Water Under the Bridge
I Did It to Protect You

Ignis continued to spend plenty of time with Aranea, his worries over her illness ceasing slightly when it seemed she was doing a little better as time went on. At least now she was able to keep down some food and she tried her best to eat what she could, when she could. Funny enough, Ignis picked up on the fact that she didn't seem as cranky toward him anymore. He would ask if she was ok and, instead of snapping like she usually did, she would answer in a quiet, loving manner. It was very unusual for the Commodore to respond to him so nicely, even if they'd been a couple for some time now, but he'd smile and take whatever he could get right now, especially if it meant that she was feeling well enough to actually be nice again.

Today, she would be working on more paperwork ("I can't, for the life of me, figure out why the fuck Cor wants to continue with this damn paperwork. What good is it doing us? There are only a few hundred of us left in this stupid city, so who really cares if the lady in apartment 2B was a seamstress before the Darkness?") and Ignis reluctantly left her side to return to his studies with Talcott.

And that's where the two men were now. Ignis and Talcott sat in the same chairs that they always did, at the same 'dining room' table, under the same dingy light within the same confines of Ignis' room. It was just routine now. Talcott took notes, read aloud, and listened carefully to Ignis' slow but methodical translations of the tome before them. Also on the table was the prophecy painting, spread out across the entire top of the table. Restless, Ignis eventually stood up and paced back and forth from one end of the room to the next, anxiety and dread simmering in his chest. They were so close to figuring out who Ardyn was, and yet, did Ignis even want to know? All these years later. All those confrontations. The anger and heartache and frustration. Was it worth it? Would it really solve anything?

It didn't matter. He had to know, just for his own state of mind.

Over time, since they started their studies into the Starscourge and the history of the Izunia lineage, the two had managed to fill up an entire notebook with notes, which was no easy feat as Talcott had very small, messy handwriting. He was doing what he always did, which was pouring over said notes, while comparing them to what their newly discovered book had to say.

The teen stumbled over some curious information. "This is weird . . . hey, Ignis? Are you sure Ardyn's last name is Izunia?"

Ignis narrowed his eye, putting an end to his incessant pacing as he slowly sunk into his chair again. "Certainly. It's how he introduced himself to us and it's the only name he's ever given us. Why do you ask?"

Talcott flipped several pages of his notes, rereading a few lines before turning back to the book. "That's really odd. There's Proditious Izunia here, but no Ardyn Izunia. I ask, though, because there's an Ardyn Lucis Caelum . . ."

Ignis laughed a cold and sardonic sound. "No, that's impossible. I, of all people, would know if there was an ancestor to the Lucis Caelum lineage that went by the name of 'Ardyn'. I assure you, that's a mistake."

And it was true. Ignis wanted to say he was extremely confident in his knowledge of the Lucis Caelum ancestry. It was the bloodline of his prince. How could he not know? Hearing Talcott even suggest the idea that Ardyn was a Lucis Caelum and not an Izunia was laughable. No, impossible. There was no way.

But Talcott was careful in how he approached this, knowing how sore of a subject it was to the advisor. The way that Ignis was laughing it off was unsettling. "I'm afraid not, sir. It says here that once, long ago, there was a well-renowned healer named Ardyn Lucis Caelum. He was the first in the Lucis Caelum bloodline and was chosen by Bahamut himself to restore health and wellness to those afflicted with the Scourge. It also mentions that he was very well loved by all the people and the sick would travel from all over just to see him, and only him."

Another cynical laugh. "Talcott, you must be daft."

Talcott rolled his eyes, thankful that his mentor was unaware that he did so. He was getting irritated, and Ignis was right there, annoyed as well. "Sir, I promise you, right here it talks about Ardyn Lucis Caelum. He was a healer of the people. I couldn't make this up if I tried."

By now, Ignis was teetering on the edge of irate, believing that the teenager was trying to pull off a not-so-funny joke with him. "Talcott, that's enough. Cease this elaborate prank and focus."

"I'm . . . Ignis, I'm not fooling around. I'm reading what the book says and what you've translated for me. Ardyn is of the Lucis Caelum bloodline, not Izunia. It would explain why we've had a hard time finding anything out about him in the first place. He's not an Izunia. It says right here he's an ancestor of the Lucis Caelum family."

Ignis' mouth went dry. He tried to quench his thirst by reaching for a cup of water that he knew wasn't there and laughed again, only this time it was an unbelieving one. "How? What . . . then what happened? Why would he pull strings and work to incapacitate Noctis? It doesn't make sense" he asked.

With a quick tug at his hat, Talcott mumbled some words to himself as he sped-read. "Here it says: 'Ardyn Lucis Caelum was a man cursed with life eternal, whose immortality stems from the same scourge that wrought the daemons. One so impure of body and soul was deemed unworthy of the crystals light and forbidden to ascend. His mind twisted by spite and bent on revenge, the Usurper came to bring darkness down upon the world.'"

Another few incoherent words and a shrug from the teen. "So, what I'm getting from this is that apparently Ardyn would 'absorb', for lack of better words, the daemons into himself and that is how he became afflicted with the Scourge. Eventually, it tainted him and turned his soul dark and . . . oh, shit."

Ignis' ears perked up even more at the obscenity, pushing his glasses up on his nose and resting his forearms on the table. He could tell Talcott was now looking at him, maybe with eyes a bit wider than usual. His jaw was probably dropped. However it was that he looked, Ignis was just ready to hear what made his protégé stop in his tracks. "Yes?"

Talcott ran his finger under some words as he read them to Ignis. "'Proditious Izunia, once the great and powerful king of Solheim, grew ever more jealous of Ardyn Lucis Caelum, the healer of the people. As a last resort to save countless lives, Ardyn, the Accursed, took the daemons unto himself, in turn tarnishing his very being. Proditious used the Scourge to his advantage and banished Ardyn to Angelguard Prison, relegating him to a life of solitude until the end of time. Ousted and denied his birthright, the now-eternal Accursed managed to escape the confines of the prison and he returned to the city where Proditious resided. In a fit of rage and seeking vengeance, Ardyn ruthlessly murdered the king in front of his family and his kingdom in hopes that slaying the man would end his immortality and his soul would be set free.'"

Ignis was unfocused, first leaning forward onto the table and then resting back into his chair for support. Ardyn wasn't always bad, but he was angry and he was intent on exacting revenge. Why, though? Why would he go through the trouble of helping Noctis get to Titan? Pairing their team up with Aranea in Steyliff? All of this, only to kill Luna, separate Prompto from them on the train . . .

Ignis tried to change his train of thought, having gone down this road many times over the last ten years, but it was impossible. Try as he might, he could always count on his darkest thought leading him right back to that day.

He was back in Altissia, cold metallic hands pushing his head to the ground. Separated from Gladio and Prompto, he went down fighting but it wasn't enough. The rain was pelting them and those damn leather boots came into his field of vision. He twisted his body to see Ardyn bent over, sneering. He was mocking him, manipulating him. Telling him every little thing he planned on doing and, at first, he was confused when Ardyn made a cruel joke that Ignis wouldn't get to see any of it.

Of course, it made perfect sense seconds later when he felt his skin melt away, exposing muscle and tendons. The searing heat and smell of burning flesh. He was on fire-more specifically, his face was on fire. There was the sound of his glasses shattering under the heel of Ardyn's boot. The blood from the cuts on his brow, nose, and lip. More pain in his shoulder and chest. Was he shot? Did one of those troopers shoot him? He was screaming, the sound a gurgling cry amidst the cackling of the Chancellor. At one point, Ignis even remembered reaching a hand up to the Chancellor, fingers curled in pain, as if Ardyn could save him from the hell he was in. That only incited another round of giggling from him and Ignis' hand was kicked away and one of his daggers was picked up and placed precariously in the waistband of Ardyn's billowing trousers before trouncing away. Ignis was left in a puddle of rainwater and blood, crying and screaming for his torture to end. Did he make up the fact that he was begging for relief? No, that didn't happen. Ignis would never condescend to beg for mercy. He would fight until his dying breath before he would ever ask for mercy.

That was not the same man described in the books. The man that Ignis remembered—the final thing he saw before his sight was snatched away—was cold. Calculating. Manipulative. The epitome of ruthlessness and evil. Ignis was still scared of him ten years later and he couldn't fathom having an ounce of respect or love for him. How was he the Healer of the people?

Talcott continued to speak, his voice snapping Ignis from his reverie. "'However, the Crystal had not marked Proditious Izunia as the Chosen King and the Accursed will continue to walk Eos until the Chosen King returns. The Providence is the sole means to ending the immortal Accursed. A power greater than that of the Six, purifying all by the light of the crystal and glaives of ruler's past. Only at the throne can the Chosen receive it, and only at the cost of a life: his own. The king of kings shall be granted the power to banish the darkness, but the blood price shall be paid. To cast out the Usurper and usher in dawn's light will cost the life of the chosen. Many sacrificed all for the King; so must the King sacrifice himself for all. Only the true King, chosen by the crystal and guarded by his forebears, can end the Accursed's madness.'"

"'Many sacrificed all for the King; so must the King sacrifice himself for all.'I don't get it. What does that even mean? Ignis?"

Ignis brought a hand to his mouth, piecing together all the information like a disjointed jigsaw puzzle in his mind. Time stopped. He was dizzy and disoriented. He traced a hand over the Prophecy painting on the table, everything so clear to him now. He'd studied that painting for so long and so hard in his younger years that, even then, he could visualize it in his head perfectly.

The Chosen King.

It was Noctis.

It was no arbitrary picture—it was them. It had always been them. Noctis in the middle, Prompto to the right, Gladio and himself to the left.

The gods above them and the daemons below them.

Why Ardyn needed to guide them and help them along the way.

This was it.

"Oh, my gods. It can't be . . ."

How could they have been so dense?

Ignis stood up, the chair crashing behind him as he violently threw all the books, journals, notes, pictures, and the Prophecy painting to the floor, yelling and screaming, before storming to the door and down the hall. His thoughts were clouded and he almost lost where he was in his rage, but managed to find his way to the door down the hall, banging furiously.

"Cor, open the goddamn door! Open up!" His temper was near boiling.

He didn't care that he was causing a scene, nor did he care that he could very well end up punching a hole in the door with how hard he was pounding on it. He continued his assault on it until it gave way and Ignis' fist made contact with only air.

The advisor was breathing hard, tears welling in his eye with his jaw set hard enough that the muscles were taut along his jawline and down his neck. His fists were balled at his side now and he finally spoke, but his emotions almost got the better of him and it came out weak. "Did you know?"

Cor crossed his arms, standing tall with his chin tilted upward. The man looked so tired, the years quickly catching up with him. He was still the epitome of his namesake—Cor the Immortal; so brave. So strong. Steadfast to a fault. His eyes, however, were drained of the vigor that once burned in them so long ago. "You're going to have to be a tad more specific, Scientia. Did I know, what?"

"Did you know he would die? That he would have to sacrifice himself for the world? Did you?"

Cor didn't even flinch. "You know."

"Answer me!"

"Keep your voice down," Cor barked. He opened the door a little wider. "Get inside. Then, we can talk."

Ignis contemplated the offer, stuck between wanting to run until he was breathless and following the Marshal's order. The latter won out and, resentfully, Ignis moved passed his superior, freezing just steps inside so Cor could guide him to a proper sitting area in the corner. He offered the advisor a drink of water, but Ignis didn't respond—anger brewing just under the surface, clawing at his chest and throat.

The Marshal's eyes bored a hole into Ignis' soul as he took a seat across from him. Ignis didn't come here for idle chit-chat. He was confused, infuriated, horrified, and heartbroken all at the same time.

Noctis.

His friend.

His King.

Cor leaned forward, never once averting his eyes from Ignis' face. "I did know. I've known longer than I care to admit."

"And you didn't find it of interest or necessary to alert us? Were you just going to keep it a secret until we were on that battlefield with him? Were you grooming him? Us? You . . . His Majesty . . . Marshal, tell me it's not true." His voice cracked, so he took a minute to compose himself until he was confident in his ability to speak again. "Why?"

"What would you, or Gladiolus, or Prompto have done if you knew the truth? Run out, screaming, until the Gods heard your pleas? Hole yourself up and prayed every day, as if that would change anything? That sort of knowledge would have served no purpose to you. It would have driven you mad. I was protecting you."

Ignis clicked his tongue, but Cor shook his head. "Be angry at me if you must, but be real with yourself, Ignis. You don't think having that information hasn't kept me up all hours of the night? When His Majesty divulged the prophecy to me before the fall of Insomnia, I knew I had no choice but to bear that burden alone until you were ready. I don't expect you to understand my motives, but I kept his fate from you to keep you three safe."

With every word that came out of Cor's mouth, Ignis felt the sharp pain of the figurative knife twist deeper and deeper into his heart. Breathing was becoming a chore. It wasn't possible to hurt this much, and yet here he was, numb and broken but aching. Mourning. He felt the tears threaten to well up, but he was too stubborn to let them fall.

"The Prophecy painting, then . . . " Ignis whispered.

Cor nodded. "The four of you have been on this ordained path since birth. Once Noctis returns from his final trial within the crystal, he will go forward to bring light back to Eos. You will be there by his side as he does so."

This was becoming more sickening by the minute. "No. No, I can't. I won't, Marshal. I can't, in good faith, march alongside His Highness while we depart to our demise. You, of all people, should understand that."

Cor stood up, walking just passed the advisor as he rested a hand on his shoulder, gripping it while the color—what little color he had left from all the years of darkness—drained from his face. "Ignis, you don't have a choice. You understand that, right? You don't have a choice. None of us do."

Hours later, Ignis was back in his own bedroom. He pardoned Talcott for the evening when he came back and realized that the teen was still sitting right where Ignis had left him when he stormed out earlier. Once alone, Ignis asked his phone, using various voice commands, to send a text message to Gladio and Prompto to come home at once.

At first, Prompto laughed. He punched Ignis in the shoulder and made a comment that Ignis' sense of humor was getting drier by the day, but Ignis' face never faltered. So, Prompto asked again and one more time for good measure to say he was joking. That it wasn't true. That Noctis wasn't going to die. When he realized Ignis wasn't joking, he excused himself and dry heaved in the toilet while Gladio looked at Ignis, aghast.

Now, they all were numb in their various spots around the room. Gladio's hands were interlocked on top of his head and he refused to make eye contact with either of the other men as he faced the window in a daze. Ignis sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and hands in a prayer position on his chin and mouth.

Prompto sounded like he was on the verge of tears. He was in total shock and denial. "Are you . . . are you sure? I mean, maybe you're wrong. Maybe Cor is wrong. Maybe—"

"Don't be a fool, Prompto; the Prophecy has always been right and it has been in front of our faces this whole time. We were just too naïve to see what it really portended."

The blonde's lip quivered and he wiped away a tear that threatened to fall down his cheek. Gladio, for the first time, spoke up. "Does this mean that we are going to die as well alongside Noct?"

Ignis shook his head and sighed, letting his hands fall to his knees. "I can't say for certain. I hate to say that I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if that's the way this has to be."

"No! This isn't fair!" Prompto whined, jumping up and waving his hands in a wildly exaggerated motion. "Noct is supposed to come back and rule as King. We were going to be his Kingsglaive. You have Aranea, Gladio has . . . whoever he has! I'm not ready to die. We're not ready to die! I didn't ask for this!"

"None of us asked for this, Prompto!" Ignis roared over his griping, intimidating the sharpshooter into silence. "Do you think for one second we all woke up and decided this is what we wanted? This is what has been deigned of us. It's written in the stars and the books. Noctis must die to bring back the light."

"No! Fuck it! We've survived this long without the goddamn sun. We don't need it! We can't just walk to our deaths because it's what the Gods want! There has to be something! Ignis! You . . . you have the answers to everything! Come on! Please!" he begged tearfully.

"Knock it off," Gladio commanded, cutting a glare over to Prompto. "You've gotta get a hold of yourself."

"Oh, easy for you to say! Are you ok with Noct having to die? What about us blindly walking up those damn steps like lambs to slaughter?"

"We don't even know if we have to die!"

Ignis pursed his lips. "We're all in that painting. Everything is right there; the four of us. It's damning evidence, if you ask me."

"Well, I'm not asking you," Prompto spat, wincing as Gladio thundered over and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

"Have some respect, Prom. If we must go with Noct, then we will be there. We took an oath, and we will uphold it. Now, settle down!"

He freed Prompto from his grip, but Prompto's eyes immediately welled with tears again. "I don't care that I have to die, I'll get over that. But, does Noct really have to die? It's . . . fuck. No. No. No. Please, no. This isn't right."

Ignis' phone rang in his pocket and they froze, the sound snapping them out of their argument. It rang a few more times until Ignis finally shifted to reach into his pants pocket, pulling the phone out and answering it, putting an end to the obtrusive ringing. "Yes? . . . Aranea, can it wait? I'm in the middle of something right now . . ." He sighed an indignant sound and ran his hand through his hair. "Are you sure? . . . I understand. Yes. I'll be right over. Love you, too."

Gladio raised an eyebrow. "What did she want? Is everything ok?"

The advisor looked uncertain, standing up. He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, having slid down enough to cause annoyance. "She refused to say; only that it was important that she tell me face-to-face and not over the phone."

There weren't any other words said as Ignis crossed the room to the door. His chest felt heavy and he had to remember how to breathe. This was all too much and he didn't know what Aranea could possibly have to say to him that she couldn't say over the phone. Honestly, he didn't know if he could take any more profound news, but she sounded insistent.

He left his friends standing in the room and he made his way to Aranea's room. Even his knock sounded strained, but Aranea opened on the second knock. "You look like hell," she observed.

"I feel like it."

It was supposed to be a joke, but when he said that, Aranea winced. "Oh. Are you ok?"

Ignis debated the question before struggling to admit, "I don't know."

They stood there in the doorway for a second longer before Aranea stepped aside and allowed him in, her hand tugging at his arm lightly. He wasn't sure if he was just projecting his own sorrows on the situation or if he was that intuitive to Aranea's emotions, but he uncharacteristically fidgeted with his hands while he took a seat in one of the chairs in the corner of the room.

Neither one spoke and dread hung in the air between them. The bed creaked with Aranea taking a seat on the edge. She watched him and he stared blankly ahead in her direction, a firm expression on his face. "You wanted to speak to me?" he clipped.

He sounded cold. Distant. Aranea flinched at the harshness of his voice. "I do, but why don't you tell me what's wrong? I'm honestly getting a little worried. You've never looked this upset before, ever."

Ignis snorted, sitting back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose, a migraine coming on. He heard her get up and walk over to him, kneeling in front of him with her hands on his lap. It was a comforting gesture, but it hurt at the same time. Everything stung. Still, he numbly took her hand in his and squeezed it, a sign that he was at least knowledgeable of the fact that she was right there before him.

"Please, talk to me. You know I hate this emotional shit, but you're starting to scare me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find the right words. Noctis is going to die. Noctis is going to die. He's going to die and I may die with him. It felt like a bad dream, like all of his future hopes and aspirations, what little ones he had as of late, were snatched right out from under him. All of this because Ardyn Lucis Caelum needed to be put to rest for being exiled by the king of Solheim. In that moment, he'd never been more angry or bitter toward the gods, his destiny, or his position as Noctis' royal advisor.

But, never bitter at Noctis.

Never.

Ignis pushed the hatred aside in favor of the woman—his anchor in this world—kneeling in front of him. He brought Aranea's hands to his mouth and kissed them, closing his eye and steadying his breath. "Don't worry about me, darling. You asked me over because you had something you wanted to talk about?"

She shifted, her lower legs numb under her and prickling with invisible pins-and-needle. If he wasn't going to talk, she might as well take him up on his offer to speak first. "Yeah. Listen, I know we've come pretty far in the short time we've been together, but with everything going on and with how busy you've been, I didn't want what I'm about to tell you to have any impact on your studies or on your ability to fight, so I wanted to wait for the right time to tell you. Turns out, there's not really a good time to tell someone this sort of thing. Just know that I didn't say anything at first because anything could happen, you know? Not just with us, but with . . . Just, please, don't get mad."

Now it was Ignis' turn to be worried—as if he didn't already have enough on his mind. He raised an eyebrow and frowned. "Go on . . ." he prompted.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them while Aranea shifted again. "So, that stomach virus? The one I've had for the past month?"

"Yes?"

"It wasn't exactly a stomach virus. Well, I guess it could be, depending on how you look at it," she joked, laughing an awkward laugh and quieting when Ignis glared down at her. "Yeah, not funny. Anyway, I was never sick with a stomach virus. The nurse down at the medical unit said I'm healthy and happy—for the most part—and . . . well . . . I think our little one is going to be healthy and happy, too."

She drew out the last part of her sentence and Ignis furrowed his brows, creases sharp on his face as he tried to comprehend what she was telling him. "What are you saying?" he whispered, already drawing the conclusion for himself but needing to hear it aloud.

She got right to the point, her voice lowered to match the volume of his. "Ignis, I'm pregnant."

For the second time that evening, Ignis was speechless, but his mind continued to race. It felt almost like someone smacked him upside the head and he was left dazed and stunned. He could make out Aranea saying something about him not needing to help if he didn't want to, that she was perfectly capable of raising this child on her own and she knew this wasn't the best time to be pregnant or something like that.

"You're . . . we're . . . expecting?" he stuttered, though it sounded strangled. Inside, he was screaming. If he was hurting before with the news of Noctis, he was downright swimming in agony now at the news that his love was pregnant with his child. A child in this sordidly miserable world. A child that he'd never get to lay eyes on—before because of his injury, but now . . . now . . .

"Yeah, just about to hit fourteen weeks. I didn't know how you'd take the news, so I don't know, I was honestly petrified to tell you, but Iris—"

"Iris knows?" he asked, his voice not sounding at all like it was coming from him. In fact, this whole thing was one big out-of-body experience.

"A little hard keeping morning sickness a secret like that from a roommate, don't you think? I think she knew I was pregnant before I even knew." Aranea sighed, a sad smile gracing her lips. "We probably should have been more careful, I know, but it's a little late for that now. I'm . . . Ignis, I'm sorry."

He recoiled. "Sorry? Why are you sorry?"

"Because we're in this now. Or, maybe we are? You really don't have to stick around. I'd understand if you bailed. It's really not a big deal."

The features of his face softened. She was ready for him to run, terrified that he'd leave for stupid reasons. "Aranea," he murmured, his fingers tracing up and down her cheek.

Ignis always thought that, when the time came for him to be a father, it would be such a joyous occasion. And, truth be told, a huge part of him was bursting with excitement knowing that Aranea was pregnant with his child—a child made between them with love. However, with everything else that night, he also felt incredibly ill. He fought the urge to run to the bathroom to throw up, like Prompto did upon learning that Noctis would perish.

Aranea was interpreting Ignis' hesitation for rejection and he knew it, but he couldn't speak—couldn't find the words to reassure her. Every emotion waged a war inside of him and it took everything he had to shake his head that, no, he wasn't snubbing her. But, how could Ignis possibly begin to tell Aranea anything now? How, when he'd always heard and known that stress can be bad for a developing child? What would that do to her to learn that Ignis was possibly on the road to death? What would that do to their child?

He would find another time to tell her, but it couldn't be now.

Cor's words about protecting him and the others by omitting the true depth of his knowledge regarding the Prophecy rang loud in his head and suddenly he understood what Cor was doing when he kept that from them.

He'd promised Aranea that they'd live their lives out together until the bitter end, come Ifrit's lair or high water. He promised he'd always come back for her. He promised that their relationship would never end because of his duty to Noctis or because he'd have to rush into war, as her prior relationship had.

From yelling at Cor for keeping Noctis' fate a secret to knowing he'd have to break his promise to Aranea, all the way to never being able to see his future child, made him sick.

He felt like the worst, most repulsive hypocrite on the planet.

He pulled Aranea so she was standing in front of him. Leaning forward, his hands on her hips while her fingers were tangled in his hair, he kissed her stomach over and over again, praying that the growing child inside knew that he was sorry.

So sorry for everything.

And praying that both the baby and Aranea would understand one day.

Author's Note: Whoops! This came out way late (and technically, it's Monday my time so :\ ). Another business trip this week, plus I spent time with the husband, beat Episode Prompto, and relaxed for a day . . . wasn't as productive with this chapter as I probably should have been but I know you guys understand. At least, I really hope so! D:

I also failed to write back to a lot of the later reviews I got this week, so I'll go back when I wake up in the morning and get to those. Just know that yes, I did get them and I read them and loved them all! I should also say that, in regards to my last chapter, there is a method to my madness. There always has been. :)

Aaaaannndddd I'm sorry that this chapter basically took on all angst. That was fun to write on airplanes and in airports :)

Thank you guys so much for your patience and understanding this week! I'm so sorry this came out ridiculously late and I'll get back to those reviews tomorrow!