#(hes from made in abyss which is a whole can of worms in itself..not to mention he's Worse than mayuri or gendo imo)

[criminal-sen]

Jfc I keep forgetting to post a pic of my hand tattoo so here

I now get to spend the rest of my life saying 'it's from an anime' when ppl inevitably ask me what it is. But that anime is none other than Neon Geneisis Evangelion, and if someone wants to scoff at it bc they think all anime is dumb, the joke's on them

And yes I should be photographing it not upside down but like. Who Care

[emotionalhotdog]

Why the Little Nightmares 2 ending is (kinda) flawed

Opinion. but the Little Nightmares two story was not as good as the first one.

Like, don’t get me wrong. It’s a phenomenal game, with great gameplay mechanics and a fantastic score. The design is eye melting and Tarsier Studios really weaved care and love into the game. The story isn’t even that bad - it’s just the ending I have a problem with.

Why did Six drop Mono?

Like, genuinely. What was her motive? This kid just risked his life many times just to get this? I guess there are a few theories, with Six being aggravated that Mono destroyed her music box, the one thing that brought her comfort in the darkest of places and situations. It could also be that it was the Black/Signal tower manipulated her, or she lost a bit of her soul when captured by the Thin Man and thus her compassion and empathy with it that would drive her to make such a decision. Maybe she would even realise that Mono, her seeing his face fully now, eclipsed by no hat, was the Thin Man. Any, all, or none of these reasons could be true.

But the action itself is confusing - if Six really is as cold and calculated as the fandom perceived her to be, wouldn’t she just use Mono as a means of survival, ditching him only when she had no other use for him or was unable to save him from a monster? Why does she, with the opportunity to lift him up, while they’re in crazy danger (with the Black Tower collapsing and such) decide to leave him behind? And not only that, but look him in the eyes while she dangles him above a yawning abyss?

The thing is, there’s no real answer to what Six’s motives were. It feels more like it’s meant for shock value, and not to serve as an ending.

And then it gets worse.

Mono survives the fall. You, reeling from betrayal and with nowhere else to go, find a chair within the Tower. And, slowly, you grow up from a child to a teenager, to an adult, then, finally, the best age, Thin Man.

This opens another can of worms, introducing the time loop theory (which frankly, I don’t like very much) and the idea that Mono was chasing… himself…

This could explain why Mono and the Thin Man’s powers are alike, and that the Thin Man was trying to ‘save’ his younger version of himself from being betrayed by his best (and probably only) friend. But that begs the question, how did the Thin Man escape the Black Tower? I thought the whole point was that he was trapped there, with the Tower feeding off his soul of whatever.

Honestly, the best part of the ending is the music. End Of The Hall perfectly captures not only Mono’s feelings, but the rising tension and the passage of time. It’s one of my utmost favourite tracks of all time.

But, back to the ending, and my final thoughts about it. When I think about it a bit more, it just seems like the Devs ran out of ideas when it came to the story, and decided to write a shock ending, to keep people speculating. Personally, I don’t like it when stuff like this happens.

So, let me propose an alternative ending.

Say the two get closer and closer to the exit, with Mono ahead, and the Tower crumbling around them. Mono reaches out his hand for Six to take, and she accepts the invitation. As they make it to the exit, a particularly large piece of debris falls on Mono, trapping him in the Tower. Six wants to help him, but he sort of signals to her to keep going. She reluctantly leaves, and thus, he dies, watching as she leaves while he cannot.

Is it anticlimactic? Sure. This ending doesn’t really explain a lot of in-game events, such as the nightmare at the beginning, the existence of the Thin Man, and Mono’s powers. But this ending was kind of fun to write, even if it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I could never make a game like Little Nightmares one or two, and really, the story of both games are both intricately made and packed with details and genuine love for what was being made. One ‘bad’ ending won’t change how much I love this franchise.

Anyway, this post is way too long. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

Act 2 -- Il Dottore Part 3

[tagging @hasnightingaledoneanythingwrong ]

An engineer, a man of wit and mystery, takes the field.

He must take the script.

He must take the script.

He must take the script. Correct?

--

There's a mirror in front of me.

I can see through it -- I can see that man's eyes.

What's left of them.

'My' own hands, and the spear that would no doubt pierce my skull.

'Myself' -- separated from that body. Even my name, my 'self,' would elude me. I try to call for my name, to unconsciously understand my body, to grip on and 'reconnect,' yet --

There's no controller. My hands reach out in this endless abyss of gears, locked tightly by some horrible fluid, crunching something as it desperately tried to spin.

The clicking of an overextended piston.

The ground beneath me trembled.

Even my eyesight grows blurry, staring through the mirror, towards the white-haired woman who approaches 'me' so angrily.

That speartip grows closer still, and I--

--

...

There's a horde of gears beneath me.

Perhaps I'm laying down -- the clicking of struggling gears is all I can hear, or feel, against my back -- my feet. All around me, rust falls -- like snowflakes falling from the roof of metal, hanging wires and leaking engines, steadily coating the environment in its own twisted form of 'lakes' -- pools of oil, mixed with rust flakes, populating the areas surrounding me. Forming a path of broken parts, brittle and rusted over -- pointing forwards.

...There's an ache in my head. A pounding, drilling feeling. My body flickers -- certainly, I am to exist, as I feel 'me' being ripped away-

Groping around behind me, the wall, the ground I was leaning on, my greyed hands grasped something tough --

...A book.

A play with no visible name.

Just a blank hardcover back, dyed black, flecks of rust on its form.

...I force myself off the ground, onto the wall.

One foot in front of the other.

The wall cracks beneath my feet. The brittle floor crunches, shudders, underneath even the weight of my step.

My lightest footsteps cracked the beams beneath my feet -- long since, I assumed, brought to ruin by the surrounding environment. Eaten away -- desecrated.

And yet, still only the snap -- the crack, of the wall on which I walked.

...I raised my hand -- wiped a few drops of oil from it, stepping away from a broken engine just above me -- and placed my eyes on the book before me.

...The feeling in my head -- the drilling, drives itself deeper into my temples.

[It is yours. It is your script/life/world. It is your 'existence.']

...Words, in my mind. The unimaginable language that worms its way into my mind -- whispers its meanings without being heard, to get across what words alone could not.

It ate -- tore at me, 'myself.' Taking a chunk of my mind -- my 'self,' suddenly, even--

"...What do you mean?"

[...It is simple. What you have done now is your purpose -- to stop that man. To break/destroy/harm him. Do you now understand?]

...

...The man. The one I had watched 'me' deface -- attempt to harm. Had harmed.

Through the mirror, the shattered visage of the man remained -- his body twitching, shuddering.

Muscles spasming as each jagged edge dug itself deeper --

...I found my hand moving to my mouth, distracting my quivering stomach with the piercing scent of oil and rust.

"I didn't do that. That... That wasn't me. I've been here this whole time."

[And does that matter? Whose hands are stained/coated/reveling in the blood?]

...

...I found my hands wouldn't open -- wouldn't drop this book.

'Was the voice coming from this -- or..?'

[...You are an actor/pawn/word in a story. Look at you/rself.]

...A 'thunk' -- a creaking in the metal beams -- disturbed the grounds. My eyes raise themselves from the book.

Towards 'me.'

Donning the clear mask, dripping with liquids.

A body like mine -- a gaudy, old-fashioned black outfit, long since stained and worn down with the rust, the oil, the...

...

"..."

...Not a word. The 'me' steps forward. Readies a knife.

[...You are not what you were in other times/worlds/beings. You are neither a hero/god/saviour, nor even a worker/engineer/bee.]

...The 'me' throws his knife. My body jerks -- twitches, forcing itself to the side, catching my heels, my body thrown off its balance.

[You are an actor/pawn/fool. Accept your script.]

The brittle, rust ridden ground beneath me --

-- in a moment, collapses.

--

...

There's a buzzing.

A loud screaming of scratching metals -- the hum of an old light trying to keep itself alive.

There's a warmth about me. My hand raises -- my blurry eyes, for a moment, catch a glowing, red, something, before it scatters.

And in its place, is --

...Light.

Endless light.

My eyes slowly focus in on this -- this...

...'Feeling.'

A feeling made manifest.

Feelings, made manifest.

Of what was lost to me -- such a being, unmoved by the surrounding gears, the pieces, remained. Surrounding me.

Then --

[...Are you awake/asleep/open, my beloved?]

...A thousand voices. A million voices. Speaking in unison -- a Greek chorus of words, spoken all at once, in each tone an entire person spoken.

"...Who.. are you..?"

[...If such simple questions explained me/us/you, we would not stand here.]

...There's a golden light -- it reverberates, shining off what remained of the iron, steel components of this land I fell to.

[...We were summoned, here -- for you/me/them. To help. This story of ours/theirs/us we wished to watch -- is not, we/I/you realize, as we expected/wished/wanted.]

"...Are you... a Familiar? Or are you a Servant, like they.. The... That they spoke of..?"

...A Servant. One I'd understood -- even if the memory was lost. A replica of a hero from history. But where I was now was assuredly not the 'real world' -- not a place where a Servant could even be.

[...We/I/you/them/ are the Audience. There is little else to know.]

...

"...You mentioned you were to... help."

...The drilling returns -- intensifies. My lungs quiver, and tighten -- my brain 'pulsing,' in pain. In realization, of--

[...We/I/You may not help in the way of saving you. However, I would have you hold these, my beloved, and attempt to move. To remember/believe/forget.]

...Two objects appeared at my feet --

[...I wish you/me/us/them the best.]

--and the light faded.

...

The first -- a lone amulet. A necklace. A pale silver, carefully crafted, held shut by a tiny clasp.

...Something I carried with me -- the drill in my mind, the drill tearing off the 'pieces' of me, could not remove such a thing.

The second -- a revolver.

At a glance, an old model, that I'd never seen before. Placing the amulet around my neck, I gripped and raised the gun -- a curious model, with six 'barrels' in place of the usual one. It may have been fully loaded -- but I supposed it wouldn't be the brightest idea to check.

...My eyes settle on my hands, grasping onto the gun. Colour spread throughout my fingers, bringing it from a dull grey to a light peach --

--...to what my mind was now realizing -- were normal.

And in a moment, 'He' approached me. The room, with the light removed, remained its rusted, dripping self.

Oil pooled around my feet, in a circle -- 'He' stepped forward, readied his blade.

[...You keep fighting. Despite your fate/story/script being secured -- despite your very existence being drawn/placed/muddled into question.]

...My hand gripped the handle of this revolver -- my spare hand now rising to my chest, where this amulet now lay. Warmth began to spread throughout me -- one I only recognized as 'correct,' flowing through me.

[I ask you. What gives you the right to break your role/script/self? What gives you the right to exist?]

The drill keeps moving -- it burrows further into my brain. My eyes flash to black, return -- the 'Him,' unrecognizable, his face, his body impossible to understand.

A swarming 'humanoid' mass. A coalescence of 'being,' tied only by a 'form' I could no longer perceive.

"...What gives me the right... to exist?"

...The drill, digging deeper --

--as I tried to grasp for memories, for a reasoning, I found less and less. It took hold of me, stole those 'memories,' yet --

...As the 'Him' before me stepped forward, I found my hand unconsciously grasping my amulet -- opening it up, just as my vision blacked out again --

...I found my voice.

It were humming.

A tune I couldn't place.

One so deep in my brain, that even the drill could not alter its calming, melodic tune.

With each high note, a face returned.

A coworker. A patron. A supplier.

With each low note, a time.

A creation.

Little creatures I so dearly referred to as 'Mousers.'

Even fluids -- 'medicines' I'd borne witness to.

...

With the bridge of this hummed tune, my vision returned.

And with it -- my hand, holding the revolver, raised itself slowly.

The gears beneath me, surrounding me, shuddered -- flakes of rust shooting off its surface, evaporating.

The shine of steel repaired itself -- one by one, these broken, rusted gears began to turn -- sewing itself back together with welds made as though by a miracle.

I found, in my hand, lay a small jar. 'Vick'xxx.' Something that heavily increased libido.

Facing 'him' -- me -- momentarily, I had to wonder -- 'just what could this do?'

...But the funny thing about these creations of mine were their ease of use.

And how easily I could alter the mixture -- and change how it worked.

With a toss in the air, the jar shimmered, and fell back in my hand --

This world I was in -- it wasn't real life.

It was my own mind. That pocket of 'conscious' where I now fought against this invader.

For my right to exist -- and to ignore this script.

The script, on the ground -- perhaps dropped as my mind were drilled into -- was kicked aside in a moment, an unconscious move of my leg in the effort to cement that.

The being stepped forward -- another step, then brandished the knife and dashed my way.

"...I know why I should exist."

[...And what would that be?]

In a moment, I raised my revolver. Cracking open the jar, I tossed that viscous fluid across the form of the attacker.

"Because I have things left to make. I have a job left to do -- and there are many specimens, beings in my mind, that I haven't yet put to real life."

A swarm of robots -- powered with magecraft, swarming around 'me.'

Those Mousers, holding with them the most minute amounts of oil, from the engines that once leaked -- laying them on the ground around the dashing man.

In a moment, I can see those papers I'd left behind at the Clock Tower -- the journey here, to Carcosa, to find parts for my latest, greatest creation.

I can see my coworkers, even the ones I spoke to and taught in my off time.

In a moment, the faces of each creation I'd seen and brought life to -- each little dose of magecraft, each Mystic Code I brought to existence --

--and deep in my mind, the face of a pink-haired woman who smiled ever-so-slightly, even though I couldn't even understand who she was.

"My life isn't going to be spent tormenting some man I've never even met. Least of all when my competition are beings with strength incomparable to mine."

...

"This is my life -- and I deserve to exist. I want to keep moving forward, and create what nobody before me has! If nothing else -- I have my drive, and that's good enough to me."

Lining up the pepperbox pistol, I fired one lone shot towards 'me.'

The Vick'xxx, modified with ethanol, the oils the Mousers had placed --

--the gunpowder shot struck through 'me,' through the Mask, and set him ablaze.

"...My name is Julius. No matter what awaits me if I break this script, this is my life, and nobody else's."

The blaze evaporated the man -- the gears around me, whirring, spinning at full speed, began to allow the pneumatic pistons to raise one final time.

Onwards, upwards -- the fires dwindling, leaving behind only the mask the man had, now coloured a soot black from the ashes.

[...Are you so willing to join the suffering/pain/descent of that man that you would throw away your chance to fade/die/dwindle peacefully?]

"...If that's what it means to give me freedom, then so be it."

I raised my leg up --

--and brought my foot down upon the mask.

[angelguk]

the one where jeongguk was your best friend until uni hit and you drifted apart. you hadn’t thought about him and you didn’t think he thought about you. until one day you walk into a bathroom that felt more like a closet full of skeletons. oc is ?????? about jk. there’s angst folks! 1.6k words. listen to safe place by kiana v

You didn’t even want to go out. At all. Jaehwa’s the one who forced you out of your comfortable nest of solitude. Why would you want to leave your cosy apartment when you could binge-watch all of Avatar: The Last Airbender uninterrupted? But she’d insisted, and because you had a tiny soft spot for her adorable whiny face you’d relented. She’d painted your face, squealing in delight at the prospect of finally being able to play with glittering golds and wispy dark tones on your eyes. She had enough pallets stacked in her room to build a house, although you never commented on her obsession with make-up since it was literally what she did for a living. A part of you was thrilled too, brain already organising an outfit that corresponded with the look Jaehwa had granted you. It’s not like you never went out; you had your fair share of wild nights during the course of university but fourth-year had taken a toll on your social life. When you had the energy, you’d rather do something simple like attempt a Nigella Lawson recipe (which — by luck — worked well most days), or stare at your ceiling while listening to your favourite songs from high school on repeat, longing for the time when the future didn’t feel like a great big abyss on the verge of swallowing you whole.

Everything felt right when you left, both of you giggling into the sweet summer air, your arms intertwined and your breaths tinged with tequila. She’d kept murmuring about her current infatuation, the glitter in her eyes brighter than the evening stars scattered above. Every time she mentioned his name, her cheeks flushed rose, features a picture-perfect image of contentment. The love that radiated off her made your lips twitch in a smile. You’re ecstatic that she’s found someone who makes her feel like that; Jaehwa had been through too many messy relationships with people that didn’t deserve her kind heart. If anything you just wanted to meet the guy to warn him that if he was going to worm his way into your roommate's life, he better treat her well. You didn’t even know his name yet, but you wouldn’t hesitate to punch him right in the face if he didn’t handle her with care.

That is until you met him.

You didn’t mind that Jaehwa vanished at some point during the party. It was given considering that you were both aware her new partner was coming here tonight too. You knew the hosts well enough to linger in the living room, Jimin splayed out on top of you as he slurred out another anecdote that left you laughing into the cushions of his couch, the grin on your lips delirious. The drinks were endless too, overflowing from your cup as he tipped them down your throat. It didn’t take long before you were squeezing your thighs together, eyes spying for a moment to break away and head to the bathroom. But Jimin was persistent, his knee nudging against your bladder more often than you’d like. Until Taehyung appeared. An individual you vaguely knew but Jimin adored him. You broke away the moment the two collided, scampering off upstairs as quickly as your comprising saunter would allow.

You didn’t think as you kicked open the door, your brain focused on finding the nearest toilet. But then your eyes fell upon on a scene that seared itself into your memory.

He’s got his hands on her, deft fingers buried in between her legs and his lips latched onto the span of her neck. You hear the crack in your heart, so loud that it rumbles in your head, a warning for what’s to come. You know it’s Jaehwa, the little flustered laugh that drifts from her rosy lips nothing but evidence for your suspicions. It’s worse because you know exactly who she’s with. How could you forget him; from the broad span of his shoulder to the soft chestnut curls that gather atop his perfect head like a halo. It’s like your insides are spilling out, vision hot with wetness you didn’t know was pooling there until he turns, gaze descending on you with disinterest.

That changes swiftly, the flash of recognition that sparks in his honey eyes ripping your heart out of your chest. It tumbles to the floor, forlorn, an emptiness eating you alive.

“Sorry,” you croak out, tearing your eyes from him.

“No, no, it’s okay!” Jaehwa shifts, flustered but there is no trace of shame in her moment. She tugs her skirt down playfully, unbothered by the trail of your gaze. You just clocked that she wasn’t wearing any underwear in the first place. “Um — uh. I’m sorry, this is so awkward, I didn’t want you guys to meet like this.”

His eyes snap onto her, jaw tight. You can’t help but swallow hard, the jumble of words in your throat demanding to be released. They claw and scratch, harsh and vengeful. You swallow again, shaking your head, the forced smile on your lips courteous. “Don’t worry about it."

She jumps into an introduction then, pretending like his hands weren’t working her open mere moments ago, while the two of you stare at each other; strangers who weren’t strangers. You take the chance to observe him, ignoring the delight colouring her voice when she says his name, your gut twisting with contempt. Somehow, he’s gotten buffer, his broad figure evident even with the loose black top billowing from his frame. His hair is longer too, cascading from his scalp in delicate ringlets that you would have gingerly brushed back if you could touch him again. His eyes are the same though, doleful, wide, with an innocence that spurs you to take him under your wing, pamper him like the prince he was.

He should be with Jaehwa — she's a princess in her own right. Even in the dim light of the bathroom, you can see how well their bodies slot against each other; her fragile frame a direct contrast to his broad one. His arm is slung around her waist too, tugging her close like he used to do with you.

You don’t know why this hurts. You attribute it to the alcohol trickling through your system.

“Hi Jeongguk,” you say softly, the feeling of his name on your tongue is foreign. You distinctly remember the last time you said it. A long hurtful fight that left the two of you standing on opposite plains, staring as the long-standing bridge between the two of you burst into flames. “Nice to meet you.”

He nods, curls swaying with the moment. “Likewise. I guess you need to use the bathroom?” His hand slips into her’s. You feel like you’re sinking. But you nod, give them another false smile. The exchange is brief, Jeongguk already tenderly drawing Jaehwa out the door. “Apologies for hogging it. Didn’t mean to,” he says. Jaehwa mutters another apology as they leave. The air around you sticks to your skin, squeezing your lungs tight.

“Come find me later, okay? I want you guys to be friends! You’d be great friends!” She’s so animated you’re not sure how to squash her pipe dreams without hurting her. You and Jeongguk being friends? That was nothing but a castle in the sky. But you promise to find her, shutting the door gently, even though your fingers itch to slam it in their faces.

You don’t know how your feet make it to the toilet, but you collapse on top of it after swinging the cover down. Your head meets your knees next, the waves of emotions inside of you rolling and crashing into each other with a violence that makes you feel sick. The bile in your throat is bitter, tasting exactly like the resentful words on your tongue. The universe must despise you. That’s the conclusion you reach, body cold as you curl into yourself. How you managed to bump into the one individual you managed to avoid for nearly three years straight was nothing but a calamity you didn’t deserve. And the fact that he was with Jaehwa? The one person you treasured more than anything. Jaehwa had helped you find yourself after Jeongguk had left you in shatters.  You wish you told her his name — maybe this could never have happened.

The pain spiking in your heart refuses to wane, cruel with its clamour for acknowledgement. You could leave, flee from Jimin’s place and return to the sanctuary of seclusion waiting for you under your bed cover. But if you left Jaehwa would be hurt. And Jeongguk would know you’d gone because of him. Even if you loathe him, even if he caused you enough pain to last a lifetime, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction that he’d gotten the best of you again. But how on Earth could you explain to Jaehwa that her lover was none other than the boy whose name you never said? The boy who trampled over you like you meant nothing to him. The boy who was your first friend ever, who kissed your cuts and bruises when you were in elementary and saved a seat for you beside him during your joint library lessons. The boy whose bed you’d started your first period on, who punched any asshole who was rude to you, who carried spare headbands in his pocket in case yours snapped or you lost one as you were prone to do. The boy who baked you a cupcake for your birthday every year, who made you laugh and cry and scream with joy when he attacked you with tickles. The boy you thought you knew until you landed here, young adults naive in their navigation of the world. The boy who was your best friend - until one day he wasn’t.

[etjwrites]

OC Backstory - Emotion Edition | Week 5: Free/Courage

Week 0: Introduction || Week 1: Fear || Week 2: Joy || Week 3: Disgust || Week 4: Sadness || Week 5: Anger ||

Is it over already? This was so much fun! I really enjoyed participating and reading everyone's pieces. Thanks to our wonderful hosts @cirianne and @kosmosian-quills  for putting this on! These prompts filled my mind with layers upon LAYERS of backstory, and really helped me flesh out Brom as a character. Afallon is so much better because of it! 

You probably stumbled upon something between the last prompts, that moved you. An idea that didn’t really match the prompt. A backstory character that deserved exploring. A question that stayed unanswered. For this week, I encourage you to look for these questions and explore them, write on them, and tell me about it!

In keeping with the theme of this event, I chose yet another emotion, the story behind which I'm excited to share with y'all! Brom is about 14 here. (I started writing this and it wouldn't stop. Help.) @yourocsbackstory​

“These paths look treacherous,” Brom said, glancing nervously back at the way they'd come. He and Prentice had been traversing the numerous twists and turns of Hyphantria's revered caverns for quite a while, looking for all the secret entrances. Each time they explored the maze-like tunnels, they went a little farther, a little deeper.

Prentice waved a hand dismissively. “I've a sure foot.” He tapped the top of his boots with his walking staff. “Furthermore, how often have we quested here? These caves are as familiar as mine own hands.”

“We left familiar behind two chambers ago,” Brom reminded his friend. “I'm actively adding to our map as we progress.”

“If on the map, 'tis familiar,” Prentice rejoined. “No matter how new the path may be.” He patted the crystal-studded wall to his left. “In fact, I almost feel at home.”

“The whispering,” Brom said, unease, twisting in his chest. “It's stopped.”

Prentice quirked his head, listening. “Why so it has,” he said, brows knitting together before sheer panic stamped itself onto his features. “Brom, run!” He turned and dashed back through the tunnel, Brom following, the both of them slipping and sliding and cutting themselves against the sharp-edged walls.

Beneath their feet, the earth started to rumble, and dread seized Brom's heart. Would they die down here in the bowels of Hyphantria, ground into dust by the ceiling collapsing upon them? He pushed faster, past Prentice, towards the sparkling glimmer that marked one of the other large chambers whose tunnels would lead them back to the surface.

A sharp cry made him whip around and jerk to a stop. Prentice had fallen, struggling to regain his feet amidst the wobbling, unstable ground. A stalactite shook loose and crashed to the ground just where his head would have been, had he not managed to roll away in time.

Brom staggered towards him, hand outstretched, when the earth shook mightily.

Prentice flung himself at Brom.

Too late.

With a great, groaning sigh, the floor gave way, and Prentice tumbled deep into the newly formed crevasse.

“Prentice!” Brom screamed, dropping to his hands and knees, swaying with the sudden shuddering of cavern. He called his name again, peering desperately into the dark. But while the softly glowing crystal shards that lined the Shalott caves could well enough light the paths and tunnels they'd been exploring, their gentle luminescence was unable to penetrate the deep, yawning blackness that fell away in front of him.

He called again and again, but there was no answer. Either his friend had fallen so far he could not hear him, or he been knocked insensible upon landing. Neither scenario was desirable, and Brom squeezed his abruptly burning eyes shut, refusing to consider the possibility that Prentice might be gone.

No. He had to be alive. Had to be alright.

Ominous rumbles filled the sharp-toothed cavern, more stalactites falling during a particularly vicious quake.

The wisest thing to do would be to run, to flee to the next chamber and worm his way through one of the escape tunnels until he could see the sky once more.

But Brom couldn't leave Prentice here to die. He would be the worst kind of coward if he did that. His first and only friend in all of Hyphantria, who risked all manner of danger to sneak him across the boarder on occasions such as these, and showed him many of the wonders his mother's country had to offer. Brom would save him. Or die trying.

“Give me strength,” he prayed. He thrust trembling hands into his pack, withdrawing his climbing rope.  He kept up the silent prayers. He felt so utterly alone, the jarring earthquake shaking and horribly distorting the natural light of the caves so he could barely walk. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he breathed, reciting the verses over and over even as his hands shook so much he could barely fasten the clips in place.

Brom tugged hard on the rope once he had tied it off, looping it around for added strength. He looped his climbing pick around his hands, aware he could lose a limb if it snagged in the wrong place, at the wrong time, yet horribly afraid to lose his means of retreat. With one of the picks he struck the vibrating wall, breaking off some crystals, which he tied about his arms.

“Prentice!” he called once more, and again received no answer. “Please be alive,” Brom prayed. “I need a miracle right now.”

Then he turned around, and—clinging to the ropes—lowered himself into the black abyss.

Brom descended for long minutes, the crystals lashed about him providing the faintest light. He steadily climbed deeper, the glow from the ceiling above diminishing until it felt like a distant memory.

This far down it was cold. The quake continued to rage, and Brom grew ever aware of a powerful thirst that made dizzy. But he dared not let go of the rope, not even to slake his needs.

His feet touched ground. He'd reached a small ledge.

Brom relaxed for half a moment, and then a terrible jolt flung him off its crumbling edge. He hit the other side of the crevasse hard, the breath knocking out of him and leaving him gasping as the rope tied around his middle yanked him to a stop. He hung there, dangling in the air, fingers barely able to brush either side.

Thankfully his picks had stayed attached, so he struck out with them, painfully aware that he'd run out of rope, and yet hadn't found Prentice. Brom gulped. He would have to climb up again and unloop the rope.

Ascending seemed to take twice as long, and Brom's arms were shaking when he reached the top. Everything was cast in an eerie blue and white glow, and Brom could feel that time was running out. If he didn't find Prentice soon, the falling stalactites might well block their path home.

Once he had the rope unfurled to its full length, Brom ventured once more into the place that had swallowed his friend. He passed the spot where he'd had to stop before and kept going, deeper, and deeper, the chill of the abyss freezing him to his bones.

And there!

Prentice's walking stick was wedged into a narrow part of the crevasse, two bloodied hands clinging to it.

Brom started crying.

One of Prentice's hands slipped, and he swore at Brom. “I didn't hold on this long for you to lose heart at the finish!” His voice was horse, likely from screaming. The shock had hit each of them in different ways it seemed.  

Ignoring his friend's harsh words, words that were driven by the terror in Prentice's eyes, Brom rappelled down closer. He gathered up the slack in the rope and looped it around Prentice's waist, securing it using a knot his father had once taught him.

“You can let go,” he said, testing the rope to make sure it still held fast.

“I confess, I cannot,” Prentice said, shaking his head minutely. His clothes were torn to shreds, like he'd scraped against the walls the whole way down until his stick had caught, and he had cuts and freshly-formed bruises adorning his entire body. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a jagged cut bisecting it that stretched from his cheek to his temple.

“One hand at a time,” Brom said, getting his hand under Prentice's and shifting it from the stick to his shoulder. He did the same with the other, and the next instant Prentice was clinging to him, limpet-tight.

A massive shudder rocked the cave at that moment, and the gap widened, Prentice's stick dislodging and spinning away into the darkness.

If I had been but a moment later, Brom thought, unable to repress the full-body shiver that twitched through him. He slid one of his picks into Prentice's hand, slipping the loop over his wrist twice.

“You must help me climb, I have not the the strength to lift us both.”

“Aye, 'tis time that I cease clutching you like a babe,” Prentice said, the words meant to be joking. The fine tremour in his voice spoiled the effect.

They struck out together, Prentice and Brom, inching their way up until they reached the cavern floor. Mercifully, the distressing bucking had stopped, and they lay on the rubble-strewn ground until they caught their breath.

“Thank Heaven,” Brom uttered aloud, and Prentice nodded solemnly along.

“You saved my life, Brom,” he said.

They rose to their feet and began the arduous, limping walk back to the escape tunnels.

“I owe you a great debt. I should never have placed you in this position. I . . . I almost killed you. I would not have begrudged you had you fled and left me behind.”

“I wanted to,” Brom admitted, shame flushing his skin. “At first. I was so afraid.”

“But you did not.” Prentice paused for a moment and clapped Brom on the shoulder before they resumed their trek. “I really thought I would die. I screamed and screamed, but you didn't answer. Or I couldn't hear a response amidst the earth's pain. The longer I held on, the more I began to wonder if I were mad for simply not accepting my fate. I had myself near about convinced that I should just let go.”

“Then I saw you, descending into the pit like the Archangel Michael himself. You could have died rescuing me. You looked as terrified as I felt. But still you threw yourself into the unknown. For me. In the greater world, we are yet seen as boys, but Brom—I tell you truly—you are the bravest man I've ever known.”

They turned a corner, and the bright sun greeted them.

Additional thanks to everybody who has read and commented on my work for this event. Y'all rock!

Tag Crew: @adie-dee @writtendevastation @catharticallysarcastic @francestroublr @crystallized-ink

[lusciakoushiro]

Can I Ask You a Question?

Me too... Me too...

This final interview just leaves me lost. I am baffled beyond belief in terms of thought process and how older interviews say one thing, but this completely states the opposite. For awhile now, since S8 fell, I have been thinking about a few things and quite honestly have yet to come up with a good enough answer that isn’t “it’s just bad writing.” So I want to voice them now with the show over and what was hopefully the final interview. I don’t want these to get too long, so I am just gonna go with one thing at a time, so I am gonna start with something I had brought up in another post; the age gap, but more specifically Shiro’s age.

It wasn’t revealed till later what the official ages of the Paladins were, but in an early pitch for the show it was stated that the Paladins were “five teenagers”. Yes, things can change along the way, but why place Shiro at 25, his mid 20s, among teens? LM had said that it was a safe zone, but as we have seen in the fandom it has opened a can of worms. Before we get into the shipping aspect of that, let me ask you; would it have changed Shiro’s character if they made him younger?

In my honest opinion the answer is no. Shiro is who he is no matter what. He had dreams of shooting for the stars and wanted to see that through before his clock ran out. He is the best pilot in the Garrison, was the YOUNGEST to pilot into deep space. He’s kind, understanding, sweet, smart, sometimes silly and just overall loving. His age has nothing to do with his character. He still could have been the oldest of the original five Paladins. So lets see what happens when you de-age him a couple years and start from when he meets Keith.

Instead of Shiro being 22, we de-age him a few years, say 3 or 4, making him 18 or 19, when he goes to Keith’s school. He was the youngest at 22 to fly in deep space, him being in his late teens and much closer to the kids’ age he was trying to recruit makes it more appealing for them wanting to apply. It makes them think “wow, hes not that much older than me! I can do that too!”. Shiro has always worked hard and him being just slightly younger would show just how much and that he truly earned being the Garrison Golden Boy; after mastering the basics, he probably skipped classes and went to some more advanced training. His records are that much more impressive because he’s someone so young.

His age being lower also makes for something more dramatic when it comes to his disease, but just for the fact he is younger; it still changes nothing upon the narrative itself. You still see him fighting against the clock, him keeping it a secret from Keith. Maybe you could see him get more emotional over it, but that is possibly a stretch because he still had time to “get used to it”, of course that’s supposing he was diagnosed with it at a very young age.

His leadership skills don’t change and again as stated above with the recruiting he can still inspire others. Him being Black Paladin, according to Allura with how the Lions choose their Paladins, still fits. He would still be the more “responsible” one as well, because of everything he had been through upon the Galra abducting him, not to mention growing up so fast to beat the clock as it were. 

Well what about Adam? Honestly I doubt much changes. Due to them making him apart of the Garrison instead of having an outside life makes this a little hard for me to rationalize. I always pictured Adam older than Shiro so I have to wonder if there would have been an outcry against a 7 year gap between  the 2 of them. But again, in the narrative, I doubt anything changes; he still tries to stop or reason with Shiro over going to Kerberos vs his health and gives him the ultimatum.

So now let’s talk the age gap and Sheith for one second. If Shiro was only 3 or 4 years older than Keith, would the outcry from the you know who’s have been so loud? I am almost thinking it wouldn’t be. Keith being 18 at the start and Shiro being 22-23 is nothing, in fact my husband and I are 4 years apart. And lets not forget Keith’s time in the Quantum Abyss, which aged him 2 whole years. If we are to take to heart what the EPs said about that time skip, that it was so he could spend time with his mother, than it just so happened to age him so he was now only 1-2 years apart from Shiro, which is REALLY nothing at all. The outcries would have just been lost in the background.

What about Keith calling him “Old Timer”? Well that’s a hard one since I don’t quite get why he did it in the first place. Honestly 7 years isn’t THAT much. But I had been thinking about it and honestly I now HC that he one day he saw a few white/gray hairs and started to make fun of him. In the Paladin handbook there’s a note as if written by Shiro saying “stress will do that” in referring to the white forelock. (Yes, I know the handbooks are not official, but it’s the only example I have)

Now I will say again; nothing about his character changes if you make him younger by a few years, so why make him 25?

[lilcutieana]

PANACEA ~ Epilogue

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: Mild angst / mention of death

Rating: 16+

Pairing: Bea x Jungkook, Taehyung x Y/N

Genre: Angst/ drama (happy ending)

One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven ||

Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Final

I felt numb, floating into the endless dark abyss of the void. I wonder, how did I end up here?

I.... Who was I?

"Taehyung"

Is that my name?

"Taehyung, wake up"

A harsh glare of Amber light assaulted my eyes and I scrunched them up only to blink them open once again, shielding with my fingers that tingled with pins and needles.

Everything around me was white and gold with hint of reds and browns every which way. Giant statues of winged angels, cherubs and demons decorated the huge room I was confined in.

Fisting the pristine white silk sheets I laid upon, I sat up without much effort, the striped pillow on my chest tumbled down and I noticed with a delay even my clothes were white. Was this heaven?

Getting out of the bed, I still didn't feel anything wrong with myself and that was odd. No hunger, pain or happiness--- nothing. I was just calm yet confused to the point it was eerie.

Taehyung. The name sounded familiar, nostalgic even. Why couldn’t I remember anything else?

There was just one door to my right, no windows and I decided to take a chance on it. Maybe I'll feel something, some emotion or pain if I cross that.

As I stood on the threshold ready to go through the door, I felt my heart come to a standstill. The rhythmic thudding I could hear all along was gone, replaced by absolute silence and yet, I felt nothing as if it were natural. Without looking behind me, I pushed open the huge white door in front of me that had no lock on it. Maybe they wanted me to escape, whoever kept me here.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I was faced with a huge hall filled with doors and winding staircases. Weird. I must be dreaming. This seems too cartoonish to be heaven. But then again, no one lived to tell what heaven actually looks like… or did they?

Y/N

The oddly familiar name came to my mind as a whisper and I didn’t know if it was something else, or perhaps, my own conscious mind. The name brought along a feeling of sadness. Something I hadn’t expected to feel at all. Why sadness of all things? What did the person mean to me? Or was it a pet?

Shrugging I walked forward and watched the white doors along my way. The winding stairs were weird, they went every which way and were too confusing, maybe, even to whoever designed them. Some led to doors, some to corridors and some to absolute nowhere.

Pressing my ear along a door, that looked interesting with swirly designs, I tried listening in to whatever it was that was hidden behind them but was utterly disappointed to not hear anything at all.

Why was everything so quiet in here?

“You have a lot of questions for someone who just woke up”

Startled, I looked back at a silver blonde haired man with cerulean eyes that sparkled with mirth. Pointing at my head, I asked confused, “Can you hear my thoughts?”

“No. But I’ve spent the last seventeen years with you. I’d know how to read your expressions by now.” He quipped with a smile that revealed his gums and made his eyes vanish behind his lids, squeezed between his cheeks. “I believe you’ve lost your memories. I’m Min Yoongi, your guardian when you were a human.”

“Oh. What am I now?”

“You wanted to be somewhat of a grim reaper before you died.” He said with a shake of his head, voice somber, “The option is still open. What do you want to be?”

“I…. I’m dead?”

“Yes. This is somewhat of a purgatory.” He spun around slowly with his hands wide open. Stopping in between me and the door I was listening in on, he pointed to it. “The door you choose would be your next life and if you don’t choose anything, well…”

“If, it was my past self who chose to be a grim reaper, then that’s what I’d like to be.” I declared, my voice steady and sure. For some reason, I knew deep down that was what I truly wanted. He wasn’t lying to me. I’d believe him in this one thing.

Looking me in the eye with his jaw slacked and eyes narrowed, he sighed at last and smirked.

“Follow me. Let’s talk while we get to where you should be.” He chimed, his voice melodic and calming. Holding onto his golden necklace with a long design that was neither a sword nor a key in his right hand, he held onto my hand in his cold left grip.

A gush of wind swallowed me whole and spat me out in what could only be described as hell frozen over. It was dark, everything in richer tones of Black, purple, reds and maroons, except, it was too cold.

“It’s been this way for the two weeks you refused to wake up. Your soul had scattered and took a long time to form back into a whole person again. The temperatures should return to normal now that you’re almost back.” He mused with a fist over his mouth, looking pensive as blue lights in various shapes and shades danced around the room.

The room itself was beautiful with an open ceiling that overlooked the night sky, snowflakes shimmering in the air from above and drizzling down like rain. I wondered how beautiful it would be during sunsets and sunrises. I wanted to share it with Y/N.

That name again. Who was she to me?

Yoongi walked towards the circular fountain in the middle of the room, gushing amber liquid instead of water and had beautiful onyx mermaid statues in it gushing water through the various shaped conch shells they held in their hands. Sitting on the edge, he patted the space next to him for me to sit down.

“I can’t tell you about your past. It’s against the rules. But I’ll let you know that you’re at the right path. You’ll remember things in time, and if you don’t…” He looked away and bit his lips.

“If I don’t?” I prompted, hoping he wouldn’t evade me.

“Then just make new memories with her. You’ll know who she is. If you fell in love with her at first sight once, it will happen again. That’s just how things are.” Yoongi gushed, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

I was in love?

“Why a grim reaper? Why not choosing another life instead?” I asked frantically. I mean, if I was in love, and I died, won’t she still be human and devastated? Or was it one sided?

“Calm down, Tae. She’s one of the grim reapers. I’ll give you a hint, she will try her best to avoid you but also silently ensure you have the best of everything.” Nodding to himself, he folded his arms across his chest.

One of the grim reapers? Was he saying—I, a human, fell in love with a grim reaper? Is that why my soul scattered after I died?

“Stop overthinking” He said, smoothing my forehead and ruffling my hair.

“Sorry, hyung.” I breathed, “It’s just... I don’t understand anything.”

“See those blue lights? They’re all souls the reaper’s collect. Only a chosen few get to live life again. You’re one of them. That’s all.” He surmised, pointing at the various blue balls dancing about like dust particles, just larger in size.

“While you were alive, I tried my best as your guardian angel to keep the two of you apart. But love works in mysterious ways and you ended up dying for her so you could be with her after death, for all of eternity. She might hate you for it, mind you.” He said, pinching my cheeks and I swatted his hand away when it started to hurt. “I held a grudge against her for hundreds of years but now that she suffered the same pain of watching your loved ones die before you, I feel guilty and…”

“It’s okay, hyung, don’t force yourself if it’s too much to talk about.” I said with a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. Seeing him shake and choke up while speaking made me feel uneasy, sad and somewhat sympathetic. I felt like I was responsible, so I should console him, right?

“It’s okay. I owe you this much. What I’m trying to say is, I won’t come in between you anymore, and neither would other guardians. She’s….” Looking around, he turned to me with his eyes glinting. Uh oh… he was up to no good. “You’ll know who she is, she should be the one with the most emotional reaction out of everyone you come across is what I’m saying.”

“Aren’t you breaking rules by telling me this?” I asked with a smirk.

“What rules? I didn’t tell you about your past life or who exactly your childhood love is, now, did I?” He asked nonchalantly. Shrugging his shoulders, he held onto his necklace once again. “Do what your instincts tell you to. Remember, they are there for a reason. Follow your heart.”

 •❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I never intended to, but the building I was in charge of had changed itself according to my mood. I shouldn't have learnt the trick from the Fae, for now the whole of my little space I'd been given in heaven to keep wandering souls, had now become frozen.

It already lacked any semblance of life, except the origami plants and animals I'd folded over the centuries in absolute boredom, and now in despair.

I'd thought I was prepared for Taehyung, the pure human child, to die one day, like every human did. It was an inevitable end. I thought that if I'd distance myself from him by indulging in sexual desires, it won't hurt as much when the end came. I thought I'd come back to heaven happy to have spent a human lifetime alongside him.

Little did I know, he'd already wormed his way into my heart the first night he looked me in the eyes and called me beautiful. Who does that? To the angel of death, no less? He was an enigma. Mischievous, yet innocent. Pure, yet a pervert. Sweet, yet held grudges for ages. Caring, yet devised the most dangerous of pranks. You could never categorize him and I was always drawn to his very essence. His soul, his personality, his heart and his beautiful mind, that saw the world in a different light.

I was truly, madly, deeply in love with the idiot who fell headfirst into love with the angel of death. And nothing, not even a casual fling, with an angel who was far more knowledgeable, far more handsome, far more superior in every which way--- could compare to the feelings I held in my heart for Taehyung. 

Seokjin just wasn't enough to make me fall for him, the way Taehyung had, with just one look and just one touch. But I knew in my heart, he would be, perfect for someone else---someone whose very world revolved around him. 

He had harbored feelings for me for ages but never acted upon them until he felt me slipping through his fingers. He had always been a comforting companion by my side-- caring, sensitive, emotional, humane, observing and just downright sarcastic. He would always defend me, encourage me to be better, bring out the best in me; but somehow, somewhere, I think I'd developed feelings for him too. 

Certainly, my feelings weren't platonic. They were lustful, they were hedonistic but they were also of pure love. I loved him for who he was, who he is and who he will be. But what I felt for him wasn't as profound as what I felt for Taehyung. It just wasn't the same. But I couldn’t completely and honestly say that there weren’t times when I hadn’t selfishly taken advantage of him, his love for me and his sincerity. 

It hurt when I ended things with him the day I’d finally let myself acknowledge that what was there between Taehyung and I was far from platonic. Despite the age difference and him being a human, I had fallen in love with him and him—with me. There was no going back, there was no way to let him down easy. There was no way I could be away from him without hurting us both.

And yet, the moment I decided to let my feelings be known. The moment I decided to share his lifetime by his side, he had to play the hero and give his life away in vain. I knew if I’d stayed near his human body without the necklace, he’d die and become one with me. And still, as stubborn as I was—I’d let myself be near him, I’d let myself hold him in my arms as he took his last breath and I’d stayed as his body grew colder in my arms. 

I had lost my sanity then. And before I could ruin what was left of the Fae kingdom, I’d teleported back into my little cave of darkness and solidarity. I’d spent each day hoping his soul was happy wherever it was and checking among each soul in my little cave to ensure none of them belonged to him. 

So long as he didn’t choose to rest in peace, I’d have a chance to see him thrive again. As a human, or as an angel. He’d make a wonderful guardian. His soul was pure and determined, observant and kind with the right amount of mischievousness to stir problems once in a while. He’d be perfect. He was perfect. 

A fresh bout of tears made it to my eyes and I scrubbed frantically at them. I didn’t need more angel tears. They were useless. They couldn’t protect the one human I needed the most to. Though, they did enhance Jimin’s powers. But still… my love had to face a trial. A trial I didn’t want us to face. Not yet. 

But fate never worked the way we’d wanted them to. Despite having the power to revert back time, I couldn’t use it. Somehow, I didn’t want to disrespect his wishes. He’d said his last goodbyes. I didn’t want to make him stay. I just couldn’t bring myself to. Before I changed my mind about letting his soul rest and decide for itself, I ran away like the coward I was. 

I still couldn’t bring myself to ask about him, it had been eight years since then. I couldn’t even bring myself to see any of the other guardians or the little family I’d come to make for myself. 

I hoped Jimin was okay. He had people by his side now, but I still couldn’t face him. Not yet. I’m sure he missed me, was disappointed in me just as Seokjin had been. But I wasn’t ready to face the music, I wonder if I’ll ever be. 

I tried playing nonchalant for the longest time, drowning myself in work and mundane tasks. Even the grim reapers and the black dog of the graveyard had started to worry for my wellbeing and had confined me here until I got my act together. 

It took me five years to understand that I had to accept his death and mourn over him. But I couldn’t—especially since our connection wasn’t severed yet. I could feel him still and I knew he wasn’t completely lost. 

I hadn’t felt him for about a few weeks but then suddenly one day, there was a soft thrum of energy in my veins and I knew, he had been revived and was in heaven. But as what?  Remained a mystery still.

 By the sixth year, everyone had given up on me. And here I was, eight years after the incident, waiting for the new graduates while sat upon the fountain of ambrosia, the literal nectar of immortality—to gift the new horde of grim reapers who I’d personally test and give them a new purpose. 

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• 

I believed Yoongi hyung, I really did, but I was losing my patience. He told me how to tell who my first love was, and still, I couldn’t find her. Or maybe, I had but didn’t know who she was.

While I knew I was an immortal now, it didn’t help that time moved slower in heaven. It certainly didn’t help that I couldn’t just straight up ask someone to confirm if they knew me when I was alive. 

Most souls retained their memory but I had lost mine and I was okay with it. Really. In the eight years I spent learning about the roles, rules, and skills of a grim reaper, I’d slowly found out about my life as a human. 

I didn’t have the most common of friends. Living with a guardian angel, having a Fae prince as a younger sibling and two Daemons as older siblings sure surprised me, but I wasn’t the least bit disappointed. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recall who it was I was in love with. Every time I tried to remember, I fainted and woke up in another place. 

Today, however, I was scared. And yes, I had started to feel things little by little. They weren’t as strong as when I was a human, but they were there, in the back of my mind. And I was downright sweating and pacing around the room. I would finally graduate after all the long grueling lessons. Sometimes, I still wonder why I chose to be a grim reaper of all things. Was my love that important to me? 

But then I remembered that if I’d died for love, probably that was my plan all along. I wouldn’t just randomly let someone kill me. Not while I had perfectly capable guardians and protectors. 

“Next” 

A soft, yet demanding voice crooned from behind the dark red doors that loomed before me. The woman standing in front of me, who had been snickering behind her hand all this time—for pacing around the room in nervousness—had now jumped a feet into the air, and squeaked like a mouse, opening the mahogany door and sliding past it. I suppose it isn’t as funny when it’s your turn to face the music. 

I gulped, my throat suddenly losing all moisture, even though it was deathly cold in here just like the first time I’d come here with Yoongi hyung. It truly was my turn yet. Whoever went past the door, didn’t make it back. Where were the hundreds of people going to? Was there a portal? Or was the Angel of death truly so terrifying and cold that she’d end up taking their souls for herself. 

While I tried avoiding all sorts of rumors in this place, somehow the ones about her always drew me in. I found myself stopping and listening every time her name was mentioned. It seemed familiar, just like my own name was to me now. 

Out of every reaper out there, I’d met most of them. And if my soul shattered again today, everything would be in vain. But what if? What they were just rumors? What if she was the one I had fallen in love with? 

Then I’d get to know her all over again. Work for her, work with her and make her fall in love with me this time for sure. If our love didn’t work back then just because I was a mortal-- surely it should work now. 

“Next” 

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for whatever I’d face past the door. I knew it would be life changing… or death changing? Since … well, I was already dead. 

Okay, I suppose I’m too nervous to even make jokes like Seokjin Hyung. I knew he held a grudge against me, but I had to admit, he was an amazing angel and I’d look for him, in any case, I couldn’t find Yoongi hyung. I would trust him with my life too. He was genuine and perhaps one of the only angels who let their emotions control their actions.   

Shaking my hands to rid of the nerves, I pushed open the huge double red doors in front of me and stepped forward with my right foot. Something vague about it being lucky crossing my mind for a fraction of a moment; and then-- a black cat, a black feather and a million other images and emotions flashing by me right as I stepped across the threshold. 

I heard the rushing of water and looked straight at the woman seated at the edge of the waterfall right where I had sat under the onyx mermaid statue gushing amber liquid through a conch shell held in her hands. Her mouth was trembling and her eyes—oh her eyes, they spoke of a thousand words I couldn’t begin to describe. A trembling hand raised and held her perky lips that now were bitten underneath her sharp canines. A muted sob escaped her throat and made it past her lips. Widening her eyes, as I moved a step forward, she shook her head and leaped towards me. 

Running all the way, she collided into my chest and clutched at my suit lapels. Was she my Y/N? 

“Where…” She sobbed, her face buried into my chest, right above my heart. A heart that didn’t beat anymore. My time was stopped for me until I became an actual angel. Until I drank the nectar of gods. “Where have you been?” 

“I was always here…” Was she truly the one I loved? Her hair though messy looked regal, her eyes though sad, looked hopeful and her lips…so kissable. But what was the most magnificent of all were her absolute black wings that were folded behind her. “Y/N”

She was my Y/N. I was absolutely certain now. I knew now why when I’d lost all memory and even my own name, I remembered hers. 

She was my most precious emotion and memory that I retained when my soul shattered. She was the most important to me. The only wish I had during my last moments. 

“I think I’m falling in love all over again. Even when your eyes are red-rimmed, hair a mess and words incoherent.” I whispered by her ear, holding her close to my chest. “This time, I won’t let you go.” 

“I’d kill you if you did. And make you drink ambrosia to bring you back.” 

“I’d die a thousand deaths for you if that made you happy. Unfortunately, I can’t die anymore.” 

“I love you too. I always have.” She spoke in a whisper, a secret between the two of us. 

“And me, you.” 

I sealed the promise of an eternity with a kiss that I’d craved for the past eight years I’d gained a new life. Here, in heaven, we were finally together.

One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven ||

Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Final

[epicocityfic]

Lillie is a Poorly-Written Character

Lillie, from Pokemon Sun and Moon, is a horribly written character.

There. I said it. I welcome pitchforks, but first, read the actual point I’m making.

That isn’t to say I always thought she was a bad character. Quite the contrary; early in the SM series, she was in the running for best character of the series. She had an engaging difference from her game counterpart in that she couldn’t touch Pokémon. This was pretty interesting in its own way, and provided an investment for her character arc.

It was after Shiron hatched that things very quickly fell apart.

It’s because of this that it baffles me when people tell me that she had one of the best-crafted character arcs in the series that we ever see, because I don’t see it, and it all comes down to one thing: Lillie lacks any character agency.

Compare her to both Lana and Kiawe, the far more superior written characters of the saga thus far. When it comes to their major strides (Z-Ring/Crystal for Lana, new Pokémon for Kiawe) each of them seeks it out and does their own work for it. They get help, but the decisions they make are entirely their own and are driven solely from themselves. They don’t even need a push to see it done or get it started.

By comparison, Lillie has none of that. At the beginning she can’t touch Pokemon, which is fine, but as more is revealed, the more her character is called into question. Namely, why, after four years, did Lillie not even think to find out the reason she lost her memories? It takes a random act of Nebby teleporting her to random places for it to finally kickstart her. It’s Ash going “hey, let’s get your memories back” that makes her even consider it.

For a character that’s so supposedly proactive and developed, this makes the development seem either handed to her at best or undeserved at worst.

This aspect of her character, lacking that agency that others have, really comes to a head in SM 49.

On the surface, here’s where I can see people liking Lillie. She makes a momentous stride in character development by being able to touch Pokémon again and seeming to gain this burst of courage. But all of that’s on the surface. If you just put those points on paper, yes, I agree, she sounds amazing. But when you look at the little details, a lot of it starts to sort of crumble apart.

It really starts in SM 48, when Lillie reverts being able to touch Pokémon completely. In and of itself, it’s clearly a move made to induce drama, but it’s what happens in SM 49 that not only erases any sort of progress she actually made on her own, and instead hands it to her.

Because she gets her memory back, and suddenly she can touch Pokemon again. That’s it. No hardship (and indeed, any hardship from before was erased, and thus can’t count). She can just suddenly touch Pokemon.

4 years of trauma ended because she got her memory back. 4 years of trauma ended because she recognizes a misunderstanding.

I feel that’s not quite how trauma works.

I’ve made the comparison elsewhere, but I liken the whole situation to that of Guy Cecil from Tales of the Abyss.

Like Lillie, Guy has an inability to touch something (women, in his case). Like Lillie, Guy didn’t have his memory of what triggered it. Like Lillie, Guy gets that memory back.

Unlike Lillie, Guy doesn’t get over it in 5 seconds after that memory is restored. Instead, he has to work through it.

Now yes, I know, “it’s a kid’s show”. But that’s no argument (and, indeed, the laziest one) for not allowing Lillie to work through her problems. They could have given her memories back and still had her work to overcome her issues. It could have even prevented the issue her character is facing now.

Bottom line for this: Lillie is a badly-written character because she doesn’t have any agency in her initial development. It’s handed to her.

This is fixed after that moment in SM 49 above. Instead, an entirely separate issue occurs: favoritism.

Since that episode, it’s become increasingly obvious that we, as the viewers, are meant to love and adore her. That everything she does is, in fact, worthy of praise.

Perhaps there’s a bit of hyperbole in there, but I think it’s apt.

To say this, I provide two key points of evidence: Lillie’s relationship with Lusamine, and her “development” since.

Since the former is a bit more complex than the latter, I’ll address the latter first. Namely, in this case that, like much of Sun and Moon, they only address the character when they feel they want to. That even after her big arc, Lillie gets an episode for herself...resolving an issue that never even existed.

Then we take more than 30 episodes before even bringing up that Lillie doesn’t have a goal. Any other character, even the equally-badly written Mallow, would never have taken this long to address it. Heck, we didn’t even know this bothered Lillie until, somehow, it becomes relevant!

Now, points to her for the battle against Tyranitar, but it still fuels this fact we need to love Lillie given we see her, an inexpert battler, take down (used loosely) a Tyranitar, and in a curb-stomp, no less. The Icium-Z is a given, but then she gets an Ice Stone, too? For no other reason than “Charjabug found it”.

It pushes the narrative that Lillie must be loved and deserves praises and gifts.

However, what reinforces this narrative is in how the story deals with Lusamine.

Obviously, in the games, Lusamine is abusive to Lillie, and so, seeing Lillie stand up against her mother offers catharsis.

In the anime, Lusamine...is a workaholic.

That’s really about it. Well-meaning, clearly a bit ditzy, and yes fails as a parent in some aspects but clearly loves her daughter even more than her own lifelong dream (given she protected her family). The narrative shows this. Yet, we’re also supposed to believe the narrative when Lillie constantly pushes her away, gets angry at her and, ultimately, never has any true reconciliation.

Hell, the major crux of her relationship with her mother is saying “Mother, I hate you!”, as though it’s justified.

But is it? Lillie hates her mother for three reasons: 1) She evolved Clefairy when Lillie didn’t want to. 2) She’s never around and is condescending, at worst, by calling her baby. 3) She allowed herself to be kidnapped by Ultra Beasts.

On the surface, you can see where the anime is trying to justify Lillie being in the right, but when the details come to light, it makes Lillie instead come off as a whiny brat.

1) Said Clefairy was Lusamine’s, and clearly okay with evolving. Where does Lillie have any point to really argue about it? 2) Most parents act that way towards their children around that age, but even ignoring that (and the separate can of worms that is the fact SM wants to treat its kids like kids but also adults), it’s Lusamine’s work that allows Lillie to live such a wonderful life. 3) She was only kidnapped to protect her family.

Yet, at the end of the day, we’re supposed to agree with Lillie, once more reinforcing that “love Lillie, she is right” mentality.

I realize I’ve gotten rather winded here, so I suppose I’ll wrap this up simply with a TL;DR.

Lillie is a poorly written character because for half of her “development” she lacks any agency in making it happen and only allows outside forces to control it. When she gets over that, however, the narrative tries to force us to agree with Lillie at every single turn, even if a clear look at the events point her out to really just be a brat who gets everything handed to her, but wants to complain anyway.

Dare to Be Silly,

Epicocity

[hoe-for-daddywise]

The fiction that was never released.

As you are all aware I have been vacant and doubt I will be back. And I miss you all entirely. And to apologise for my disappearance I bestow upon you a fiction I wrote but never posted. It is unfinished, yes. But I spent ages writing it and I hope you would all enjoy it. Think of it this way, you can make up your own ending in your head. Like British films that break against the American conventions of happy endings in every film and leave you to decide how something ends. So here it is. The fiction that was never released. For this I’m tagging those who always made me feel happy to be in this fandom.

@smileysam13579 @penny-trash @pennydaddywise @robindanielle @randomcatgirl1 @trinsghost @take-a-penny-leave-a-penny @ohhh-pennywise @princess-pennywise @peenwise @pimmelwise @pennys-drool @pennywises-cum-dumpster @astrotheclown @sewer-party @sheeit-pennywise @dancing-sewer-daddy @dick-me-down-sewer-clown @desallinhada @fuckin-boiis @floatpenny @fallenchrysalis @gothguitargal @hauntedneibolt @hellodaddywise @literalslutforpennywise @capicornoo @nychowise-hl @silent-world-of-a-deaf-boi

/ /

The early bird gets the worm. This being a singular proverb used to galvanise the spectator or humour the tentative other, as what is perceived as normal for the spider would become chaos for the fly. Horror has always had its way of lurking in all times and in every corner of the world, and you, a soul drunk with isolation, were certain of this. And as the rain threw itself violently against the window of your plaintive flat in the small town of Derry, you tugged at your bottom lip, daring yourself to go outside into the misery the early morning had brought, to see, Indeed, if today would be prosperous.

Darkness had plagued itself across your room, threatening to swallow it whole like a cancer; the only light discernible was from a street light adjacent from your room and a small, dull lamp placed within it. Every slight movement you made caused your shadow to follow you like a lost boy glued to you, or like sin hiding itself from the light of God. However, you failed to make out all the shadows, as some appeared as mix matched shapes perplexing to your eyes. Yet the next thing that happened not only confused your senses but made you question your very own sanity. Upon further analysis of the shapes around your room, you had discovered your own shadow had manifested; into what, was still uncertain. Initially it started off as your own, until it started dancing and twirling, spinning randomly in a rhythmic pattern, it was almost hypnotic. And when you moved the shadow wobbled with you, you was bound by the shadow and the shadow bound by you. But this wasn’t your shadow. It was attached to you but it wasn’t yours. Then you heard it. The sweet sound of laughter followed by the gentle call of your name.

“Wh-who’s there?” Croakily you managed through disbelief still doubting your senses. A small but prominent sound rang out, the jingling of bells. Hastily you shuffled backwards, not once taking your eyes off the black mass which still moved in sync with you despite the fact it was evolving. Both you and it were slaves to each other like a demon at night, destined to do as the other does, creating the question of were your movements even yours any more or were they caused by the mass?

The black abyss before you had conjured into a full bodied apparition before your very eyes, no longer being a darkened reflection of yourself. “I’m Pennywise, the dancing clown.” The words he had spoken were mirrored by that of his actions as he jumped and swayed around, bells clattering against each other as he did so. You analysed the clowns every move, like you were trying to figure out an algorithm as you and the clown had seldom met before. Pennywise, in turn, stood before you as if waiting to gain some sort of a response from your parted cracking lips. There was almost a silence of some sort if it had not been for the ticking of the small plastic clock tucked away behind a pile of dusty books on your bedside table. Yet this ticking, no matter how quiet, didn’t go a miss, for any more silent it would have caused your ear drums to ring with the upmost discomfort.

“What’s the matter, Y/N? Never seen a shadow change before?” Pennywise cackled at you, taunting you; you proceeded to walk backwards until you felt your hand come into contact with the cold condensed glass on the window. “Come join the clown, Y/N. We all float down here. Yes we do.” It was difficult to make out his figure in the darkness and lack of light your lamp emitted, however, you were still able to register the heavy Victorian clown attire he wore and the intricate makeup he had so carefully stained on his chubby face.

“Leave me alone!” You challenged yourself to shout, astonished you were able to retain your voice from cracking yet again.

Adamant to appear unfazed by the clown, you propelled yourself off the window you had used for support and started forward; the clowns laughter increasing ever more mocking your pathetic effort of standing your ground. The next set of events, which followed after this, provoked the up most discomfort through your body; disturbing you relentlessly as the clown dissolved back into the shadows for a brief second. Instantaneously, Pennywise leaped back out at you generating supplementary shadows in the room to ricochet; they ambushed you, vaulting themselves from individual directions with edges like knives, all fleeting at you. You forced your eyes shut.

Like necromancy, the shadows were being conjured, launching a heap of black liquid on top of you. What this liquid was is still a mystery to you. It entered your mouth with force, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue and seeping down your throat. You tried to scream but found yourself gagging as it made its way up your nose, you couldn’t breathe. You had come to the inescapable conclusion that right here and now your life would come to a tragic end and your death would remain a mystery to all those who pretended to be dear to you. Panic seeped within you, tensing your fists until your knuckles were white and the bone threatened to pierce your delicate skin. Suddenly, it stopped, but at what price? Spluttering out as much of the black liquid as you were able you regained your breath and wiped your eyes free from the goo; opening them slightly the clown was gone and for this justice you, the tentative other, were thankful. However, one thing you noticed was how the shadows were no more. The mix matching shapes around your room were now gone, leaving each object unbound. Even yours, was gone.

The majority of your day, after this series of events, was spent stood in the same spot the clown had left you, eyes fixated on the wall of where your shadow once lived. Day light had spread it’s way across the room and had left once again, indicating you must have been unchanging for 12 hours. So you showered and plonked yourself on the sofa downstairs and where you would make your bed for the night as your room was uninhabitable thanks to the black goo. You hadn’t even eaten that day but your appetite was non existent. And as you laid down, ready for your slumber, you thought about the clown. You thought about Pennywise, and replayed his words over and over in your head. “We all float down here.” What was that even supposed to mean? Was it a riddle? Everything was uncertain and you hated that. Would he be back? What did he want? So many questions and no answers. But you couldn’t tell anyone as some memories are meant to stay secret and some secrets do not allow themselves to be told; if this one was, people would think you were surly mad. So you hoped, that when you woke, you room would be back to normal and that this will have all been a dream.

Morning came, as it always does, accompanied by the gentle sound of birds, tweeting as they always do. Subsequently, you almost had to question why you had slept downstairs until memories, secrets, came flooding back to you. Yet, these were memories you had hoped to have dreamed, thus, you ventured to your room to collect the evidence. As suspected the goo was unmoved. The full extent of damage your room held was remarkable with not a single item within left untouched; still you couldn’t help but listen to the nagging sensation in your mind that you had lost all sanity that was left in you, so you set about getting a second opinion. There, out of the window, a man in his 20’s walked so smoothly he could have been floating. Running as quick as your feet could take you, grabbing the door handle to reveal the outside world. “Excuse me!” The man glanced around to see who else you could be shouting at, noticed no one else was there and then pointed at himself. “Yes, you.” Laughing you motioned for him to come over. “This is going to sound ridiculous and I’m sorry, but something remarkable happened last night and I need to know if you can see it too.”

The gentleman laughed as he reached your doorstep, and it was at this instant you recognised how handsome he was. He partially opened his mouth to lick his plump lips, which were so damn gorgeous, and his ebony hair perfectly combed. And then you realised you were staring when his piercing blue eyes connected with yours causing your heart to flip. You had only just met this man. What’s the matter with you?

“Erm, should I take a look?” Thankfully he broke the awkwardness as he pointed inside your flat with a smirk on his face, biting his lower lip.

“It’s this way.” Ushering him inside you hear him shut the front door behind you and continue down the hall, leading him to your room. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” You acquaint yourself with a small smile.

“Roman.” He replied gently still smirking.

“Okay, well, here we are.” You gestured towards the closed door to your bedroom. Daintily he stalked to the door and groped for the handle in the dull corridor. With a push he was staring into your room.

“Oh my.” He glanced around.

“You...you see it too?” Hope probably too prominent in your voice.

“See it?” Silence. “Some just dripped on me.” He turned towards you, and, indeed, some had dropped onto his beautifully sculptured face. You glared at each other for a moment until you both burst out laughing at the exact same time.

“Let me get you something for that.” The bathroom was just across the hall in your apartment, rushing, you grabbed for a packet of makeup wipes and headed back to him. You held one of the moist wipes between your forefinger and thumb and held it out towards Roman. But instead of taking the wipe he presented his hands before you which, much like his face, were coated in the black liquid.

“That just sort of...happened.” He laughed. “Would you mind?” He gestured towards the wipes and then his face. “It’s just I would end up with more on me if I try to wipe it.”

The concept of touching Romans face sent butterflies scurrying round your stomach but you didn’t want to appear too eager so you replied with an unpretentious, “Erm, sure.”

“So, what exactly happened?” Roman interrogated as you cleared his face free from the goo.

“You wouldn’t believe me.” You shook your head and sighed, to this, Roman raised an eyebrow.

“Try me.” Is all he said.

Withdrawing your hand from his face, you began to explicate the details of last nights revulsion to the stranger, whom, you had just acquainted. During intervals of unsurety, Roman would nod his head when he perceived necessary, for this, you were grateful and for more than one reason. The first being that he had not absquatulated in fear of his own safety. And, the later being, he was listening and attempting to make sense of the narrative you had abruptly situated before him.

“So this clown, Pennywise, I think you named him...”

“Yes.”

“Pennywise came out of your shadow on your wall?”

“Yes.”

Romans face appeared as if it was swallowing itself, his features getting smaller. It was as if he had been sucking a Lemmon for the past year.

“You think I’m mad don’t you?” All hope you once attained was now failing.

“Mad? No, not mad. Insane? Yes. But I believe you. And I guess that also makes me insane.” He laughed at his own comment. However, you wasn’t certain what to make of this or how Roman, knowing of your situation, would benefit you in any way. One thing, however, you now had the knowledge that your senses did not deceive you and Pennywise had in fact conjured shadows to assault you last night.

SNAP

Your train of thought was interrupted from the simple click of fingers in front of your face.

“Hmmm, sorry?”

“I said, do you need help cleaning up?” He indicated towards your room. You sincerely had not contemplated the cleaning process as your mind had been otherwise occupied with a certain clown.

“Oh, I couldn’t allow you to help. That’s far too much to expect.” Thanking him, you refused him even though you knew help would be most welcome.

“I insist.” Roman disputed with you as he knew this was all talk much for you to take on by yourself.

[razieltwelve]

Hope (Final Rose x Worm AU Snippet)

Hope.

I know what hope is. I know how much it matters, and I know how fragile it can be.

I don’t know how I ended up in this world. I should be dead. The last thing I remember is drifting off into the dark, my Aura dwindling away to nothing and the world fading away. I’m not bitter about it. I lived longer than I ever thought I would, and I lived a much better life than I probably deserved. The only thing I regret is leaving Fang and the others behind. I know they’ll miss me, but that’s the thing. The brightest stars always burn out first, and no star in the world ever shone brighter than Saviour.

But then I woke up here.

This… Earth Bet is a broken world. There are people with powers, and so many of them are evil. There are monsters too. They call them Endbringers. There are three of them, but the worst of the bunch is the Simurgh. The others might wipe out cities and sink islands, but the Simurgh… she kills people’s hope.

And this world’s people need hope every bit as much of the people of Remnant did.

It’s a good thing then that I’ve dealt with monsters before. These people need hope. I intend to give it to them.

X     X     X

The heroes here are wary of me. They are right to be, and the Simurgh makes everyone nervous. Their leader, Legend, does a good job of briefing everybody on the specifics of the plan. The Simurgh, more than the other Endbringers, requires presence of mind and caution. 

My lips curl. Normally, I’d be the one being cautious. Not this time. 

As the other heroes spread out, waiting for the first hammer blow to fall, I take up my own position. I’m not a registered hero. In fact, I’ve been very careful about drawing attention to myself since I got here. If only Vanille were here. She’d find a way to get us back to where we belong, but I’ve never been as good with machines or dimensional travel as her. Instead, I’ve had to bide my time, get a job, and generally learn as much about this place as I can without drawing too much attention.

That time is over.

I’ve learned enough. The only way I’ll get back is with help, and the only way I’ll get that help is by making myself indispensable. It’s a good thing, then, that whatever force or power or accident dropped me into this world made sure to restore me to my prime. I’m in my late twenties, but I have all of my knowledge and skills. There are things I can do now that I could never have done before.

As the first warnings echo through the communication network, I find a nice place to stand. And then I call on Saviour.

The first level comes instantly, and I push past it. It isn’t nearly enough for what I want to do. The second level comes and goes with the same ease. And then the third. This is where things begin to get difficult. Each level of Saviour is orders of magnitude more powerful than the one before. This level is more than enough to deal with the Simurgh, but it can’t do it as quickly and easily as I’d like.

So I open myself to my Semblance and reach past the third level of Saviour for the fourth. I was almost forty years old when I activated this level for the first time. I was no longer in my prime then although I had yet to really slip from it. This time, I am in my prime, and I have a lifetime of experience to work with.

The fourth level of Saviour washes over me.

It is beautiful.

Instead of the black and crimson clothing of the third level, the fourth level uses armour more similar to the second level except instead of being gleaming crystal it is a deep black, the kind of black that absorbs light and sends a shiver down the spine. Fang once told me that it was like staring into the abyss, like staring at something that shouldn’t exist in the world at all.

She was right.

Saviour breaks the rules. It always has. And above all, it stands apart, holding itself above the rest of the world, superior to the petty rules and laws that govern reality. It is inviolate, untouchable, and immutable, and the fourth level is where that really begins to become apparent.

I rise into the air.

Saviour’s armour has the ability to simply ignore damage. In the fourth level, it occurs to me that the same powers that let it do that can be used to ignore gravity and other such constraints. I smile. The first time I flew, it was because Fang was using newly grown wings to bombard me from above. We laughed about it afterward, said that it was because I couldn’t bear to let her win.

The world unfolds before me.

Saviour has always seen the world differently. In the fourth level it gets more pronounced. It’s like… Saviour can see through the world itself. All around me, Saviour begins to catalogue the heroes and villains, analysing, simulating, and examining. It notes the links they have to something in a higher dimension, and I smile. I’ve suspected what capes are for some time. And now I know. There is something inhuman at work here. I’ll deal with it later. For now, I have other concerns.

I turn my sight upward. Saviour turns its gaze on the Simurgh, and I understand completely the level of the threat I am facing. Conventional weaponry will be all but useless. Precognition and post cognition make her a deadly opponent too, to say nothing of her telekinesis and other abilities.

I don’t care about any of them. Saviour will crush her. Already, I can feel the endless stream of possibilities narrowing, the seemingly infinite number of possible futures collapsing as Saviour plots the course to inevitable victory. She must feel it too. The Simurgh screams.

And I don’t care.

Saviour is impervious to mental attack. The capes are not so fortunate. They wheel about, stumbling and disoriented, and so I begin my counter attack.

The lower levels of Saviour can create and control exotic materials, most often in the form of basic weapons and massive shards of crystal and the like. The fourth level is capable of so much more. Saviour sees the universe for how it is, and it understand instinctively how to harness those forces for itself.

I gesture with one hand. I wish Serah was here to see this. I know she would like what is about to happen next.

A bow appears in the sky above me. It is a hundred feet across and made of darkness made material. I am at the centre, and I draw myself into an archer’s stance. Rings appear of the same material, stretching out in front and behind me. They spin, and an arrow forms.

I smile.

Diana would love to see this too.

Saviour provides the information, sends it streaming through my consciousness. Against the Simurgh’s formidable defences, I need a more formidable weapon. This bow is that weapon. The arrow is a lance made of null-space. It is, in human terms, made of the same ‘stuff’ that acts as a barrier between different universes. When it strikes its target it will expand, annihilating its target across all possible dimensions and timelines.

Only something that exists on the same plane as Saviour, that draws upon the same level of Creation as Saviour itself could possible survive such an attack, and even then it would need to draw upon certain Concepts and Ideals. Ragnarok is the only thing that I have ever faced that could not only survive but actually attack after being hit by something like this.

The rings themselves will serve to accelerate the arrow, propelling it in a manner that requires neither time nor space. I will fire the arrow, and that very action alone will guarantee that it hits. Precognition will not help. Dodging will not help. If I fire the arrow - or even if I doesn’t - it will hit.

The entire bow is simply the means by which Saviour creates and controls the attack, a massive instrument that can play the music of Creation.

I take a moment to make sure that none of the capes will be caught in the attack, and then I take aim at the Simurgh and fire.

X     X     X

I drift back down, landing on the top of a building and reverting to the second level of Saviour. The loss of power almost makes me stagger. The fourth level of Saviour is truly an incredible feeling. It makes me feel like the whole of Creation must obey. But it is necessary. Even with all my skill, staying in the fourth level for any longer than necessary would be unwise. The second level is far safer.

“How did you do that?” Legend asks. He isn’t alone. The other capes are there too, crowding around, eager to hear more. Alexandria and Eidolon shoo them away until only the Triumvirate are around me.

“I’m not sure you’d understand.”

“Your name,” Legend murmured. “We never logged it onto the system.”

“Call me Saviour.”

X     X     X

I get a visit from a woman in a suit. She isn’t Averia, but she is someone I’ve been expecting.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here,” she says.

I nod. “I know.” I look out the window. “I’ll help you.”

“Help me with what?” she asked although we both know the answer.

“With Scion.”

[renlyisright]

Season 8 Episode 3 - The End

The end of the world has come. We are doomed, doomed! No one can stop it!

Or can she?

This episode was movie-long, or would be if movies weren’t so much longer these days. And all of it was battle. Battle, fighting, loud noises, battle. It was exhaustive to watch at the last 30 minutes, I have to admit, but it was earned. After teasing the monsters for so long and setting up the battle for several episodes, this was the time. The show has long since moved on from the battles being quick fades to black to spare the budget, so there’s been a lot of them lately. And now this Promised One should be the biggest of them all, with all the 80 minutes received for watching people die.

Oh, and there’s still three episodes, several villains and the whole game of thrones to go. After the end of the world. Life goes on, which I guess is a positive message?

The episode starts with a quick heads up of where everyone is, and where the armies are, ready to fight. The only thing missing is the enemy. It is out there, somewhere in the dark.

Watching into the abyss. Nothing watches back, or not?

A lone rider approaches, but it’s not a White Walker. Melisandre arrives from the night and gives Jorah cryptic orders. Jorah just rolls with it at this point, and Melisandre makes every arakh of the Dothraki burst out in flames. I have to say, those are some well trained horses. Then Melisandre moves inside the walls.

I feel like I’m hitting the same dead horse every time when I ask about how much does the Lord of Light see beforehand, and what his end goal is? Everyone being in his religion? And since no one can pray for him if everyone is dead, he tells his priests how to save the world.

But the light of the arakhs gives the Dothraki the courage to charge straight at the darkness, which could hold anything, starting from holes in the ground, and that’s the end of them. The greatest cavalry in the world, Dothraki on the open field, snuffed out just like that. And the battle has lasted for a minute.

So, Lord of Light, did you know that would happen? And you did it anyway? Because you needed them - and Ghost! - dead, for some future purpose? To make Jon suffer more? Otherwise the Night King wouldn’t have come forward? Is that what you are going to go with if someone asks?

What I have gathered is that this is not the usual theodicy problem of “If the God is all-powerful and all-good, why do bad stuff happen?” No one has said that the Lord of Light is all-good, he likes human sacrifice. He is also not all-powerful, as his arsenal seems to be “Tell people to do X, and what is going to happen if they do or don’t”, and some tricks with shadows, fire and resurrection. If he was all-powerful, I don’t think he would have the patience for any of that.

Of course, if you can see everything that people will do if you tell them X, then that is very powerful by itself. What have the other gods to offer? The Old Gods, if they are real and the reason Bran has powers, show what happens now or in the past. The Lord of Light can see the future. Or just calculate well enough as to guess mostly right every time?

Anyway, trying to figure out the motives and methods of an extranatural being, whose only interface to the story is through what the priests say, is a fool’s errand. But I don’t like it if everyone turns out to be a plaything for some mysterious thing who is never seen and can’t be punched in the end.

The first part of the battle ends abruptly, a quick breath and here we go for the next hour. On my first watch I couldn’t figure out what was shown in that very short glimpse of the enemy before the camera moved back. On pause I see that it’s a giant wight. It felt like a whole wall of the wights, which put in my mind a funny visual. Think about it, them standing on each other’s shoulders, and then the whole wall of them falling on top of the Dothraki when they come near. Splat.

As they say, what you can’t see is more scary than what you can see… or more funny in this case.

Jorah survived the first clash. Ghost didn’t. Goodbye Ghost, I enjoyed your constant companionship and presence just out of the frame. Maybe he didn’t die, but went there. Just out of frame, living happily ever after.

The dead come out of the darkness and instantly wreck all the defenses the defenders have, catapults, shield walls, everything. That was expected, considering how well shield walls usually hold in TV (maybe ten seconds). Everything becomes confused, Daenerys and Jon attack from above. Why didn’t they attack with the Dothraki? Well, when the enemy leader can one-shot your dragon you don’t go blindly to the enemy in the dark, showing right where you are with fire. Unlike Jorah and the Dothraki. That was very stupid.

Jon sees the White Walkers on the border of the Wolfswood, but before he gets to attack them, the winter arrives. The Night King brought it with him. The winds of winter wreck everything even further.

Nice, I wondered what the Dead can do against two dragons who can burn thousands of the enemy in a minute.

In the confusion of the storm of swords, Sam gets to see one of his last friends die. I was certain that Edd would survive. That’s what he does! He’s the grumpy guy who somehow turns up alive every single time, no matter how unlikely he himself deemed it. And he was a delight. But no. At the same time, Edd represented the last of the Night’s Watch. Jon has moved away to larger circles, and Sam, while still a brother, has been training to become a maester. Edd was the only named character still fully in the black, and after this episode the Night’s Watch is not needed anymore.

In this story, I mean. Is this the end of the White Walkers? Or will they return, one day, when the nights grow cold and the kings forget… Was the Night King the first Night King? And how much of the strength of the Walkers now can be blamed on Craster, who outright gave them more members?

The wildling population has been decimated, and decimated again, and after this night the Walkers are as well, so what is there to guard against anymore on the Wall? I can see it falling out of use if the people think that the Walkers are gone and the Lands beyond the Wall are now empty (and could use settlers from the South side of the Wall, if anyone wants to move there anytime soon). There’s also the matter of the spells in the Wall’s foundations. Can anyone remake them?

The dead’s tactic is to just run towards the enemy in absolutely no formation and then kick, bite and hit it with weapons until it stops moving. I’m sure that there are ways to counter that kind of attack, if it can also counter the enemy having no concept of self-preservation and there being a lot of them.

The retreat happens, with the Unsullied making sure that it happens in good order. I read a bit about Spartan upbringing, which was absolutely horrible, and surprisingly ineffective in action. It was good for propaganda and to make the enemy scared of you, but abusing people for their entire childhood did not actually a supersoldier make. But in this universe it does, and the Unsullied are the best at handling the situation of standing your ground when thousands of moving corpses are pushing your shield.

And then Grey Worm sacrifices them, or would have if they didn’t die already before the trench got lit. Melisandre prays the Lord of Light to light it, and he takes his sweet time with it. To make sure that as many of the Dead are in the trench as possible? Which means waiting until all the Unsullied on that side are dead. Hmm.

Poor Hound, the best weapon they have against the Dead is also the best weapon against him.

Bran goes to borrow the ravens, and locates the Night King. He is just ordering his forces to walk into the fire and stay there. Talk about lack of self-preservation…

It works, they get through and start to make a pile next to the wall.

The next ten-fifteen minutes are a blur of a battle. The wights attack and get further and further into the castle, people die a lot, named characters get to show their great skillz and so on.

In previous large episode-long battles there has been people on both sides whom we have followed and who have their own dreams and plans, and season-long arcs clash in the battle which determines how the rest of the show will go. Comparing them to previous large-scale fantasy battles I watched before this show was a thing (LotR, Narnia, Harry Potter), the difference was exactly that. In those the other side was made up of existential threat monsters, and the possible defeat meant that everyone is dead now and the story is over as everyone is dead. In previous seasons it was clear that some characters would die if they lost, but the show wouldn’t have been over

But this battle, this battle is exactly that. Which is why I had no doubt of its outcome. The Dead have to get defeated, the last episodes won’t be Cersei hearing that the North has fallen and getting on a ship to another continent. But many will die, like in the next scene, where Lyanna Mormont is guarding the gate when someone knocks on it.

They should really get a giant-proofed gate to Winterfell, this is a second time that one has wrecked it. Of course, if all the giants are dead and unmoving after this night, it doesn’t matter.

Lyanna gets a warrior’s death. Shame she doesn’t get to grow old, she would have been a good bannerman and a leader, by the Northern culture’s measures. But she had the choice, and she picked this death and protected her people. Hopefully it mattered, I don’t remember seeing any other giant wights after this one was destroyed so maybe this was the last one and the crypt isn’t breached or Theon smashed to the ground too early because of Lyanna. Thank you.

Jon and Daenerys climb over the storm, and the resulting view is very background-worthily beautiful. Westeros is beautiful when it’s not covered in blood and excrement.

Aaaand there’s the Night King with his dragon. He attacks, and is then gone again, baiting Jon and Daenerys to come back to the storm. They comply.

Arya sneaks around in Winterfell’s library and other rooms, hiding from the wights. The situation has very Battle of Hogwarts vibes. The enemy is in the place which has meant home and safety for this character (for Sansa the Boltons poisoned the place a lot but Arya didn’t see that).

She can’t hide from the forever, and when they hear her, it’s time for screaming and running. And running again. This castle is really big. Finally she gets to Beric and the Hound, and it’s time for a Last Stand.

If Joffrey had been a nicer kid he would have gotten a great sworn shield out of the Hound, he does take the job seriously when he actually cares. But the Last Stand belongs to Beric Dondarrion, he has the most experience.

All three get to the hearth hall, but Beric is too wounded to live much longer. His final death bought the life of Arya. And Melisandre comes to tell that this was why the Lord of Light brought him back so many times. “You’ve kept him alive so that he can die at the proper moment”, Snape would say.

Arya gets the hint of what her role is according to the Lord’s plan. Nice callback to Syrio Forel. “What do we say to the God of Death?” And, as everyone has been saying, Death is what they are up against.

The Night King gets bolder. He goes to attack Winterfell himself. And gets immediately slammed by Jon and Rhaegal. And it’s the dance with dragons as the body of Viserion and Rhaegal go at it with claws and teeth.

The clash of kings ends as the Night King falls into the storm, annoyed. Rhaegal is hurt and goes to the ground, dropping Jon. No idea where it went after that. Daenerys finds the landed riders and starts blasting the Night King with everything she’s got.

Aaand… dragonfire can’t harm him. No idea if it would have worked with the regular Walkers, as in Hardhome that one Walker just walked straight over a regular fire. Anyway, now Daenerys gets to see how it feels when someone else does the same trick as her.

After being blasted by dragonfire, the Night King looks only annoyed. He has just two facial expressions, serious and annoyed. He was given simple instructions: Destroy humans, and now he just tries to do his job if people would let him.

Here’s Jon trying to get a final duel to determine the future of the world. Since the beginning he’s been the greatest swordfighter, who has practiced and fought with ser Rodrik, Allison Thorne, wildlings, Rast, Thenns, wights, White Walkers, Ramsay Bolton, more wights… and now when he meets the final boss face to face, one to one, on the apocalyptic empty battlefield… the boss doesn’t have time for this, he has his job to do, and he can pull thousands of new underlings to deal with Jon.

The feast for crows gets delayed, as the dead defenders rise for a second turn on the same map but on different colors. Now everyone still alive has many many more problems. And from the quick shots it can be seen that the named characters already are almost alone. How did they hold even this long? It’s because of the camera. When it’s not looking, everyone can relax. A long time ago Robert died off-screen but that hasn’t been a problem for characters for a long time.

The Walkers want to be a part of the victory and do some actual walking. And when they do walk, they do it very menacingly, so I understand why it’s their brand.

When the Walkers were seen for the first couple of times in the early seasons, they were usually shirtless. But since Hardhome they have used more clothes. Why?

It will stay a mystery, they won’t tell.

Tyrion spends a lot of time in the crypt thinking that if he just were up there seeing what was happening he would figure out something. Sansa thinks he would just die, and I agree with that, especially as he is so out of his depth nowadays. I didn’t figure out the twist of them being in the crypt and the enemy being able to raise the dead, as obvious as it is in hindsight. But Tyrion is smarter than me and he still missed it. And if I had thought of the possibility before it happened I would have waved it away thinking that the bodies must be too old by now to be of any use even if they could be raised. Well I would have been wrong, they are springy for their age. But Ned isn’t one of them, decapitation has been useful against the Dead. That’s perhaps a relief, Sansa wouldn’t want that kind of a reunion.

Daenerys rescues Jon but makes a rookie mistake of landing in the middle of an enemy-occupied battlefield. Drogon gets swarmed but gets off, without Daenerys. Luckily Jorah is savvy enough to know that Daenerys hasn’t yet not got herself into these situations every time she is in a battle, so he knows to be there to help her.

Music starts. First on piano, then other instruments join in. Last time that happened the piece was called “Light of the Seven”, and it ended with an explosion. So the end is near, the clock is ticking. 

The complete destruction of everything. Jon tries to get to Bran but the body of Viserion enters the arena. Now Jon gets to fight a dragon, on foot. You missed the big boss but here’s a dragon, you get to be a proper fantasy hero, just slay the dragon.

In the weirwood the wights stop attacking Theon, as the Night King has arrived. The rest of Bran’s defenders have died. Theon brought a small force of Ironborn to Winterfell, again, and they were no match for attackers, again. Theon has been deemed a failure and a loser by about everyone (including me back when he tried to be a villain but sucked at it), but he has succeeded in three things now: Saving Sansa, saving Yara, and now saving the world by holding the dead and the Night King back for long enough.

Bran comes back to his body to give comfort to this lost and found man. “You are a good man. Thank you.” Now was this Bran Stark who said that, or The Three-Eyed Raven Who Was Bran Once?

Theon takes his cue and tries once again. And fails. The Night King isn’t exhausted, and kills Theon with a simple stroke. And then it’s the end.

The Night King walks to Bran, and wants to show him how the fear is for the winter. He savors this final confrontation, which perhaps is allowed after so many millennia of trying. Similarly how this episode is the end of those eight and a half years the Others have lurked in my mind, ever since the first vision of them beyond the Wall. No wonder this is also my longest post yet. 

Just when everything was going well for old Nikey, Arya arrives out of nowhere, and goes all assassin on the Death itself. These blue eyes shut down now, and he becomes part of the winter landscape.

The Walkers explode as well, and the Dead fall. The sound of their screeches moves back to the songs and legends.

Epilogue: Now Melisandre is no longer needed for her Lord, so she gets to die. Of her own choice? Does she have any choice? She drops the necklace, and walks out of the castle, to be claimed by the ices of winter, with the fires of the rising sun harboring a dream of spring.

The End.

Or no, wait, there’s three episodes left.

Just how big casualties this battle had, anyway? Is there any sort of army left here for either Daenerys or Jon to challenge Cersei? Pretty much everyone in the end was completely swamped by the dead, it’s lucky there’s anyone left.

Stannis said once (only in the book if I remember correctly), that he used to think that he had to get the throne to save the realm, but then he realized that he had to instead save the realm to get the throne. And then he went and got himself stuck in the snow, because it seemed smart to him at the time.

Anyway, now Daenerys has saved the realm. The hole in the Wall and the giant pile of the dead bodies outside and in Winterfell (or a giant pile of burned bodies) should show to any doubters that it was real. How much of an opinion boost will she get from Cersei’s bannermen and allies for that? Or does it matter at all, as they seem to be happy being under Cersei even though she is, you know, Cersei. And blew up their religion’s most holy building.

So I don’t expect there to be any big riot that would topple her from the throne, the resolution (in the form of a big battle, of course) will happen long before the good people of King’s Landing can do that. I mean, they tried, in the form of the revolutionary High Septon, and it didn’t work.

I have become much more sympathetic to the old chap after his torturing, humiliation of prisoners and pressing for confessions are fading from memory, and Cersei’s reign is on the forefront. His end goal would have been breaking the wheel too, and seeing how the rulers’ main complaint of him was not that he was enforcing horrible laws in the name of his gods, but that he was applying those same horrible rules to them too (how dare he!)... yeah.

There’s not much room left in the show to build up for another Great Last Battle (and it would feel redundant), so Cersei, Euron and the future occupier of the Iron Throne have to be wrapped up without anyone spending a night wondering about the coming armies and the possible end of everything. After the Army of the Dead, how hard can it be?

[reveriesforyou]

Her Thrift Shop

Hey babes! This is an entirely innocent, fluffy oneshot about a reader who works in a thrift shop after school that happens to be right by where her crush, Peter Parker, walks home everyday! They have a few minor interactions before Tony Stark forces Peter to confront his feelings for the reader one day in the shop. I hope that you guys like it!

Her Thrift Shop

    The thrift store in which she worked was right smack in the middle of where Peter Parker often walked home. She smiled, balancing her chin on top of her hands as she leaned against the sales counter that she manned, fondly reminiscing of her favorite Peter sightings.

    The first time that she had spotted him, Peter had been walking home with his best friend, Ned, while she dragged a rack of clothing outside. They had made direct eye contact from two opposite sides of the street and she’d stumbled over the rack’s wheels, while Peter flat out walked into a streetlamp. She’d done her best to politely stifle the giggle aching to bubble out of her throat, but Ned full on cackled at Peter’s expense. Even from across the street, the girl could tell that Peter was strawberry red. Shoving his palms into his pockets, he paced ahead while Ned was still bent over laughing.

    The second time, Peter was walking home with his head bent down, bobbing his head along to the music that coursed through his headphones. She noticed him from inside the shop, peeking her head out from behind the mannequin that she was attempting to wrestle into a figure-hugging dress. She sighed, pausing her frantic movements to walk as Peter peacefully walked by.

    He just looked so damn cute all the time. His hair was unruly from the gusts of wind that filtered throughout the city, and his blue sweater looked soft and warm, and she was ready to bet her entire existence that he smelled of clean laundry. She noticed that Peter’s jeans were rolled at the bottom, and her heart ached. There was hardly anything she wouldn’t give to be with him. At this point, she’d settle for a nod of a hello, or a wave, anything that allowed her bask in Peter’s acknowledgement of her existence.

    “That’s a cute boy,” her much older co-worker commented loudly from behind her. “Do you know him?” She questioned, wiggling her brows up and down and smirking at her.

    The girl’s coworker happened to be her only coworker. The woman owned the tiny consignment store and only had enough money to employ one other salesperson, which happened to be her. The woman was in her early 60s but flirted as if she was still a teen. She was sharp, and witty and never allowed the store’s uniquely vintage merchandise to go for less than it was worth. Utter and complete warmth resided in her eyes, and she was happy to help people create the perfect outfit. Goodness, as well as happiness, radiated from her being. The girl smiled, knowing that her friend was the kind of adult that she’d like to eventually grow into herself. However, she refused to inherit the woman’s brashness in these sorts of situations.

    A ferocious blush overcame her features and she quickly averted her gaze and went back to forcing the tiny dress down the hips of the mannequin. “No, he just goes to my school. We haven’t even said two words to one another.”

    “Oh, that’s peculiar because he’s got major heart eyes for you right now,” the woman commented, nudging her younger companion’s arm. “Look, say hello!” She began to wave at Peter, much to the girl’s dismay. “Hi sweetie!” The lady called out to Peter’s bashful form across the street.

    “No! Oh my gosh, he’s going to think I’m such a weirdo!” The girl cried out, burying her face in the dress.

    “Honey, the only reason that he’d think you’re a weirdo is because you aren’t waving back.” The woman shook her head, “he’s absolutely precious, don’t fuck it up! For goodness sake, wave!” She commanded and finally, the girl did, unable to meet Peter’s eyes. The girl did, however, take note that Peter was waving hello back to her.

Her third and final favorite Peter sighting was when she was rushing to park her car, hurriedly taking the first spot available on the side of the street opposite to where the thrift shop sat. As the girl hastily clambered from her vehicle, she’d been so quick to slam her door shut that she had nearly wrecked her hand in the process.

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and the girl could feel tears welling up, but someone caught her hand before she could inflict any harm to herself.

“Did it get you?” Peter’s worried, brown eyes peered down at her. “I- I tried to stop it, but it was just so close.” He stammered, cupping his hands together to examine her for damage that he didn’t prevent.

“Peter,” the girl started, coherent words were coming very hard for her at this point in time, “I didn’t even see you. How’d you get here so fast?” Peter was bright red and the girl could tell, judging by the heat she felt all over, that she was too. She mentally chided herself for being so careless. The girl just couldn’t believe that the first conversation that she had with the guy of her dreams would be taking place right after she foolishly almost broke her own wrist.

Peter shook his head as a mumble escaped his lips, “was close to you, but not in a creepy way, I just happened to be walking home and I saw you, and you were there, and your car-” he rambled, still holding her hand.

She cut him off, “thank you, Peter. I’d be in a whole world of hurt without you.”

Peter’s blush only intensified due to the sincerity dripping from her words, he couldn’t even bring his head up to meet her gaze. “Course, least I can do for the pr-, you.” He cut himself off as fast as he could before she realized that he was going to inform her that she was the prettiest girl in their entire high school. Truth be told, Peter had made up his mind that she was positively the prettiest girl to ever exist.

She gestured to the thrift shop, “come in sometime, we’ll hook you up with some neat, vintage apparel!” She cringed inwardly, cursing herself for speaking like an advertisement in front of Peter.

“Yeah! Yeah, totally, definitely, yeah!” Peter said, awkwardly letting her hand go, “I’ll just, yeah! You know, schools have dances, and whatnot. I’ll see you sometime.” He shrugged his shoulders as they each turned to go their separate ways.

“See you soon?” She questioned as Peter smiled and waved, worming his other hand into the pockets of his hoodie, “And Peter? Seriously, thank you again for saving me from my own lateness,” she laughed.

Peter beamed at her, holding eye contact as he backed away from her, a genuine smile sweeping across his features, “It was my pleasure!”

He watched as she ran across the middle of the street and yanked open the thrift store’s door. She turned and waved to him one last time and Peter did the best he could to not skip the rest of the way home. She had literally just told him to come back and see her. He was going to do everything in his power to create some sort of reason for their paths to cross again.

    The girl was forced to exit her daydreams when the front door’s bell pinged, alerting the young girl that customers were entering the little shop. She smiled, opening her mouth to begin welcoming them inside, but when she turned, she took note of who her patrons were and  froze, her eyes wide open. Standing the thrift store’s doorway stood a grinning Tony Stark and an evermore timid Peter Parker.

    “Peter?” She stuttered out, confusion lacing itself into her tone. Mr. Tony Stark had a nearly endless supply of cash, and she was aware that he’d gotten Peter some expensive items before, so wonder coursed through her body as she tried to figure out why it was that they stood in her tiny, vintage consignment shop.

    “See,” Tony said, nudging Peter’s chest with his elbow, “she does too know you.” Peter turned around and she could hear him utter a soft, but powerful, string of curse words as Tony ambled up to her counter. “Hello there, we’re here looking for an outfit for the upcoming school dance, got any ideas?”

    Her brows knitted together, “But Mr. Stark, our next school dance is months away?” She fiddled with her necklace, snaring her lower lip between her teeth.

    “Ah yes, well, this was all just a clever ploy to get Peter through the door so he could actually talk to you instead of talking everyone he comes into contact’s ear off about you.” A soft gasp fell past her lips as Tony continued, “I’m just going to leave him here. Do what you wish with him, I’m sure that he won’t mind.”

    As Tony turned on his heel and neared the door, Peter looked as though he was exasperatingly attempting to communicate something to him, which Tony blatantly ignored, mumbling a, “you’ll thank me later,” as he allowed the door to slam behind him.

    After a few moments, Peter turned to her, redder than she’d ever seen him and said, “you know Mr. Stark, he likes his grand entrances and exits both.” Peter did his best to laugh off the bucket of embarrassment that he was currently drowning in, and he made a show of locating the men’s section and sifting through racks of clothes.

    From her safe space behind the counter, she knew that she could either do her job and try to actually get somewhere with Peter, or, she could remain behind the glass and rot with the regret of not even trying with him for the rest of her life. Plunking up every ounce of courage that she could muster up, she decided on the first.

Making her way over to where Peter’s body was obscured by articles of clothing, she called out, “is there a specific era that I can help you locate, sir?” She asked, a small smile teasing the corner of her lips.

“I- I, uhm, sure,” Peter stuttered out, his nerves taking control of his body. “Could you help me find something that’ll make me look like Marty McFly?”

She laughed and before she could stop herself, she grabbed Peter’s hand and began guiding him through the endless abyss of clothing to the 80s section. He did his best to ignore the way her hips slightly swayed in her velvet miniskirt, and ignore how floral and sweet she smelled, but Peter couldn’t help but follow her puppy eyes.

“So, here we are at the-” the girl started, but Peter quickly cut her off.

“Do you wanna maybe, shit, I interrupted you,” he dropped his eyes and shifted slightly away from her, “I know that the next dance is a while away, but when it finally gets here, would you want to possibly, maybe, go with me?” He scratched the back of his head and scuffed his sneakers against the floor.

She gasped, her heart rising into her throat, “yes! Yes, yeah, totally! Peter, I’d love to go to the dance with you, but until then, do you maybe want to go to the new art exhibit right around the corner? I get off in an hour or so, if you don’t mind waiting, or if you do, you can come back, or you know, something.”

Peter perked up immediately and began nodding his head wildly, “I’ll wait for you, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” she smiled, moving in closer to Peter, the adrenaline of asking her crush out on a date fueling her to be even more daring. “But only if,” she leaned up onto her tiptoes, her mouth not even a few centimeters away from his, “I can dress you like Johnny Castle from ‘Dirty Dancing’ instead on Marty McFly.”

Peter slipped a delicate arm around her waist and breathed, “if you move a little bit closer, you can dress me however you want.”

Doing as Peter had suggested, she eliminated the space between them, giggling into the first of their many kisses inside of her thrift store.

[lunarmoonflowyr]

Dark Souls 3 Areas

So after doing my first playthrough of Dark Souls III, and having recently beaten NG+, I wanted to talk about the areas of the game because Dark Souls III has some of my favorite level design ever in gaming. I just wanted to write out all my thoughts on each area, and rank them from my least favorite to most. 

This is just for my personal enjoyment, and it’s all just my opinion. Feel free to tack your own opinions onto it though!

18. Archdragon Peak

Fuck this area. I hate this area with a burning, fiery passion. I dreaded having to go through it again on NG+ and it was every bit as bad as I expected it to be. 

The only compliments I can give this area is that it houses one of if not the best boss in the game, and that it looks pretty the first time you see it. Once that initial impression fades though, the area is painfully boring to go through at best, and it hates you at worst. I died to gravity as much as I died to the Nameless King.

The enemies are assholes, most notably the stone roly-poly motherfuckers that seem to have made it their lifes mission to headbutt me off the map as much as fucking possible, and the snake-men can all go suck a bag of dicks. 

They stunlock you and then hop away, so if your dodges aren’t on point fighting just one can be a chore. But it’s never just one. Ever. There’s always two, or three, or four, and because of how the area is laid out you’re never going to be able to aggro just one. So they gangbang you.

And they parry you. And they spit fire at you. And don’t even get me started on the big motherfuckers with greataxes, or the completely FUCKASSES that have an axe+chain and happily one-shot me with impunity. 

I, hate this area. So much. It is one of the only two areas in the game that I just “nope”d through at full speed in NG+. 

17. Farron Keep

The second area that I just nope’d my way through in NG+, it saddens me that the area associated with one of the contenders for my favorite boss is one of my least favorite areas. And I think the cardinal sin of this area is that it’s boring as fuck. 

There are many inhospitable areas in Dark Souls, Blighttown being the most famous, but many of the areas that people hate for their hostility are ones I actually enjoy, a lot. And I’m not the only one! Plenty of people like areas like Blighttown and Sen’s Fortress despite their outright hostility towards the player, and I personally think it’s because those areas are interesting. 

Farron Keep is...in a word, boring. It’s very flat with lots of trees, it has poison sludge, some of it is deep sludge so you have to either roll or Quickstep through if you happen to have a dagger. The enemies are either boring (slugs) or infuriating (Elder/Mad Ghru), or just downright bullshit (those motherfucking goddamn curse frogs). 

It’s inhospitable, it’s boring, and there’s no reason to be there any longer than you have to. 

16. Smouldering Lake

The Lake isn’t so much a bad area as it is just unremarkable. It’s small, there’s a flat area, you get shot at by massive arrows, and there’s a worm thing. The only reason to go here is to fight Old Demon King, and he’s a pushover. Boring area. Moving on. 

15. Catacombs of Carthus

This area is one I’m torn on. On the one hand I really like the aesthetic and the lore. On the other hand, it’s painfully linear, has a lot of irritating traps, the enemies are mostly just skeletons, and it has those fucking wheels. Fuck the wheel skeletons. 

The boss fight isn’t that interesting either, High Lord Wolnir is a pretty big pushover if you know what you’re doing. 

This area could have been a lot better if it felt more like an actual catacomb, with more twisting winding paths, giving the player a maze with more than one way to get out. But instead it’s one of the most painfully linear parts of the game once you leave Firelink Shrine, and the enemy and boss design don’t do it any favors. 

14. Consumed King’s Garden

It’s a smaller Farron Keep except with toxic sludge instead of poison, Pus of Man and Lothric Knights instead of Ghru, and a mildly interesting boss fight. The area is slightly more visually interesting than Farron Keep, and you don’t have to spend as much time in it, which earns it some props.

And you’re also not obligated to move through the sludge 90% of the time, which I appreciate. But aside from that, the area is fairly unremarkable, only serving as a house for one of the more...interesting boss fights, if not one of the more challenging ones. 

13. Cemetery of Ash/Untended Graves

These areas are essentially the same, with Untended Graves just having higher skillcap enemies and the whole area is much darker, so I’m putting them in the same slot. 

Now, DS3 is my first proper Souls experience. I’ve watched Let’s Plays of DS1, I never cared for DS2 or Demon’s Souls, and while I would cry tears of joy if I got the opportunity to play Bloodborne, I don’t own a PS4 nor can I justify buying it for the sake of one game. 

So DS3 was my first proper introduction to Soulsborne, and I personally love the Cemetery as a tutorial area. It organically introduces the player to the base concepts of the game, even throwing a side path with an extremely difficult enemy (for new players anyway) to familiarize players with the concept of “I should come back here later”. 

In my first playthrough, I died to Iudex Gundyr the 3rd most out of any boss. Abyss Watchers takes top spot with ~20 deaths, and Dancer is the second spot with around ~17, but I died to Gundyr around 12 times before besting him. And it felt great. 

So, this area very much did it’s job in teaching me how to play Dark Souls, and I remember it fondly for that. 

12. Firelink Shrine

Firelink Shrine was, for me, surprisingly in-depth for what’s essentially a hub center. Walking through all the nooks and crannies in my first playthrough wondering what the hell they were for was interesting, and I loved finding NPCs and seeing them again in Firelink. 

It does a very good job of creating the feeling of safety for the player, which is almost the antithesis of what Dark Souls does normally. There’s a feeling of attachment to the Shrine, to the Firekeeper and the Maiden and Andre, and all the NPCs you meet there. 

It’s visually interesting as well, and there’s always a little sense of “going home” whenever I warp back to level up or buy stuff. 

11. Profaned Capital

My only complaint about this area is that it’s too fucking small. I love the visual aesthetic of the Capital, it feels almost alien and disconnected to the rest of the world. Your first glimpse of it gives you a crawl up your spine, you know something awful happened here and that feeling only increases when you enter the halls and see the hundreds of charred bodies littering the place. 

It’s hostile in a different sense from the rest of the game, the atmosphere of the Capital says that something went very, very wrong, and it’s only by reading item descriptions and piecing things together from context that you figure out what. 

I love the Profaned Capital, and if it was bigger with more to explore and a longer path to get to the boss fight, it would most definitely be in my top ten, maybe even top five. But alas, it’s very small and sadly linear, the path to the boss fight doesn’t give almost any branching options and it’s very easy to miss the entire other half of this area. And when the area is already small, that’s not really a good thing. 

10. Kiln of the First Flame

Odd that the first entry into my top ten is the smallest one in the game, and it feels slightly hypocritical to put it here after criticizing the Profaned Capital for it’s size, but the Kiln is special to me. This was where I conquered my first Dark Souls game, where I overcame a huge challenge. 

The area is aesthetically pleasing as well, very much giving off the sense that this is the end of the world. There isn’t anything past the Kiln, there is just the Kiln and then the emptiness beyond. Looking back you can see the twisted amalgamation of Lothric collapsing in on itself, giving the immediate sense that reality is collapsing in on itself as the First Flame fades. 

It’s a very fitting place for the end of the game, and the final boss, while maybe not the most difficult, is certainly one of the most interesting and most well-designed bosses I’ve seen in gaming. And even though I didn’t play the previous Souls games myself, I knew enough about them to recognize the weight of this fight, especially the second stage. 

And that’s why the Kiln is number 10 for me. 

9. The High Wall of Lothric

The Cemetery of Ash was a fantastic tutorial level, and after beating Gundyr I felt ready for the whole rest of the game. 

And then Lothric. 

The High Wall of Lothric is a very, very good test. It does away with the simple Undead of the cemetery and gives the player actual enemies to fight against, ones that pose a real threat to your life if you misstep. I didn’t die too much in this area, as I had seen a lot of the beginning of the game from a Let’s Play, but the sudden step up in challenge surprised me quite a bit. 

The area is also very nicely laid out, and it doesn’t feel very linear even though it very much is. The game as a whole is very linear compared to it’s predecessors, but in my first playthrough it did a good job at making it feel like it wasn’t. And that’s good enough for me, to be honest. 

Aesthetically pleasing area that holds two very different, but honestly very good boss fights, with suitably challenging enemies, and enough moments to let you know that this game isn’t going to go easy on you. I can’t tell you how many times I died to those god damn archers in the area above the Winged Knight. 

8. Anor Londo

Similarly to the Profaned Capital, I wish this area was bigger. Because as it stands, it’s just a small little nostalgia trip holding an RNG-heavy boss fight that’s underwhelming if you don’t care about the lore.

In fact, this entire area is extremely underwhelming if you don’t care about the lore.

Luckily, I care about the lore, so when I first walked onto that bridge and the words “Anor Londo” came up on my screen, I was grinning like a fool. This place holds a lot of lore heavy significance, especially if you’re interested in Aldrich’s storyline, which I am very much so. 

This area goes into my top ten for lore reasons, and nostalgia reasons. I just really, really wish it was bigger. 

7. Undead Settlement

This place is just cool. It’s really, really fucking big, and I actually missed two of the NPCs you can bring back to Firelink Shrine here. The enemies were never too difficult or rage-inducing, with the exception of the guys with the huge pots and the saws. Those guys are dicks. 

I like the aesthetic of the Undead Settlement, I like the level design, and my first time going through it sticks with me because it’s another area where you can get lost and miss a lot of stuff. 

Unfortunately it houses a pretty underwhelming boss in the Curse-Rotted Greatwood, which gets my vote for one of the most disgusting video game bosses ever. But aside from that little blot, I really like this area. 

6. Cathedral of the Deep

Another area I have a love-hate relationship with. The Cathedral has some very, VERY hostile parts to it that got very frustrating, and if I was ranking these based off of just my blind playthrough it would be much further down. But once I got here in NG+ and knew where all the bullshit was and how to deal with it, I found myself enjoying the area a lot more. 

Aside from the disappointing boss fight, I found the Cathedral to be a truly interesting area both lore-wise and design-wise. It’s intuitive with a lot of shortcuts and it feels like it winds in on itself a lot, it looks very cool and the atmosphere of the area feels very wrong and cursed.

Which is fitting, seeing as it was the home of Aldrich, one of the most unsettling Dark Souls characters ever, in my opinion. 

There are multiple little side paths to go find neat stuff, and although the boss fight is sadly disappointing at best and irritating at worst, I found myself having a lot of fun going through the Cathedral my second time round. 

5. Grand Archives

Oh boy. Top five. I love all these areas, so it’s actually a little difficult to really rank them, and this is where opinions come into play as well.

I should clarify that this is one of my favorite areas only after you’ve dealt with that fucking Crystal Sage. Because going through the Archives with magic being shot at you constantly is stressful, irritating, and not my idea of fun.

Once the Sage is dealt with though and you can actually pace yourself, the area is beautifully laid out with some really weird enemies, and hazards that are actually 100% avoidable if you take the proper measures to do so.

One theme that seems to be present across all of Dark Souls, III especially, is the feeling that the entire world is falling apart, being held together by bits of string and glue. The areas are all almost universally decrepit and unkept, the wildlands areas are all swampy and gross and the habitated areas are either ramshackle and falling apart like the Undead Settlement, gross and unwelcoming like the Irithyll Dungeon, or just abandoned and lost to time like Archdragon Peak.

The Archives is an excellent example of this, with the books disorganized and scattered everywhere, I’d say only 60% of the books are actually on the shelves, and the only inhabitants are the wax scholars and the thralls, with the occasional Lothric Knight to fuck you up.

It has an almost forlorn feeling about it, and it really does a good job at drawing me in.

4. Road of Sacrifices

I hate this area, and I love this area. 

This is, in my opinion, one of the only areas in the game that truly echoes Dark Souls in that it’s very much not intuitively laid out, it’s very easy to have to sit down and take a deep breath and say “fucking christ where the fuck am I supposed to go” as you hug the wall and try and find the goddamn exit to the area. I like that part. The second half of the area is a friendlier Farron Keep in a sense, it’s kinda flat with a lot of trees, but it’s not so inhospitable that it makes you want to pull your hair out. 

The part that frustrates me about this area is the enemies. The harpies that go apeshit and stunlock your ass if you let them transform, and the fucking undead with tree trunks, oh, and the Exile NPCs. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m so terrible at dealing with lance-wielding enemies, so the undead can give me a hard time if I’m not prepared. 

Also dogs. Fuck dogs. 

The Crucifixion Woods is an area I get lost in a lot, I even missed a pretty obvious bonfire because I kept getting turned around. I actually had to look up where the fucking shit I was supposed to find the Crystal Sage because I couldn’t find either doorway that led into that part of the area. 

But, I always have fun in this area, and as a Watchdog of Farron, I certainly see it often enough to have a solid opinion on it. 

3. Lothric Castle

I very much enjoy Lothric Castle for the sole reason that it’s one of the only areas that feels truly challenging without feeling like cheese. 90% of the times I died in Lothric Castle, and trust me I died a lot, it was because I fucked up. 

And it felt quite good to remedy that and start tackling the area properly, it was a challenge that relied on tougher enemies rather than cheese. Except for one section with two rather strong melee enemies and one archer where the archer is in a very inconvenient spot, and can just dick all over you while you’re dealing with the melee guys. 

But aside from that one area, Lothric Castle felt like a proper challenge, one that felt very satisfying to overcome. It’s also just very, very aesthetically pleasing. 

The lore of the Twin Princes and that boss fight itself are also incredible, and it’s probably one of my favorite boss fights ever in gaming, and definitely a contender for my favorite in the game. 

2. Irithyll Dungeon

Oh boy. If anyone’s gonna disagree with me, it’s definitely gonna be here before anywhere else. 

I love Irithyll Dungeon for one reason, and that reason is enough to outweigh the pure rage I feel towards the Jailers.

Irithyll Dungeon is creepy.

The atmosphere and aesthetic of the dungeon is creepy, in a similar sense to the Profaned Capital except with a dash of survival horror, oddly enough. I always feel unsettled when I go through Irithyll Dungeon for any reason, and the enemies just compound that feeling. Even more undead in cages, the baby-faced monstrosities that are so morbidly intriguing I almost don’t want to kill them just so I can get a proper look at them to try and figure out what the actual fuck.

And the Jailers. The source of so much ire and rage, I think they’re one of the most hate enemies in the series across the community. Now, I hate the Jailers as much as anyone else, but I also love them for their lore and aesthetic.

And I also love how they contribute to the atmosphere of the area. Like I said, Irithyll Dungeon is creepy, and it feels distinctly different from the rest of Dark Souls III. It almost feels like something out of Amnesia or Outlast, and the Jailers are a huge reason for that, because you don’t want to fight the Jailers ever unless you have the upper hand.

The Jailers are scary, and terrifying, because they don’t just damage you, they drain your maximum HP as well as increasing your equip load, causing you to fat roll and making you even more vulnerable to taking damage. By the time you get to Irithyll Dungeon you’ve most likely conquered Pontiff Sulyvahn and maybe even Aldrich, so you’re feeling strong and powerful with only one Lord of Cinder left on your plate.

Even if you decide to go through the Distant Manor and into the Dungeon before taking on Sulyvahn, it still means you’ve beaten the Abyss Watchers, you’ve beaten Wolnir and the Deacons, and you feel like a badass.

The Jailers take that feeling of power away from you in a way that can’t be avoided. Unlike other enemies you can’t learn attack patterns to perfectly time your dodges, you can’t cheese them and exploit them. The Jailers are always scary, and they can always make you feel vulnerable. You feel like a lot less of a badass with just 100 max HP that you can’t make go away except by just waiting for the effect to pass, and trust me, there is nothing in this game that can make me panic as much as suddenly starting to fat roll when I’m trying to get away from something.

Irithyll Dungeon as a whole makes the player feel vulnerable and reminds them that no matter how much of a badass they feel like they are, the game can still fuck them up if it chooses to.

1. Irithyll of the Boreal Valley

It was honestly a very, very difficult choice to pick Irithyll or it’s Dungeon as my favorite area in the game, because I honestly love both areas so much for very different reasons, but eventually the lore aspect of Irithyll won out over the Dungeon’s atmosphere and gameplay.

In an almost stark contrast to my earlier comment about how everything is falling apart in Dark Souls, Irithyll stands out as almost the last bastion against the end of the world. Sure, the inhabitants are all Pontiff’s lackeys and the area isn’t exactly vibrant and thriving with life, but it’s eerily lacking the filth and decrepitude that the rest of the areas have. 

I will never forget the first time I set eyes on Irithyll after walking out of the Catacombs of Carthus. I let out an actual, audible gasp and nearly dropped my controller, I just stood there for a good five minutes and just stared.

Irithyll is, in a word, beautiful. It’s almost otherworldly in it’s strange beauty, the way everything is dusted in snow and moonlight. The gothic inspiration to it’s architecture adds a lot to the feeling of Otherness, and you very much feel like an outcast, a stranger. 

The lore of Irithyll is also incredible, with Pontiff Sulyvahn the tyrant and how he essentially set the events that led to Aldrich’s storyline in motion. While my personal favorite Lord of Cinder is definitely the Abyss Watchers, I will say without a doubt that Aldrich has the more interesting story.

And Irithyll and Sulyvahn are the centerpiece of it all, the root of that lore. It also has vague tie-ins to the twin princes and even to Yhorm. 

The lore and the aesthetic of Irithyll alone would propel it into my top five, but when you add the fact that Pontiff Sulyvahn is a fantastic boss fight, if extremely rage-inducing before you figure out how to play around his sheer aggression, along with very well-done level design and some interesting enemies to fight, like the invisible ones where you can only see their eyes, this is definitely my favorite area in Dark Souls III.