Latest Posts by focusandthefuries - Page 2

Senua’s Saga: Hellblade II 03/??

a Senua and Thorgestr kiss ❤

I promise I’m so so normal about them

hellblade II: "i can change him" - the game

hellblade II: "i can change him" - the game

"He wants to change."

"Does he?"

HELLBLADE 2 - Screenshots (3/?)

Excuse me, how is this not romantic? 😍

Emptiness 

The Unspoken Journey of The Northman and The Mad Woman: Chapter 2

What is he doing here?

Do not trust him.

You must be cautious, Senua.

You must!

Senua’s eyes grew wide as she peered up at the Northman, confused at his presence. She hesitantly lowered the iron she was using to stoke the fire she had built, but she did not drop it completely. “Thórgestr…” she trailed off, not quite knowing what to say.

He noticed her shock instantly, and felt guilty at the fright he had given her. Was he truly so terrifying that the mere sight of him was enough to take away her comfort? He took a step back.

“Fargrimr told me I was to stay here, so we may discuss what is to come. Did he not discuss that with you?” His voice too trailed off.

He is lying!

Do not trust him.

But what if he isn’t?

Why would he lie?

“I am sorry. I shall go.” Thórgestr turned to leave, not wishing to cause her any more discomfort and wishing greatly to show Fargrimr what his fist tasted like. However, the injury on his leg betrayed him and instead of outside, he found himself collapsed onto the floor of the hut. No words could escape his mouth, only a series of pained breaths.

There was a loud clang when the iron fell from Senua’s grasp. She had moved to him with an urgency she did not know she possessed. Her hand reached to cover his. She squeezed them before prying them away from his wound. “Let me see.” She spoke softly, though it was clear her words were a demand. Thórgestr hesitated before letting his arms relax and his palms rest onto the cool ground.

He winced as her nimble fingers traced over the wound. Though it was in a much better state than the day he first got it, it was not fully healed. The gash in his flesh was large and partially scabbed over. Some areas were bleeding again, having been ripped open in his most recent battle. Despite the blood, there was no sign of infection, which was a surprise to both Thórgestr and Senua alike.

“Stay here,” once again, a demand. Senua stood and quickly walked to the edge of the hut. Ástríor had made sure there were fresh linen underclothes and a few spare tunics were left in the hut for her, in addition to a salve from the town’s healer. She grabbed a tunic and cut it into strips before bringing them and the salve back to were Thórgestr was resting on the floor.

He watched her silently as she applied the medicine to his leg, a deep unhappiness taking ahold of her face.

This is all your fault.

You hurt him, Senua.

Why do you always hurt the men you care for?

Are you going to hurt him like you hurt Dillion?

Senua fought the tears that were welling up in her eyes. She began to wrap his leg, as gently as she could manage, taking note of how he tensed as she went. She ran her thumb across the improvised bandage one last time before she retracted her hands. She could not bear to meet his eyes. “Why did you not ask to see a healer.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Do you believe these people would heal me?”

No, she did not.

“I am strong,” he continued. The corner of her lip turned upwards at the harshness of his accent. So different from the melodic cadence of Dillion’s voice, but endearing in its own right. “The pain is only temporary.”

He hoped she could not see the heat he could feel radiating from his cheeks. Every touch left him with tingles running along his nerves. It had been a long while since a woman had touched him so gently. Even longer since he was cared for by a woman. Sure, he had lovers, but they all seemed much more interested in who his father was than who he was. He could feel their lack of sincerity, so they never earned a permanent position in his life. There was one who he thought was different, but she passed on long ago.

He had came back from a hunt, hoping to surprise her with some brightly colored wild flowers he had found growing in the forest. It was he who was surprised when he found her motionless in his bed, surrounded by blood, and what looked to be the beginnings of a baby. His baby. One he had not even known was growing. He cupped it in his hands and cried harder than he ever had looking at the features that were starting to become distinct. He cried harder than he did when he was a boy and The Tyrant took his mother. To him, he saw his whole future lying dead and cold in front of him.

That is how his father found him. He was beaten black and blue for showing such weakness, though, after much protest, Thórgestr was allowed to send off his beloved and their little one in a burning boat rather than a pyre. He had been with no women since. His lamenting was interrupted when Senua offered him her hand. He accepted, and she helped him to his feet. She wrapped one arm around his waist and slung his over her shoulders. She walked him over to the bed and helped him lie down slowly. The exhaustion he had long since been fighting crashed over him like rough waters on a boat.

His eyes scanned the hut once more and he realized there was no second bed. He attempted to sit back up, but was swiftly pushed back down by two small, but strong, hands on his chest.

“You must rest . You said yourself our journey is long.” She stared down him, her bright blue eyes mesmerizing him. He took note of her hair; it was different. Her head piece was removed, as was the tie that held all of the dreads of her hair together. The locks of her hair had made their way to rest at the front of her shoulders. To Thórgestr, they looked like vines creating a frame around her face.

She looked beautiful.

His heart is beating so fast.

Look what you’ve done to him.

Your hands, Senua, why haven’t you removed them?

She knows why.

She became acutely aware that The Furies were right, she had not removed her hands from his chest, when he brought one of his hands up to cover hers. It was her turn to blush, though she could blame the glow of the fire should he bring it up.

“Senua” His voice was but a low whisper, and her fingers flexed into his chest at the vibrations she felt when he spoke her name. “It is you that should have the bed. You need to be strong.”

“You are injured.” She protested.

He began to argue back, but the words died in his throat when her free hand came up to his face. Her fingers cupped his cheeks and her thumb traced over his lips. Senua could not explain why she had done that. She hadn’t even realized what she had done until the Furies were screaming at her once again.

What are you doing?

His lips…

They are soft.

Softer than Dillion’s.

Flesh is softer than bone.

Senua did her best to ignore them, but she did not immediately move her hands.

“If you are so concerned, you take one side and I shall take the other.” She whispered . She could not believe what she was saying, but she knew from their time together that they both were equally as stubborn and she did not wish to argue any farther. She wasn’t sure she could muster up the words.

“You shouldn’t sleep in your leather.” She finally spoke, changing the subject and withdrawing her hands into her lap. She stood suddenly, meekly walking over to the spare garments once again. She grabbed a larger one for Thórgestr and handed it to him. She wordlessly retreated to the fire once more, her back facing him to give him privacy. Thoughts of what he must look like clouded her mind, though she did not dare to look behind her. She wondered if his markings adorned his chest as well. She heard the thud and clang of his clothing hit the ground by the bed.

It was a few moments more before he cleared his throat. “Are you…. Shall I turn away for you.” She blinked once. Twice. She was a fool. She couldn’t chastise him for sleeping in leather and then sleep in her own.

“Yes.” She breathed. She kept her back to him as she undid the ties of her clothing and swapped them for the remaining under clothes and tunic. When she finally turned around, his head was firmly facing the opposite direction, and for that, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Her feet were cold as she wandered back to the bed. When she slipped under the woolen bedding, she did not leave as much space between them as she could have.

Thórgestr did not complain.

Sleep came for them both not long after, but, the sleep was not peaceful. Thórgestr was roused from his slumber by the thrashing and whimpering of the woman next to him. The fire had gone out by then, so he was unable to clearly see her face, but her distress was evident. Most nights Senua was plagued by terrible nightmares. Her father, Dillion, the blood eagle, the darkness consuming her. Most nights she was alone.

Thórgestr wished he could take his sword and slay whatever monsters corrupted her sleep, but he knew that was impossible. Instead, he moved closer to her and tenderly shook one of her shoulders. She shot up as quickly as lightning shot down from the sky. She was gasping for air like she had been drowning.

“Senua!” He spoke, grabbing her by both her arms when she began to struggle, confused by her surroundings. “Senua, it is alright. You are safe.” Recognition set in, and she gazed into his eyes. They were just barely glinting in the moonlight that shown through the gaps in the ceiling. She fell sobbing into his chest, her fingers digging into his taught skin through the thin fabric he wore. He slowly laid back down on the bed, pulling her so she rested comfortably upon him.

He gently stroked her hair and down the length of her back, thinking of anything to distract himself from how vividly he felt every curve of her body. He consoled her softly and promised her once again that she was safe with him.

Weeks ago he tried to kill you.

He tried to kill us.

But now he is holding you.

He is protecting you.

He keeps protecting you, not unlike Dillion.

Eventually, they found sleep once again. Senua did not wake again until she heard the hut door close quietly, and Fargrimr’s voice murmuring something about her still being asleep. As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she realized she was still entangled with Thórgestr in the manner she fell back asleep in. She was laying partially on top of him. She smiled at the way the scattered rays of sunlight illuminated his angular features.

She moved to sit up, her leg sliding over his lap. She froze when she felt it, and her face burned hotter than the fire the draugrs spit when a soft groan slipped past his lips. Her gaze lowered slowly to confirm she truly was feeling what she thought she was. She’d felt only Dillion in this way, and it hadn’t been more than a handful of times.

What did you expect?

Do you desire him?

He desires you.

Of course she does.

She isn’t moving.

She was frozen in place, but her blood ran hot. She felt a familiar heat. A tightness in her belly. As if he could feel her gaze, Thórgestr slowly began to wake. His initial reaction was to smile when he saw her soft face above is. However, he noticed her flushed complexion and followed her line of sight.

He quickly sat up, pulling away from her and the bedding into his lap. He didn’t know what emotion he felt more strongly. Shame or embarrassment. There was a prolonged silence and neither could look the other in the eye. When he felt like he could not take it anymore, he began to mumble. “I am sorry. It is morning. These things,” he paused, closing his eyes tightly. “these things happen in the morning.” Senua simply nodded. She remained silent for another stretch.

“We should get ready to leave. The daylight is upon us and we still need to eat.” Senua nodded again and stepped slowly to her leather. Steeling herself for what would happen once she walked out the door.

Chris O’Reilly is so real for reposting every Thórgestr photomode he’s tagged in

"He wants to change."

"Does he?"

HELLBLADE 2 - Screenshots (3/?)

Thorgestr's smile 😄

SENUA'S SAGA: HELLBLADE 2 (2024)

Emptiness 

Excuse me, how is this not romantic? 😍

Senua & Thórgestr: Enemies to Lovers - Part 1/3

"I'm glad you're okay"

Prompt:

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

The Unspoken Journey of The Northman and The Mad Woman: Chapter 1

Senua felt a chill run down her arms as her knees sank deeper into the rocky shore. Her head bowed in front of what used to be the skull of a giant. What once was a monster, what once was a man, now nothing but stone. He had paid for his betrayal with his blood, and the village folk had paid with theirs for casting him out. She hoped that he would rest easy now. That they would all rest easy.

She had dragged him from the darkness as she had done for herself.

The wind danced across her skin and she could feel herself slipping into the deep exhaustion that settled into her bones. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to do this for another time, but she knew she had to find it anyways. She would defeat these giants, save these people. Stop the wicked roots that turned the Northmen into slavers.

She had to. Maybe then the ones she had lost would stop calling to her. She could atone her failure to them once and for all. Instead of death, she could bring peace.

She felt alone there amongst the jagged rocks. As alone as she had always been.

She knew she had to get up, the voices in her head were sure to tell her that soon. The stench of blood, ash, and the sea burned her nostrils.

You weren’t alone with Dillion.

Did he count for nothing?

Why didn’t you save him like you saved them?

If you saved him, you wouldn’t be alone.

Before The Furies could utter another word, Senua was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of someone fast approaching. A calloused hand rested gently upon her shoulder, and another one wrapped around her arm. She felt herself being drawn upwards. A touch with such tenderness. A kind she hadn’t felt in years.

She looked up to meet the eyes of a man she nearly killed a mere fortnight or two ago. A slave master. A man who ravaged her lands. A man afflicted by darkness, just as she had been.

Darkness

Look at his arms. Where is the darkness?

It’s there don’t you see it.

Do you see the darkness, Senua?

Where is it? It's vanished.

“It weakens you. Each death.” He spoke, his voice a deep rumble tinged with what sounded like concern. The observation, while obvious, caused a swell of doubt within her. She felt shame at her weakness. One so consuming she had to break away from his gaze.

Senua blinked slowly. The Furies were right. Where was the darkness? She noticed glimpses of it still, peaking just above the leather that adorned his forearms, but where had the rest of it gone?

It was his next words that caught her off guard. “Does it hurt you?” she glanced back to his face, searching his once icy eyes for any hint that the concern she thought she heard was misplaced. She did not find one, and simply shook her head no, despite The Furies in her head reminding her that she was, in fact, in agony.

The more he spoke, the more The Furies became active in her mind. They always seemed to, around him. She was becoming transfixed by him. The thin lines of ink that traced the features of his face. The strand of hair that had fallen out of place from the wind.

“Can you keep going ?” Her attempt at deception did not go unnoticed, though he didn’t fault her for her pride. “Yes.” She finally muttered. No more, no less. She was trying to convince herself more than him at this point.

A strand?

He was just in battle.

Only a strand?

Had he fixed it before finding her?

“I believe in you.” The words carried such weight that Senua nearly collapsed under them. He believed in her. Her initial reaction was to doubt, but here he was. All alone with her, standing at the grave site of the giant. He was the only one standing here with her. Fargrimr and Ástríor both nowhere to be seen, though she was sure they were alive.

This is..

Different.

This is different.

He is different.

Senua had felt it too, of course. Ever since he threw the spear that pierced Illtauga’s body and picked her up off the ground. He’d saved her then, even haphazardly standing in front of her, blocking Illtauga’s gaze, screaming for her to go. Why had he done that? She did not know. Days before he was calling her a mad woman for marching into a settlement decimated by draugrs. Had hurled blades at her. Yet there he was. Protecting her.

She was not used to being protected.

The emotion was still swirling within as they wandered off in search of the other members of their party. She felt sparks flying through her when his hand once again came down against her back. It could easily be passed off as a friendly gesture, but Senua wasn’t so certain that was the touch’s intention.

Neither was Thórgestr.

The air was thick between them, but not unpleasant. It took some time before the pair were reunited with the others. Fargrimr was found first. He was catching his breath, leaning against the cool walls of the cliff side. Ástríor was more elusive. She was found back within the confines of her newly safe village. She had helped those injured back to their homes. To their waiting wives and children. She then began a fire. Her village did not have much, but she felt a feast of what they did have was in order. For morale and to make sure the injured began to heal.

Senua observed her with a smile. Ástríor appeared so jovial, drinking and dancing with her people. When Senua first met Ástríor, she did not know if she’d be able to gain her spirits back. Senua had never been so happy to be wrong.

Ástríor approached the trio, inviting them to join festivities. Her eyes lingered hesitantly on Thórgestr. She did not trust him as far as a child could throw a spear. However, he had undoubtedly assisted her in slowing down the giant before Senua had done whatever it was she had done. So for tonight, he may feast. Though one wrong move would end with a dagger in his throat.

Thórgestr could sense the tension. These people had many reasons to distrust him. He understood that and did not push to be included. Instead, once he got his portion of food, he hobbled over to a fallen log at the edge of the gathering’s perimeter. He winced as he sat, the injury to his leg acting up once again.

There was so much warmth here by the fire, unlike where they were going. He wanted the bloodshed to stop. He wanted the tyrant to die; however, he did not want Senua to see the fate of all the slaves he had aboard the ship had it not crashed. What her fate would have been. To be tied to a post, wasting away from the harsh weather, damned to be ripped apart and consumed by a giant. He felt the shame clawing it’s way through his insides. He suddenly felt sick.

He did not want to think of the way she would look at him when she saw it. The mad woman. The one who marched without fear into battles against draugrs and giants. The one who by all reason and logic should not have let him live after his humiliating defeat and ships wreckage.

Why had she let him live?

He hadn’t the faintest idea beyond some mad plan she had briefly mentioned. If he had been the victor of the fight, none of them would be where they were today. He was happy he lost.

He had taken her from her home and brought her to this cursed land. Perhaps this was fate. Perhaps her coming across his path had been a divine intervention. A gift from the gods to guide him away the path paved with darkness that would surely lead him to the depths of hel.

He hadn’t wanted to be a monster, but he did not want to be eaten by one either. He had done what he had to do, or at least that is what he told himself at night as the screams of those tied to the posts kept him awake. They haunted him. Each and every night. It was his burden to carry alone. His father wouldn’t understand. His father would find it weak, and weak was not something his father allowed him to be. The björg were a strong people. Their strength below only the gods and the giants; and now, he pondered, below Senua as well.

His father had to see that, did he not? He was lost in thought for a great while until Fargrimr sat beside him. Fargrimr was growing on him, though if asked, that was something he would never admit. Though Thórgestr thought his counterpart initially to be weak and nothing but a pawn in his father’s empire, he had realized that he was wrong. He was wrong about many things as he had come to realize.

“We shall stay the night here. Health and weather permitting, we leave tomorrow. Ástríor has been invited to accompany us.” Thórgestr felt his eye twitch at that. While he did not blame her for her hatred, he did not wish to continue being subjected to it either. Despite finding the news unpleasant, he simply nodded, biting his tongue to prevent uttering any words that should remain unspoken. His eyes drifted toward Senua. A small, almost imperceptible smile graced his lips as he watched her.

Fargrimr noticed that had become an increasingly common habit of Thórgestr’s. He found it intriguing. A short time ago, if asked, he would have told anyone that Thórgestr was just as heartless and brutal as his father. Now, as he observed his unlikely brother in battle, he knew with conviction that was false. Whether the true Thórgestr had been capable of such tenderness all along, or if this transformation was yet another impact of Senua, he did not know. He knew from the moment his prayers were answered and she saved him from the draugr, that Senua would bring a great change to everyone she encountered.

Fargrimr stood after awhile, being beckoned by Ástríor. “Come. Our quarters for the night have been prepared. Ástríor has provided us with two huts. She does not yet trust you to sleep alone.” Fargrimr offered his hand to Thórgestr, having witnessed his limping earlier in the night. He could see the fire of defiance rising for just a moment in Thórgestr’s eyes. However, Thórgestr once again held his tongue and accepted the assistance up. It would be a long walk to where they needed to go.

They followed a few paces behind Senua and Ástríor up the winding hilltop. The huts were small, but they appeared adequate enough. When he was sure the women were out of earshot, Fargrimr once again broke the just barely comfortable silence between the two men.

“You have the most experience with our next foe,” Thórgestr was not sure if this foe being mentioned was his father or the tyrant. “so I believe you should share the hut with Senua. That way, you may more easily prepare her for what is about to come.”

Thórgestr stopped dead in his tracks. A panic he could not identify began to bubble in his chest. He felt his cheeks warm as a teasing glint made it’s way into Fargrimr’s eyes.

“What? Have you not shared a hut with a woman before?” The insinuation was impossible to miss.

“Of course I have.” Thórgestr sputtered incredulously, feeling anger and embarrassment take ahold of him. He was only met with a smug smile. Fargrimr continued walking.

Senua had already entered the hut before they caught back up to Ástríor. “These are the huts.” She gave one last hard look in Thórgestr’s direction before she turned on her heel and walked away.

Thórgestr realized he was suddenly standing alone outside his hut’s door when Fargrimr quickly wished him a restful sleep and entered into his own dwelling before he had a chance to argue about the sleeping arrangements.

He shook his head, not enjoying the path his thoughts were taking. He took one more breath and smoothed back his hair before he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He told himself he was not nervous, though he knew that was not true. He had no reason to be nervous. He was not a child afraid to be alone with a girl. He was a man and Senua was a woman. One he was sure would not want him even if he wanted her.

Did he want her?

Here we go again...

As always, It's just seeing characters with wasted potential and I can't help but ship them 🥺

Senua & Thórgestr: Enemies to Lovers - Part 1/3

I need more photomodes where their models are moved closer together heh

unspoken

I wrote a Hellblade 2 fic for Senua/Thórgestr because I have a problem. Rated Explicit (as everything I write) and it’s kinda a love story?

Summary: Thórgestr is brought back to Sjavarrisi to heal from his wounds, while Senua avoids him by the sea. As a storm rolls in, she finds herself alone with him in the longhouse, where she decides that the Northman is everything else but what he once was, and there is room in her to feel love again.

‘He’s coming.’

‘Thórgestr. He shouldn’t be, though. He’s still too weak.’

‘Hurt… dead… almost dead. Should be dead. We saw him.’

From the wooden vardhus overlooking the cliffside seas where Senua sits aloft the briney spray of crashing waves, Thórgestr’s figure approaches. He is a black shift of shade ambling through fog and winter—a Draugr if not for time and the healing touch of the læknir. It had taken many a day and night to drag the dying-dead Northman to Ástríðr’s settlement against the shoreline, where the promise of someone—anyone but the viciously seething healer of the Borgarvirki—could save Thórgestr, for he’d shown Senua the rock beneath the moss… his soul beyond the flesh.

And, it was on those passes of moon and sun during their trek back to the sea cliffs of Sjavarrisi that she spoke to him. Of love—of Dillion—of home, fathers, mothers, and the hidden folk who still talk to her now. It had been easier then, back when he could not speak for the blood in his lungs and the infections that came and went without Thórgestr leaving for Helheim. But even in the nights, when time stretched long between the rattle of his inhale and the wheeze of his exhale, his eyes watched her. Those blue, odd depths, wet and red-rimmed, wait for Senua to speak again.

… and so she did. She spoke on small things, great things, and hidden things until Ástríðr brought them—at last—to her home by the cliffs.

The læknir that Ástríðr promised bore skills to bring back that which was nearing death and, in doing so, shook Senua.

‘Happily so.’

‘The tyrant that nearly pierced his heart. His own father. He, too, deserved to die…’

‘At first. Before. But not any longer.’

Now, the Northman lives, and with his voice returned, Senua speaks less. It is different when the audience of her tales and trials cannot comment in stride. It leaves her guarded now… distrustful, as though his winds will change and Senua will be a madwoman again, not a seer—not special.

She watches him from the lowest platform on the smallest vardhus as Thórgestr draws near, plodding on weakened legs with nothing but determination urging him forward. His ferocity to see her—to seek Senua out in the dark, in the cold—nourishes that distrust his waxing voice began.

Though it is winter, and though sea spray sprinkles from the crush and crash of waves upon the rocks below, Thórgestr appears chin held high, in bandages, leather brók… and little else. The muscles in Senua’s thigh—dangling from the platform overlooking the skerry—tense at the sight of skin and blood-daubed dressings. It is not like it was with Dillion… and yet…

‘He is nothing like her lover. Dead. Gone. Dead Dillion.’

‘No, nothing like him. Isn’t bad. Doesn’t have to be.’

Senua looks at the whole of him, then the pieces: strength beneath skin overgrown by vessels, rivers of moisture that coat curvature with love, a freshly shaven jawline with the raised welt of a shaky hand. She takes in these parts of him, then looks away as Thórgestr’s mouth curves upwards. He knows how her eyes linger in places, or perhaps it is that pleasantries are oddities, things Senua is unfamiliar with. These smiles, words, and looks freely given… as though he feels more for her than Senua does him… yet doesn’t mind—is patient—content to wait.

‘He will wait for her. She knows he is changed. She has changed him.’

‘And he likes to wait… they all do.’

‘You’re just a prize to be won now. A souvenir, like the Goði said.’

‘No. Senua is special…’

“It is cold,” Thórgestr says, a brisk tremor that is hot where the world is cold. He leans against the vardhus’ wooden post, unashamed—it would appear at first glance—of the weakness his wound lays over his shoulders, “Only getting colder.”

‘He doesn’t want you to freeze out here, Senua.’

And then, when Senua refuses to look at him, Thórgestr continues, “You know, as a boy, I would find the highest rock and sit, contemplating my purpose. Even then, my father found love in power. Control. I would do anything to be away from him then…”

‘He’s trying to reach out. Shared experiences… camaraderie… why does she push him away?!’

‘It’s no use. She doesn’t like him. Hates him!’

“I do not mind the cold,” Senua tells him, harsh and finite.

‘Tell him to go away. You don’t need him, Senua.’

She looks to the sea where the remnants of the giant’s fall have left the sea brackish and tumultuous with new disruptions that send foamy droplets up the landslip, wetting the cliff’s edge. Jagged, hunched rocks split waves like the onslaught of a raid, filling the coast with Aegir’s horrible lullabies. Only after a disagreement begins on the horizon between sea and sky does she look back to Thórgestr, whose gaze has not left Senua, though his eyes shift to meet hers.

‘Where was he looking?’

“It is you who should worry,” she scolds, “Unless you prefer to freeze. Bound to your sick bed.”

‘Look. He is warm, though. Not cold.’

‘Let him warm you, Senua.’

I’ve got the rest on AO3 cause it’s like almost 10k. Feel free to check it out HERE.

Just wanna say... I am Into whatever these two had going on. Enemies to reluctant allies to mirrors (the mirror HURTS).