands.
That was the last thing Shiro saw before he fell into the ocean.

Otayuri week day 7 - Fantasy

i like to think that one of the yuras wings were damaged at battle when he was a kid so he cant use it anymore like normal elfs/fairies and otabek always looks at it and its like “is ih hurt?does is still work properly” but he knows yura is gonna avoid question is some way 

p.s yura likes otabek’s sword ( his battle sword okay no dirty jokes here folks)

Okay. So here's my take on Wonder Woman and alcohol.

In our first introduction to the character, we see Diana Prince decline alcohol. Not once, but twice. I personally didn’t see it in my first watch, but in every subsequent watch it’s incredible how deliberate the moves are.

Times are 47:25 and 1:02:06 in the ultimate version.

The first time we see it once at Lex Luthor’s party when she is offered champagne by the wait staff.

Lex is introduced at the party. Diana looks back at the waiter and politely declines, then glances at Bruce. Subtle, but still important enough to include it.

The next time we see it is when Diana returns Bruce’s drive at the museum, and it’s much more deliberate.

The camera follows the curator from the start. The focus is on him and the drink he picks up (champagne again). He hands the drink off to Diana and walks her to the sword, telling her about it the whole way. Right before the reach the sword however, she drops the drink off on the tray off a passing waiter.

Now the question I pose is: Why? In the movie we were given, there was no explanation to why she declined not once but twice. It’s not until we get to her solo film that the question, I believe, is resolved.

She witnesses what affect alcohol has on humans, specifically men. She sees the bar fight. She sees how Charlie is hardly functioning anymore; be it the horrors of war, alcohol, or probably both. She sees how Chief rallies spirits by bringing booze and books. Why does this drink have the affect it has on men?

From Diana’s perspective, she sees how alcohol changes people into something they’re not. It makes them forget, takes them out of the moment so they aren’t present anymore. I get it; who would want to be present in the hell that is the trenches? When Steve hands her the beer after the village battle, she doesn’t even try it. (I don’t think it would have much of an influence on her anyways. What happens when you put beer in a clay pot?)

It’s one of those things that Diana, as doe-eyed and naïve as she is, doesn’t see a purpose in. As a person, she’s a creature of habit. She continues to use the weapons she was trained with, even in the present day. She holds strong to the virtues she was raised in. And she wasn’t raised with wine or alcohol, so she’s not going to start now.

It’s an interesting character trait I saw that I wanted to write about. If there are any other comments on it, I would love to talk about it.

Hello, I have sex with Mark Blackthorn. What about you?
—  Kieran, Prince of Faerie, son of the King, Prince of the Frost Court, Keeper of the Cold Way, Wild Hunter, Sword of the Host and Mark’s lover.

OOT Link: I shall teach my direct descendant the ways of the sword only if he shows great courage and wisdom. He shall first be challenged by having to find me in the physical plane. Once he has done that we shall only meet in my own pocket plane. I shall only appear before him as a majestic beast, or a frightening and intimidating knight. And I shall only help him indirectly, never assisting him too much for I fear I may coddle him that way.

TP Link: Hey, is this the right timeline? Ah, who cares. Yo, I’m a fucking wolf and I’m gonna follow you around and help out and stuff! You hungry? Let’s get some food. Here, let me help kill some bokoblins and whatnot, we’re friends after all. Gosh, I love helping!