#directionless not by choice and against my best efforts!

[1eos]

reading a book on how to navigate a mid life crisis at 26... not bc i feel old but bc im feeling a discontentment for my life's direction usually only felt by a 40 something house wife that just found out her man cheating on her

[puttingfingerstokeys]

a friend in need

this one like, makes no sense within the new kontinuity but like, here ya go--fuck it! Pretty much Shao Kahn is invading (as one does), Kronika is absolutely messing with the timelines, and this is definitely like 25 years in the future so you have Dad!Johnny and a Liu Kang who has just flirted with death by Raiden, who is now wielding Shinnok’s shitty amulet, which means Shinnok is also headless, but like fuck that guy amirite? This time, he doesn’t deliver the head to Revenant Kitana and Liu Kang because they aren’t revenants, there was no assault on the netherrealm. OH and as always, uh, tumblr doesn’t preserve italics so if it’s incoherent ... it’s ‘cause I’m a lazy piece of shit and I didn’t wanna go back through and dig ‘em up. 

I have no idea what I’m doing.

Faraday Cage (implied??)

Prevented Timeline

Energy crackled and radiated outward, sparking off pavement, trees, vehicles, people—anything with which it came in contact. Fires had erupted all over and people were fighting them as best they could, but with little hope of relief. At the center was an angry god, grieved at great loss, enraged beyond his own ability to control.

Earthrealm could not be protected by a weak, fatherly deity; Raiden understood that now, and it scared him. His own weakness scared him. His foolishness scared him. The “justice” of the Elder Gods scared him. He would end this fight and all fights, because they, for some reason, were not. He had to do this; there was no other way. Why did no one understand? He was singular in his purpose and not even the chosen of Earthrealm, Liu Kang, could stand in his way.

Raiden had taken his own advice, a frightful echo from a future as yet unknown, an Armageddon which killed them all, himself included. It had taken many trials and many more errors to realize his own, true meaning. 

“He must win.” 

Raiden had finally reached the conclusion that the “he” in question was not Liu Kang, earthrealm’s chosen, but Shao Kahn, the bloodthirsty outworld dictator. Reality shivered under the threat of the merging, however, and still the Elder Gods did not step in. How far would this have to go? Did they know that Shao Kahn’s army was, even now, trampling the tenuous pact between the realms? Did they care?

“Liu, over here!” It was Johnny Cage, older now, a father, and proud of his little girl, but right now, damn near shitting in his britches to see Raiden this way. He offered an arm and pulled Liu Kang to his feet. He and a few others were taking shelter behind a small building which shook with the march of outworld foot soldiers and presently began to flicker with a terrible energy.

Raiden had warned himself, somehow, that the merging of realms must begin, that this was the meaning of victory in his own prophetic words, for the Elder Gods to step in. Shao Kahn had begun his dark work, however, and still nothing moved, nothing in favor of the forces of light and justice, anyway. It seemed the Elder Gods had a different idea of what it meant to maintain balance.

“Your tournament is canceled, puny god! I have rescinded my generous invitation!” Shao Kahn called, raising his great hammer to the sky as Outworld merged with Earthrealm, tearing down buildings and reconstructing them in hideous amalgams. People fled and were trampled; people stood and were gored. He would line the streets with bodies before the day was out and only Raiden stood before him. Raiden, who had fought his own, dear Liu Kang, who had defied him nearly to death.

Had he died? Was Liu Kang dead? Raiden could not see him. He could not see anything past the haze of fury clouding his vision and judgment. I have killed him, again, as it was said I always will, as I always must. The thought was errant, not his own, and be brushed it aside, focusing on Shao Kahn and the present. It was his only choice.

“He… Johnny—you should have seen his eyes,” Liu Kang gasped, slumping to his rear-end near the wall. Jacqui Briggs stooped to examine him, checking for external injuries, and wishing for a better facility in which to check for internal. She was no expert, but godly lightning probably left a different mark.

“I see ‘em from here, Liu, and it’s… this is fucked,” grunted the Hollywood star, handing the binoculars over to his daughter, Cassie. She shook her head.

“He said we had to let Shao Kahn win, or else the Elder Gods would never step in,” gasped Liu Kang between labored breaths. Something was definitely wrong and if it was not treated soon, it could become permanent. “They… aren’t stepping in—I knew they didn’t care about us. I…” He groaned in agony and Jacqui pushed him back down.

“Hold still, Chosen One, your guts’ve been rearranged by a pissed off god—maybe take it easy.”

“If I ‘take it easy’, we all die,” Liu Kang snapped, jaw tight. Jacqui gave him a look that suggested she would take no lip, no matter how damn chosen he was. She could see from the way he held himself, the way his muscles tensed and tightened, that he was going to get much worse before he got better, especially if he pushed. They might not have a choice, soon enough, but while they did, there was no point risking it.

He met her gaze, burning with rage and sadness, with his own. They were matched in this way, both earthrealm natives with everything and more to lose, both people who had fought, tooth and nail, against this very thing. Sitting by idly and wishing things were otherwise was not something to which either Liu Kang or Jacqui Briggs were accustomed. 

“Dad!” They looked up suddenly at Cassie’s shout, pulled from their moment of mutual grief. She was reaching out to an empty space where Johnny had just been standing. Before she could go after him, Jacqui was at her back, grasping her elbow, hard.

“No,” she hissed, “you’ll be fried—we don’t know if Raiden’s friendly anymore… if he ever was.” Cassie jerked her elbow away, but Jacqui held tight and shook her head. “I mean it, Cass. Your dad’s… gunna do what he’s gunna do, just like mine.”

With effort, she pulled Cassie back and away from the violent arcs of red lightning that were even now consuming trees and landscaping, cars, enemy soldiers, anything within the dome of the thunder god’s power—an area that was growing.

Raiden and Shao Kahn met somewhere in the middle, just beyond the portal the Outworld emperor had opened to begin the invasion and merging of Earthrealm to his blasted home. Still, the Elder gods did not stir.

Shao Kahn’s hammer swung mightily and met a fist that moved with swift violence. A thunderclap resounded, flattening the area and then cratering it. Neither hand nor head of hammer shattered, but that was of no consequence to Shao Kahn, who reached out and hauled Raiden forward by his collar.

The thunder god looked into the emperor’s animal eyes and neither hated nor pitied him. Raiden’s rage was beyond petty hatred for the man which had caused his beloved Earthrealm so much grief over the centuries. He would simply destroy Shao Kahn. It had become singularly simple in his eyes. He had been a fool. He would end this once and for all, for everyone, forever.

Perhaps it was the look, the nearly directionless fury which met his eyes that made Shao Kahn drop Raiden. Johnny Cage, who had worked himself much closer than was probably safe, watched from a ways off and still could not pinpoint what it was that had Shao Kahn backing away from the thunder god.

“It is forbidden for you to fight,” Shao Kahn warned, with more authority and sureness in his voice than it seemed he felt. Even his minions began to back away as Raiden’s arced, red lightning crashed violently into them, disintegrating here, vaporizing there, starting fires all over. Raiden’s chest heaved with the effort of either sustaining the onslaught, or holding it back, Johnny wasn’t sure.

On that heaving chest, Shinnok’s awful amulet pulsed with life and light, beckoning and promising strength. Raiden reached for it, but hesitated, seemingly doubting himself for the merest fraction of a second. It was in that span of time that Shao Kahn regained his courage and swung again. This time, he would have caught the god of thunder on the chin, had it not been for the quick footwork of Johnny Cage.

This time, boots met hammer and the clash was not so even. Shao Kahn drove Johnny back into a building. His back hit concrete and he was certain he felt something snap, but if he gave up now, Raiden was absolutely going to do something stupid. He didn’t understand Shinnok’s power, or even who and what Shinnok really was, or had been, as the case was, but he knew an evil piece of jewelry when he saw it.

“Time for a scene change,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet and spitting blood. The tang of adrenaline was on his tongue and coursed through his veins, making him hyper focus upon this detail or that. Johnny fancied he could hear Cassie screaming somewhere in the distance, but right now, his focus was on the battle before him.

“You are too weak to use that amulet on me, or anyone, thunder god,” Shao Kahn mocked, manufacturing enough bravado to satisfy his immense ego. Raiden grimaced, as if considering whether or not the man was right. He ground his teeth and once more moved to grasp Shinnok’s amulet. Shao Kahn struck again, this time with a boot.

Raiden was forced to block this with a cross before his chest and to step back. He balled one fist and surrounded it with lightning, shaking his head. “You do not know my power,” he growled, “but rest assured, Shao Kahn, you will.” Raiden discharged the lightning at Shao Kahn, who used his hammer as a ground and laughed.

“Pathetic, and weak.” Each descriptor was punctuated with a sharp wag of his finger toward Raiden’s chest and the deadly amulet which sat thereupon.

“I am not weak—I am doing as I have always done. I am protecting Earthrealm.” His hand once more rose to the amulet. “Whatever that takes, I will do it.”

With that, he wound up a massive store of radiant, red energy and hurled it at Shao Kahn. The tyrant was hurled back mightily, taking out a score of his foot soldiers as he flew. Raiden continued forward, his pace slow, but deliberate. The troops of outworld were suddenly cowed by this display, as if their fellows being randomly vaporized had not been enough. Something had shifted, they sensed, and they began to back away. 

“You are forbidden, Raiden!” This time, Shao Kahn’s voice was laced with fear; the confidence he had earlier displayed with his first remark of this kind had evidently deserted him in the face of what Raiden had become. Once more, the deity slowly reached for Shinnok’s amulet. It was as if a very small part of him still fought for his own innocence, whatever might have been left of it.

Meanwhile, Johnny had begun to close the distance between himself and the wrathful god. He could feel his hair standing on end with the force of the red lightning radiating outward from Raiden’s body. He was tense, the actor could see that from where he was, and… Are those tears? He shook off the thought as a stray bolt vaporized a fire hydrant less than a yard from him; it burst into a geyser of city water which soon began raining down upon everyone in the vicinity.

Johnny ducked behind a bike rack, realized that was probably a poor choice of cover, and scuttled along on the ground until he found a trash bin that looked as if it was made of plastic composite, rather than anything that might conduct those wicked red arcs of enraged power. His heart was hammering a thousand miles per hour and for a moment, he wondered if that was the first sign of an electricity-induced heart attack. Maybe he had been struck and did not realize it.Thinking about the ramifications of that hurt his head, so he stopped and decided to do what he did best. 

“Now or never,” he told himself, taking a deep breath and fully expecting to be vaporized like the fire hydrant. It would be guts, however, not water spraying about, if he was lucky. Speaking of the water, too much of it, and Johnny would be zapped for sure; he was already soaked to the bone. Oh like it’s any different than what I’m about to do, he hissed internally, covering his face to keep his sunglasses dry. He needed to be able to see for this one. Johnny simply told himself that god lightning was different than the regular stuff and, in a burst of foolish energy, tossed himself around the trash bin and ran, full tilt, toward Raiden’s position. 

A wayward bolt struck his glasses, tossing them from his face and exploding stars before his eyes. Johnny stumbled and, somewhere in the distance—she sounded thousands of miles away—he thought he could hear Cassie’s voice calling his name. He prayed someone was holding her back, because if this went south, as he was almost sure it would, she would be about to fight a hurricane with a pair of pistols. Raiden was not going to be stopped, but Johnny felt that it was his duty to try. Liu’s shouldered too fuckin’ much already—my turn, he reasoned, forcing himself to keep going, running harder and faster than he had ever done in his life. 

Raiden had stopped his inexorable stride and Shao Kahn looked on in bewilderment as the earthrealm action star closed the gap, running directly into that deadly lightning. He had been so sure Johnny’s miserable back had broken against that building. There was something to be said for the tenacity of a cornered, wounded animal. 

The god turned his head, acknowledging Johnny with eyes as red as his lightning. Sure as shit, Johnny thought, noting that Raiden was, indeed, in tears, though they did not seem to be saline, as a human’s might be—they stood out, even upon his pale flesh, catching light and reflecting it like diamonds—or perhaps rubies, stained by the power of his rage. 

“Stop it, man!” Johnny called, reaching a hand out. Raiden still did not move, but neither did he cease his bombardment. Shao Kahn’s forces were at a standstill, watching, for once uncertain of the correct path. Some were even edging toward the portal, back to outworld and relative safety. “Raiden—you listening to me? You don’t hafta—” 

A bolt struck him square in the chest and he dropped to his knees, eyes wide, staring with pain and fear at the man—the god—who had struck him down. Raiden seemed to shift a little at that and then to turn. Johnny had caught his attention and would have held it but for Shao Kahn’s voice. “An earthrealm fraud has halted your march, Lord Raiden—what sort of god are you?!” He urged his forces forward, but no one stirred. Shao Kahn looked around and once more met Raiden’s eyes, which were again trained upon him. Raiden covered Shinnok’s dark amulet with his hand.

“No more.” 

Cassie continued to scream. Johnny could hear her now. He was coming to, realizing that he was not, in fact, dead, nor even too terribly scorched. At the last moment, evidently, the magic of his strange heritage had leapt up to protect him, but he could feel in his bones that this would not happen again. He had one chance. For Cassie, he thought, all those kids—for Liu and Sonya, for Jax, and Earthrealm. His heart thudded and he started forward, first at a trot, the once more at a leaping gallop. For Raiden. 

Before the god could respond, Johnny Cage had tossed his arms around that broad, pillar-like torso. He had never realized just how big Raiden actually was, and thought perhaps he had allowed himself to retain a human size when dealing directly with them. He had to have been at least seven feet tall and change, but Johnny held tight all the same. He could feel the surge of anger within his own body, as if it belonged to him, originated IN him—and it scared him. 

“Christ,” he grunted, “is this what you’re feeling?” 

It was then that the outworld dictator chose to rush them. With him leading the charge, his hordes felt renewed confidence and vigor and lunged forth as one, howling their triumph over earthrealm. Raiden seemed frozen in place, but only for a moment. He seemed suddenly to come back to himself, as if he had been far away, no longer in control of his limbs or actions—certainly of his lightning. 

He wrapped one powerful arm around Johnny, who still held him, and with the other, lashed a wide, sweeping arc of blue-white lightning across the crowd, thus releasing his hold on the wicked amulet. Shao Kahn’s hammer protected him, but his troops were not so lucky. There was a smell of ozone and charred flesh left hanging in the air when Shao Kahn opened his eyes and straightened. 

“Send your champion to face me, then!” Shao Kahn shouted, beating his chest, his hubris undiminished. His tone was desperate, and he seemed far too eager, too frantic, to regain and retain control over this place. Johnny looked to Raiden, then back to Shao Kahn. He knew what this meant. He’d been at this long enough.

“So you’re declaring Mortal Kombat?” Johnny was going to be absolutely clear on this one, since… god contracts and all that—or something. He wasn’t wholly certain on this point, but it seemed to be the right thing to do. Shao Kahn seemed actually to consider this. His troops were slaughtered or retreating, Raiden was placated for the time being, but who knew how long that could last? His konquest had begun unlawfully, but for the loophole of his not quite initiating a merging of realms. That would be his next step—because if there existed no earthrealm champions to defend her, then who would stop him?

“Yes, earthrealm clown,” Shao Kahn rumbled, slapping the handle of his great hammer on one rough palm.

“Mime, actually,” came another voice from across a few lanes of what would have been traffic. Emerging from the alley where they were taking shelter, Liu Kang led their friends, injured and whole, into the open. He was supported by a grimacing Jacqui Briggs, but it was clear from his expression that no was not an answer he would be hearing today. Raiden’s shoulders sagged a little in relief; he had not killed Liu Kang after all. 

“Thank you, Liu—wait hang on…” Johnny narrowed his eyes at his friend, a younger version of Liu Kang, one he had not seen in years, that was, before all this fuckery came about. The Shaolin fighter did not respond and seemed, for a moment, not to be able to meet Johnny’s eyes. In fact, if Johnny wasn’t tripping completely, he could have sworn that the guy was blushing. Still got it, he thought, grinning. 

Before he could continue, however, Cassie broke into a gait he very much recognized as one that signaled extreme displeasure. Her face held a look of grim determination as she stomped toward her father. Johnny knew he was in for it and backed away, hands up.

“Whoa, whoa, pumpkin, easy, huh?” He looked between Shao Kahn and his daughter and realized he would rather face the outworld tyrant. “C’mon—easy, what was your old man s’posed to do?”

“Not get fried by a pissed off god and leave me a fucking ORPHAN? MAYBE?” Her voice held an edge of hysterical panic he did not like. “Oh. Shit…” she stammered, stopping just as her path crossed Raiden’s. “I’m—sorry… I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” said the god, inclining his head toward her, “but you are not incorrect.”

Cassie was sheepish and mumbled another apology. Raiden seemed to understand her position, however, and addressed it no more. Instead, he turned his attention upon the waiting tyrant.

“When will this foolishness subside so that I can begin the konquest of your filthy realm, Raiden?!” Shao Kahn was growing impatient. “The earthrealmer has declared Mortal Kombat and I accept, on the terms that, when I win, the merge will begin and you, pitiful servant of the Elder Gods, will stand aside and bow to their will as you have always done!”

Johnny’s jaw tightened at this hateful commentary upon Raiden’s character, but for once in his life, he held his tongue. Now was not the time to bandy words with dictators and monsters; now was the time to make them eat those words with a garnish of ball-crushing whoop-ass.

“It is my destiny to fight Shao Kahn,” Liu Kang hissed, eyeing Johnny, his gaze flinty. The hardness in his voice and tone belied the real fear that they were thwarting destiny and tempting a fate no one was equipped to handle. His eyes snapped to Raiden, then, pleading. Raiden shook his head. Jacqui echoed the movement. Even now, protesting this, Liu leaned heavily upon her, in no condition to fight. 

“Guess it’s not, Liu—stand back and watch.” Johnny would hear no more, turning toward his opponent and shouting. “I accept your terms, Shao Kahn—winner take all.” I mean, I’m not gunna take over outworld, but like… it sounds pretty good when I say it out loud, his fevered brain nattered.

He must win. Raiden’s own, incomprehensible words came back to him in a sickening echo he still wondered, even now, to whom his future self had been referring. He had been so sure it was Shao Kahn, but that sureness had nearly killed his chosen champion. He met Liu Kang’s furious gaze.

“By the rules of Mortal Kombat, the challenge must be taken up by the one who declared it. I am sorry, Liu Kang, but this fight indeed belongs to Johnny Cage.”

Johnny heard his name, but no more. He was focused, utterly and completely, upon Shao Kahn, who stood a few yards hence, leaning upon the head of his hammer and observing the company with such arrogance, it turned Johnny’s guts. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his head upon broad shoulders. 

“Okay big guy, you heard the god. Let’s fuckin’ go.” He dropped into a deep stance and beckoned Shao Kahn. The tyrant chuckled, the sound a raspy, hollow thing, mirthless and full of contempt and triumph for a victory he had not yet won.

Johnny made the first move, using his distance to gain speed and launch into a combination of forceful, heavy kicks which utilized his size and the length of his legs. Shao Kahn blocked these with little effort and jabbed in return, hoping to push Johnny off balance. 

The years had made him wily and this was not the Johnny Cage that Shao Kahn remembered, so cocksure and arrogant, his insecurities showing upon his countenance like a glowing sign, pushed by his own self doubt to showboat and make light of his own skill. This Johnny was an old veteran of many ugly fights; he was vicious, clever, and quick. 

Using the tyrant’s momentum against him, Johnny ducked around him and launched into a hard kick to the back of Shao Kahn’s head. This, the tyrant bore with an enraged snarl, a stumble, and a wide, arcing swing of the hammer. That swing, too, Johnny dodged, spitting in his opponent’s direction. “Gunna hafta do better’n that, slugger!”

“So your arrogance has not been tempered,” Shao Kahn commented. “Good, good. That will make your defeat all the more satisfying.” He laughed viciously and swung the hammer down, shaking the ground around them. Johnny found himself out of sorts for a moment, but it was long enough for Shao Kahn to catch him up in one hand, tossing the hammer aside and plying both powerful limbs to their grim task. He lifted Johnny over his head and began to bend. “Do you see your champion, Thunder God?”

Raiden, formerly watching with a mask of impassive disinterest, was suddenly assaulted by visions of Johnny Cage, broken nearly in two, over the shoulders of this selfsame tyrant. He could hear Shao Kahn’s triumphant laugh, the horrified scream of Sonya Blade, the heartbroken, barely-audible moan of Liu Kang. As he blinked, the entire scene flashed behind his eyes and, without thinking, he stretched forth one hand and fired a bolt of pure, blue-white lightning.

With a single shot, Raiden, god of thunder and protector of earthrealm, ended it all. 

Shao Kahn was vapor, dust in the light breeze that had begun to pick up. Johnny picked himself up, heart hammering once more, and looked between the two. Shao Kahn had been mere moments from snapping him in half, powerful hands crushing him wherever they reached, his back beginning to feel the strain of the man’s prodigious strength when, all at once, it was over and he was on the ground. 

Coughing and righting himself, Johnny’s only thought was for the thunder god and he rushed back to where Raiden stood, staring, shocked (there was a pun here someplace), at his own hand, as if he had never before seen it. The amulet, curiously, remained upon his chest, unused, bearing no mark of having been harnessed.

“I…” Raiden stammered as Johnny reached him. The others now turned their attention upon Johnny Cage and Raiden, who had sunk to the ground together, Johnny’s rough hands finding either side of Raiden’s face. They were murmuring—mostly Johnny, in point of fact—and no one was sure if they should get close. Liu Kang directed them away and gestured that they ought to start dealing with the portal, which was still open and the merging, which was, indeed, continuing its inexorable work. He hoped, silently, that the Elder Gods actually did decide to step in, because he was no sorcerer, nor was he a god and could not see himself becoming either in the near future.

“Hey,” Johnny hissed, “it’s okay—it’s gunna be fine… You finished it, y’know? It’s—”

“It is not over, Johnny Cage,” responded the god, eyes downcast. “I have upset the balance; the Elder Gods will be furious. The consequences—”

“Seriously,” Johnny interrupted, “fuck the Elder Gods—what’ve they done for us, huh?” Raiden’s eyes opened wide at these words of blasphemy and he reached out to grasp the lapels of Johnny’s vest.

“You know not of what you speak, Johnny Cage,” warned Raiden. Johnny hated that fearful look on Raiden’s face. It was foreign and wrong and did not belong there. Johnny scowled deeply.

“I know a thing or three about shit parents… Listen, this whole… fatherhood thing, y’know, it blows sometimes—no offense Cass; I love ya pumpkin—and it’s… like a never-ending cavalcade of horseshit, nonsense, and doubt.” He shook his head. “I had ONE. I can’t imagine being the… like, dad of a whole-ass world…realm… thingy.” Pursing his lips, Johnny searched for his next words, choosing them carefully. “We spend our whole damn lives worrying and wondering if we did all we could—if we fucked up somewhere along the way and if that… y’know, if it caused more pain than it should’ve, or… more than we knew at the time, or could ever know.” He sighed. “And yeah, it’s gunna do that—it will do that. You’re going to hurt your kids and sometimes meaning well isn’t the be-all, end-all… the ends don’t always justify the means and all that shit… But the bottom line here is that a good parent does THAT, y’know, looks back and… worries… about the process. Getting there ain’t always half the fun, big guy—and frankly, whoever-the-fuck got you here, where you are right now? They’re not the good kind. Just sayin’.”

Raiden looked as if he had never been told that the Elder Gods were poor parents. He looked as if he had never considered them parents at all, which Johnny supposed made sense, since they weren’t exactly physical beings or whatever, but sometimes, one had to wonder at the “my ways are higher than your ways” explanation. He, still holding either side of Raiden’s face, pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “We’re gunna be all right, man—I promise. I… we… no one’s gunna let anything happen to you—y’know or earthrealm, or whatever.” He had clearly run out of words, for the time being.

“Thank you, Johnny Cage,” whispered Raiden solemnly. “Your faith and fair words mean more to me than you can know.”

“Ah, one more thing, though.” Evidently, Johnny was not completely out of words. “Just… Just Johnny, please? Whenever I hear the whole thing, I kinda assume I’m in deep shit—y’know and y’really don’t wanna go there with a god—‘specially not the kind who can do… y’know, what you just did.”

Raiden regarded what he had just done very carefully, then regarded Johnny. This, he supposed, was a request he could grant, but it felt strange, not addressing him that way.

“If I am correct, then we are, all of us, in ‘deep shit’.”

“Lord Raiden,” Liu Kang called, hobbling toward them. “Forgive me, but that portal isn’t closing itself and I…”

Raiden shook his head and stood, grasping Johnny’s hands and pulling the man with him. “I will make this right,” he promised, stepping away from the mortals and lifting into the air. Once more, energy crackled all around, but it bore the tranquil, blue-white glow that they were accustomed to seeing. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief at that.

Cassie approached her father slowly. He seemed dazed. She could have slapped him, but she wasn’t sure that wouldn't trigger some kind of heart attack. Johnny’s eyes were wide, fixed on the hovering thunder deity. 

“You ah… okay, dad?”

“I don’t… I dunno, kid. I’m not sure. But he is… and right now, that’s kinda what we need.”

[fuse2dx]

August ‘20

Ruiner

Ruiner frames its action at an isometric tilt. There’s a lot of red; in the game’s interface, as the prominent colour of the neon lighting that adorns its stages, and in the blood that is frequently spilled. Its cyberpunk setting isn’t anything particularly new, but as a unifying aesthetic, the glitchy effects, and out-there personalities doing their best to cope in a dystopia do well to build a convincing and intriguing world. Stages are action packed and throb with electronic noise and big loud industrial bass hits, with the play being akin to an arena shooter; enemies surging at you in bite size, minute-at-a-time waves, with each of these closing out with a grading screen serving as the pat on the back to keep that dopamine rhythm pulsing. It’s a pretty hypnotic cocktail.

These stages evolve out of a singular hub city, and while it’s not particularly big, there’s just the right level of hubbub, and it has a lovely Hirusawa Susumu track acting as an excellent, melancholic mood-setter. Based on the size of its world and the the quick-fire action being split between a very small number of stages, it’s not surprising to say it’s fairly brief - I mean, how could it get so big? But what is important is that it’s plenty of fun and and has style by the bucketload. I got a good kick out of it.

Carrion

On one hand, a horror game where you play the horror is just the kind of flip on a genre that’s needed to freshen things up a bit. On the other, it’s one straight out of the spoof ‘Peter Molydeux’ playbook. What a carri-on.

... I’m sorry. After your initial escape from a lab, Carrion centres around a hub world, with individual stages then breaking off to allow for more specific themed stages. What you’re trying to do within these is to spread your big, goopy self around, where certain spots will act as save points but also count toward unlocking an alternative path back to the hub and opening up new routes in the process. What’s unique to this particular metroidvania take is that while there are new skills that open up new routes, your movement in general is uniquely freeform - point in a direction and off you go, free of any worries about platforming and the gravity that’d otherwise bind you. While it may not be the most precise movement given the size to which you grow - and boy does this become a point during some forms of combat - it does remain responsive, and quite fun to simply shamble about like a giant congealed blob of bloody, multi-toothed sinew-y mess. Everything scales up nicely on both sides of the fighting, with distraught pistol-equipped humans turning to shielded folks with flamethrowers, all the way up to drones and mechs that are just as mobile and / or deadly as yourself, even in spite of your own upgrades that allow for more ranged, varied, and sharper extremities. It’s not especially long, and is never so taxing as to demand too much expertise of you, but it is fun and importantly, quite unlike anything else out there.

Yoku’s Island Express

Pinball continues to feel like a lost art form to me, with the nuance of skilled play being more like a foreign language than another type of game you can easily pick up. Yoku, newly-appointed postmaster, is but a tiny little bug, and as such is indebted to these skills in his efforts to travel and clamber about an environment much larger than he. Flippers are casually littered about to shoot you from one area to the next, but there’s also plenty of sections you’re led to by the story that are small yet just detailed enough to play like a neatly sectioned off area of a complete table - complete with requirements for precise shots to move forward, and those inevitable moments where you have to sit back and watch as your ball falls with miserable, exacting precision between the flippers. Failure typically sets you back a few pickups, but given these are just as quickly re-earned, you’re never punished too hard - there’s certainly no three strikes and out mentality here. It’s a very friendly interpretation of pinball’s mechanics, and there’s a decent enough story layered on top, with its characters and art demonstrating enough pleasant charm that you can definitely see this being a great way to introduce pinball to a younger audience. That’s not to say it’s not enjoyable from an older player’s point of view - just that you know what’s being presented is a wisely palatable version of a classic hobby, rather than the arse-kicking ordeal you may be used to. 

Rime

I am certain that Rime would love me to compare it to a certain Fumito Ueda PS2 game. There’s the ultra-minimal scene that’s set as a boy washes up on an island; a sparse, beautiful, somewhat Mediterranean set of landscapes, and with very few ways to interact with it all that don’t involve clambering over things or shouting out in wordless desperation. But as you’ll have noted, I haven’t found it in myself to justify using that game’s name here. 

As much as I wanted to give this a chance, it often felt directionless, uninspired, and at worst, slow and tedious. The puzzles are derivative of any number of games I’ve played before, and the biggest danger is that you might assume as to their difficulty and over-engineer your approach, rather than not be able to tackle them. The platforming is simplistic and regularly drawn out with ledges, ledges, and more ledges to climb across and dangle from; even if you were to find a way to fall to your doom, as is tempting, it is unlikely to take you back much further than a few seconds. Crucially, there’s really very little to sink your teeth into on any front, and even when the game does finally start to weave some plot threads into the game’s canvas, it’s well into the latter half - long after I’d already racked my brains for any hint of an allegory that’d fit, and given up on expecting one. Sadly, to the point that the actual story felt like a cheap afterthought when it did finally start to unravel. This bounced off me much harder than I’d expected - I came away wishing it had forged a bit more of an identity and a purpose rather than just an aesthetic strung together with some weak elements of play. 

If Found

As far as interactive elements in visual novel-type games go, If Found has a different approach to most. The story’s primarily told by means of a diary - one that’s full of witty observations, personal reflections and enigmatic sketches - that you actively erase as a means to push events along. The diary belongs to Kasio, a trans girl returning to their small Irish hometown after a stint away at university in the city; a return that’s not met in the warmest or most understanding fashion. As a mechanic, the erasure of this diary is loaded with meaning; peeling back layers of a scene often matches a more poignant set of observations, and the scrubbing of such personal details away offers a painful reflection on an identity being chipped away at. It’s very much a story about finding one’s self, about coming of age, and as it rides these highs and lows it does an excellent job in making you ride along these alongside the characters, and it does one hell of a job to make you think about the compassion that you both see and offer in the world outside. I’ll put my hands up and say that there are some elements of the story running in parallel to this main one that didn’t gel with me quite so well, but this is a minor footnote to an otherwise highly enjoyable play through. In a short space of time, Annapurna have done a great job in winning me over with their publishing choices - particularly in holding up the kinds of voices and ideas that fit these smaller titles so perfectly. 

Double Kick Heroes

It’s a rhythm game. I like rhythm games! It’s about a zombie apocalypse. Oh no. It’s... a heavy metal rhythm game? Ok, maybe we can work with this.

After a trailer name dropping a bunch of familiar artists - Jinjer, Carpenter Brut, Gojira - what surprised me straight off was that none of these licensed artists featured in the game’s story mode. They’re all sectioned off in a separate menu, and while on the bright side they’ve each given a unique stage with a visual theming in keeping with the bands in question, it feels like a bit of a missed opportunity. Instead, all tracks throughout the story were composed by just one person, and with only a small handful of featured musicians being included to diversify things. It starts with more (arguably) palatable hard rock numbers, but goes up to and includes grindcore, death metal, black metal and the like, meaning that not only is it going to put a lot of folks off right away, but that it’s asking a heck of a lot for one composer to cover all of these sub-genres with the appropriate care. While it was refreshing to hear some types of music I’d normally not expect to hear in a game, some tracks inevitably grated, and while I enjoyed some others, I wasn’t ever bowled over too strongly either.

The story itself is fairly by the numbers. It sees an on-tour band fighting back against a zombie uprising, and has unsubtle references to any number of heavy artists, albums and songs shoe-horned in at every opportunity. It also bears the hallmarks of its dialogue being written by someone that has a very particular sense of humour which personally all fell very flat. While the team undoubtably do love music, the over-enthusiastic style rubbed me in a similarly uncomfortable fashion as Jack Black does regularly, with his half-comedian, half-musician schtick. The gameplay itself is based around the drum parts of its songs also corresponding to different weaponry on your car that holds the hordes back, and while this on its own can prove tricky, higher difficulties also mounts other expectations - like steering your vehicle, or alternating pedals to shoot different parts of the screen. Some of my frustration with all of this is likely my own fault for having chosen to play on the ‘Hard’ difficulty, but traditional wisdom feels a little bit lost when you can still get damaged when your combo meter is racked up well into triple digits.

In all, Double Kick Heroes presented some pretty unique gaming scenarios; like having to work out the best controller configuration to play blast beats with, or asking out loud “did I just hear the words ‘we are Genital Absolution’ coming from a Nintendo console?”, and it’s clearly a small team working on something they really care about. I respect that. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I was hoping, but I hope they’re proud of what they’ve created.

Manifold Garden

A puzzle game taking significant inspiration from the works of M.C. Escher is a pretty good starting point in my eyes. It being presented in a wonderful manner certainly doesn’t harm either; from the UI all the way into the game, it’s beautifully clean and defined, opting for delicate shading rather than messy textures, and with its intricate, recursive geometric patterns, you’ll likely find cause to stop and take stock on a regular basis.

One button looks after your basic interactions with the world (pushing, picking up, and so on), with your other crucial way of interacting with the world being the ability to approach a surface and then assign it as ‘the new down’ - spinning everything about an axis, planting your feet to it, and changing your perspective on everything. There’s a nice steady introduction of puzzle pieces as you ease your way in, but they all stem gracefully from these simple mechanics. That I - not the world’s greatest puzzle gamer - was able to enjoy this without every getting too stuck may hint at it perhaps not being as complex as some puzzle fiends might desire, however this amounted to me coming out the other side with great waves of satisfaction, and nought but positives to say. I would go so far as to say that it’s the most fun I’ve had playing a puzzle game in a long, long time, and to boot it’s also perhaps the game where I’ve used the screenshot button the most copiously. Wonderful stuff.

[fairycosmos]

I feel like I have nothing left. no dreams, no real interests, nothing that matters. I'm just floating through life with no clue what to do with it. I just want to be in an eternal state of unconsciousness

:(( hey i'm sorry to hear that, my love. i know what you mean. the feeling of being numb to everything, uninvolved, unable to find what you're looking for, or not even knowing in the first place. it's a very painful position to be in, though i hope you know that you're absolutely not alone and many people out there know what it's like. this lack of motivation and comfort is a common indicator that your mental health is suffering at the moment, which obviously completely changes the way you see things. you may feel completely certain that you have no prospects, and no hope, but a large part of that could be the unresolved issues in your mind convincing you of illusions that aren't true. i know it's not what you want to hear, but if you haven't done so already, i'd really urge you to talk to someone about what's going on. your first instinct will always be to reject the idea but actively forcing yourself to make a connection to the tangible world and your actual life can do wonders. your parents, a friend, a counselor, your doctor, a hotline - the options are endless, and they ARE for you, despite what your brain is telling you. the knee jerk reaction with be to continue to spiral, but that's just the self destructive part of you talking, it won't lead anywhere. you're not by yourself and you don't have to behave as if you are. there's no magic solution or immediate cure to what you're going through, but there is the topic of control, and doing what you can on and objective level to be there for yourself, to make yourself heard. it's hard, and it feels impossible until you do it, but it's not. motivation and inspiration doesn't just appear out of nowhere, you have to start picking at it and curating it. only trouble is, if there is a deeper internal issue going on, you may not be able to recognize it even if you find it. which is why i think seeing a professional is genuinely the best way to go for you. there's low cost options if you're worried about that, and there should be numerous mental health resources in your area. you're not trapped. i'm telling you straight up. i get that it's daunting, and i'm not asking you to make any big decisions right now. i'm just asking you to seriously consider, on a realistic level, what you need. your mental health is obviously just as important as your physical health and if there's an issue, it'll need treatment, just like anything as would. whether it's through medication or therapy, there are so many ways uproot your current belief system and to adapt to using healthier coping mechanisms. having someone consistent to talk to will offer you multiple perspectives so you're not blinded by your own pain and point of view. figuring out why you feel so far away is the first step towards coming back to yourself, allowing things to matter to you again. it all adds up. some days will still be bad, some days you won't know what to do, some days being directionless is the only choice you'll have. and that's alright. if you're doing what you can to work on your mindset, even in the smallest of ways, you're going to be okay. once you're in a better headspace it's easier to discover your dreams, to find your place. you can build from the ground up, knock it all down, rebuild. over and over. take care of yourself and the rest follows in time. it's just a matter of making that initial choice. it's fucking difficult to seek/accept help when you're in such a bad place, when you feel like there's no point or that you're undeserving, but that's all the more reason to reach out. hating yourself to such an extent is not normal, and can be remedied. i can't stress it enough. you may not want to, you may feel afraid, you may not want to put in the effort. but your future self is going to thank you. regardless of whether or not you know what to do with it - you, against all odds, have this life. you're alive, and you will feel that way again. it's the rarest thing in the universe, just to be here. it's so easy to become disillusioned with the world, and i don't blame you for it at all, but taking the bigger picture into account is important sometimes. endless unconsciousness is on the way for all of us - trust me, you do not want to jump the gun on that one. no matter how sad or awful you feel inside sometimes. you may like the idea of it, but the reality of it would solve nothing. look, you have all the time in the world to create your own meaning and purpose. you don't need to worry about proving yourself. we're all born with an inherent worth, even if you can't see your own. the experience of living itself is the whole point, and you're doing it. the fact that you're still here, and trying, speaks volumes about your character and your level of resilience. you truly do not have to have all the answers right now. all you can do is look at what's in your hands, what you can positively change in your life, and then begin that process one step at a time. it's fine if it takes a while, fine if it doesn't happen the way you're expecting it to. as long as you're trying, and being honest with yourself and those around you. i know words don't come close to helping when you're in such a foggy and distant place. i understand that. but you sent the anon for a reason, and that's cause i think you know on some level that admitting to what's going on is an inevitability, and it's alright to give into it. i solidly believe that where you're at right now is temporary, a stepping stone in your existence. every negative thought and feeling, no matter how strong and potent, will pass. they're not worth giving everything up over. and that's always going to be the bottom line. please take care and truly think about how you can improve upon your mental well being before you make any sort of long term desicion, alright? i'll be rooting for you. i hope you find some peace of mind. let me know if you need a friend or someone to talk to about it all, i'll be here. sending warmth your way. keep safe. and don't hesitate to call someone if you feel like you're at risk. the option is always there, always.

[annarosewriting]

Facebook Sucks.

To be fair though, all social media kind of sucks.

But Facebook is where the focus of my hatred lies. 

It’s sole purpose upon conception was to rank girls on how hot they were (how have we, as a society, all forgotten that fact?), it fucked with the 2016 election AND it’s stealing our data and giving us ads for products we thought about once five years ago. 

(I also recently learned they took down my girl, Liz Warren’s ads because she, correctly, called them out on their bullshit. We truly live in a dystopian society.) 

Facebook is filled with Local’s whose narrow view of the world helped get Donald and Co. in office and brought fucking measles back. (VACCINATE YOUR KIDS. FUCK.) 

It’s dripping with racist, “all lives matter!” bullshit and sexist, “well what about men’s rights” garbage. Relatives who believe click bait articles over NPR. And of course, everyone only posting The Good Shit that’s happening to them.

I was bored at work the other day and got on Facebook which was my first, and only, mistake. I scrolled down my feed and counted two proposals, one person buying a whole ass house and seven people getting accepted into their dream jobs/higher ed programs.

And for the hottest of seconds, I hated all of those people. I blamed all of my problems on them.

It was their fault I felt like I wasn’t good at my job. Their fault that I was feeling stuck. It was their doing with their emoji-laden announcements that I was feeling overworked, overlooked and under-appreciated. 

Luckily I was able to reign it in and cut those feelings off at the pass. Because that’s ridiculous. And also I know myself well enough that if I did let myself go down that path a depresh sesh would hit so hard and fast that the rest of my week would be ruined.

I think the problem with Facebook and it’s hotter, more successful, cousin Instagram, is that it props up the idea that everyone’s performance art piece they call Life is a perfect, Academy-Award winning darling, that everyone can’t stop talking about.

Except for Twitter. That’s the only place where true Messy Bitch Culture is accepted, allowed and, to a certain extent, celebrated so it can stay. 

In general, I’m very tired of social media. Which can’t bode well for the fact that I chose that as a vital part of my career BUT it doesn’t change the fact it’s an exhausting source of time, energy and a horrifying mix of performance and revenue that society can’t seem to quit. 

I’m weary of feeling like I have to perform constantly. For feeling like I always have to be ON. That I need to measure up to what other people think success is. That my life needs to be one thrilling life event after another. 

In the past, I spent a lot of time, energy and heartache constructing a poorly designed house of cards via Facebook and Instagram posts to prove that I was Someone who was Cool and Fun and Flirty and Someone Who Deserved to Be Adored By Everyone. 

Every day I added to the shoddily constructed set that was my hideously low budget, community theater performance of My Fantastic Life (trademark pending).

Showing off before and after shots of my weight loss. Trying to prove I was in a Cool Liberal Arts College Scene. Snapchatting the evidence of me drinking shitty alcohol and going out. Trying to insinuate that guys wanted to date me. Throwing up full ass albums on Facebook just to prove I had a big ole group of BFF’s. 

I wanted to prove I wasn’t alone!! I wasn’t miserable!!! I wasn’t hanging out with the same two people over and over again!!! I didn’t feel directionless!!! I was someone who had a big group of friends!! Guys wanted to date me!! I had an endless supply of shitty booze and frat parties right at my fingertips!!! I was the QUEEN of having the Classic College Experience and being Someone Who Was Popular!!!!

And I was profoundly, truly miserable. 

The shitty booze caused me to say and do things that I deeply regret. Not to mention the violent hangovers they caused. 

All the boys turned out to be garbage and made me feel even WORSE about myself. Not that that’s a surprise.

The big group of friends disappeared. I was more focused on me and what I could get out of others than being a supportive friend. 

I was wasting so much time, energy and effort into trying to impress a phantom audience instead of trying to figure out what would actually make me happy.

I was doing things and participating in activities that went against what I believed in. 

I was hurting and depressed. 

So, shit blew up in my face. 

It took an overhaul of my life and a long time to realize that that was a learning experience I desperately needed. And because of it, I like who I am a lot more now. 

It made me realize that I don’t care about the numbers on social media. The only reason I’m still attached to it is Chris Evans daily tweets dragging the GOP, getting daily body positive inspiration and to keep tabs on all the members of 1D. 

Except for Zayn. Fuck Zayn. 

It taught me that I can post whatever the fuck I want because truly, who gives a shit. We’re alive on a rock hurtling in space and we’re concerned by how many people will look at a shitty picture of food?? Let me post shitty Captain America meme’s in PEACE.

Most importantly it taught me how I want to use social media and the effect I want it to have on me and the effect I want to have on it. 

I like TYPING IN ALL CAPS ABOUT THINGS I LOVE. 

I love tweeting 40 times in an hour then not tweeting for a month straight. 

I love posting selfies of myself over and over again.

I love not posting on Facebook so no one from high school can know what I’m doing. 

It can be hard to capture the messier, more vulnerable parts of life though. 

Pictures of me modeling can’t capture how violently I beat myself up for skipping a workout or for how ugly I’ve felt for the past few weeks. 

Pictures of me with friends, smiling and having fun don’t reveal the self-doubt that I’m a bad friend and the fear that they’ll all decide to leave me.  

A snapshot of me and my family isn’t a great way to reveal the fear I have of what I’ll do when my parents are gone. 

The Insta story of the Fun Office Thing I’m doing doesn’t convey the many days and hours I sit at my desk, trying to look busy, feeling like I’ll never measure up and how unsure I am of the career choice I made. 

Snapchats of me going out don’t reveal the many nights I’m plagued by the persistent fear that what I’m doing with my life isn’t enough and that I need to do more, more, more, more. 

So it’s challenging to convey the harder, messier sides of life on social media. But I think it’s important though. It can make people feel less alone and who doesn’t want to feel less lonely on this bitch of an earth? 

Recently, I’m caught between the rock and a hard place of, “Why bother posting that? Who even cares?” And “Might as well post that. Who cares?” 

At the end of the day, we all have different thoughts and have read thousands of think pieces on social media. How our society uses and abuses it. How it brings us closer together or further apart. How it’s the best thing to happen to us or the worst. 

So why do I even bother posting this? Who even cares? In the grand scheme of things, does it even matter?

Probably not. 

But I might as well. 

Who cares? 

[leo--chimaira-blog]

New Face of Fear

Leo wished he’d been a little smarter with the whole letting Noah out of his cage at the request of Reza, Cahill, and one unknown werewolf. The Family finding out about it was inevitable, as Dharm always knew about problems before they even happened, yet he felt like he could’ve played up his part a bit more. They could’ve thrown him around a little more (though he still had a colossal, massive hand-shaped bruise on his face from that highly dangerous alpha, Cahill, which definitely helped), or threatened more creatively to make it feel more like he had no choice in the matter. The way things went, he all but rolled out the red carpet for them and sent them away with goodie bags, which the Family certainly wouldn’t be happy hearing.

Here, there weren’t secrets (or, he wasn’t allowed secrets of his own, the hypocritical snakes), or so much as the whitest of fibs, there were sins that were temporarily overlooked by Dharm until they built up enough to warrant punishment. Today, Leo realized as his phone buzzed with an ominous Meet me in the basement, was the day he reached the end of his chain.

Well, freedom was nice while it lasted. A small, weak part of him was looking forward to having things like personal agency locked back away by the Gift, because really, he didn’t even know how to begin to process that their whole group murdered nonhumans without so much as letting them say goodbye to their families. The Family dismissed them as a liability, something to be exterminated, but in reality, every creature was different, and even if they were evil through and through, it was still insanely cruel to let them all starve to death, or keep them in cages like he’d done to Noah, or shoot them in the head like Maryse ordered of that intruding man. Leo didn’t know how to go about living with that on his shoulders, couldn’t begin to fathom.

Going against Dharm was already a strain on his poor mind, as he suffered from feeling insect legs up and down his spine and bat wings all through his guts and his neck muscles were so tense from it all he’d probably have knots in them until he died. The link was too faint to do anything except hum unhappily and occasionally make him spout propaganda when he was trying to talk to people. He didn’t want to continue to act in a way that made those effects continue, plus Dharm probably had a lot to say about responsibility and consequences.

More than anything, Leo wished he didn’t know. He wished he was capable of returning to Dharm’s arms and accept whatever fate was planned for his insubordination. And with the Gift backing his dad up, he may have no choice but to bend to his will.

That in itself didn’t scare Leo. It’d been the dynamic since day one. Everyone else, however, the ones outside their control, all running around directionless and loveless that he found off-putting. He had purpose with Dharm.

But after everything he’d seen… it was all a lie. How could they have everyone’s best interest at heart when that involved promising to rehabilitate nonhumans and then neglecting them until they died in agony? They knew it was wrong enough to hide.

Leo wasn’t supposed to know. His role was to struggle, to be a gentle, malleable prince who’d only toughen up when Dharm died and it came time for him to inherit the Relics, keeping his faithful aunt and uncles by his side to advise, lofty positions safe even as the crown changed heads. Certainly none of them expected him to find out about their sick little setup, much less start developing opinions of his own on the matter.

At the point, he didn’t have a choice. Leo couldn’t just go back to being ignorant, as appealing as it was, no matter what he faced in the basement.

He puttered around the kitchen for another minute, drinking a cup of water to stall for time and prepare.

Already, the old letters branded into the small of his back throbbed in anticipation, as they were a favorite target of Dharm’s when it came time to be physical. Leo wished he’d pick another place to torment; the scars healed slow, flesh so ruined from the initial fire and all the times it’d been reopened, toyed with, or scorched again that it scarcely closed up anymore. Follow, it once read, inflicted with love and the desire for Leo to take its meaning to heart, but the letters were now warped almost beyond recognition.

Despite his numerous reservations and growing sense of dread, Leo’s instinct to be a dedicated son won out as he finished his water, placed the used glass in the dishwasher, ruffled his hair, and made his way to the basement. Its eerily creaky door paired with stairs that sounded like dying cats under his feet let Dharm know he was on his way down to the earth-scented room.

The space was circular in shape with a faded creamy brown wallpaper that peeled up around the edges, a wooden floor upon which was carved a number of commands (they may have summarized the speech from his seminars, but Leo’s head spun too hard when he tried to read what they said, too slippery and elusive for him to absorb), enough ancient rugs to cover the words up, and Dharm’s rocking chair, similarly marked. For now, it also contained Dharm himself, seated sagely with his lantern propped up on his knee, watching his son pad off the final step with disappointment already fresh over his pointed features.

“Hey, dad. You called me?” Leo tried weakly, like he wasn’t aware of exactly what this little meeting was about. “What’s up?”

“Leo,” Dharm sighed, “don’t play this game today. You know what you did.”

“What did I do?”

His blue eyes glinted in the dim light, unreadable. “I’ve been hearing some pretty strange stories. People are saying there was a werewolf on the property who wasn’t initiated. Have you heard anything about that?”

Leo shook his head innocently.

“So you don’t know he got busted out a few nights ago?”

Another head shake.

“Say it out loud.”

“I had no idea he was here.”

Dharm laughed, cold. “Boy, you are a hoot. You realize what you’ve done, right? You just confirmed your role in his release. And you lied to me.”

The accusation was clear in his voice. It was one thing to keep a secret, but quite another to speak slander to the face of the man who controlled all Gifts. Leo should be compelled to tell the truth at all times, but instead was sticking to his false guns with only mild efforts. It was under Dharm’s skin, too, fingers curled too tight around the handle of the lantern, leaning forward in his chair with interest, icy eyes appraising.

He was gearing up to tear the prodigal son down into his rightful place, under his heel, too obedient for deceit, but Leo didn’t want to go along anymore. “I never lied to you.

“But you did. Just now.” Dharm’s lips pulled back over his teeth. “This game you’re playing, Leo, it’s making you weak. Working against your own family? That’s a sin. I can feel it eating away at you.”

Leo’s skin crawled. The remnants of the spirit linking him to Dharm was beginning to thrum alive from where he’d pushed it down, weakened after the trauma of discovering the legion of dead. He wasn’t going to bow to its will. He knew better. But he couldn’t quite form the words to tell the man no.

“Obey,” said his dad sternly, stepping into the center of the room and jerking his head in a ‘come here’ motion.

Leo guiltily allowed himself to be moved, less from the desire to continue down this road and more out of habit. He was bent over backwards at the knees, shoulders supported by Dharm’s thigh, kept from sliding off with a firm arm looped around his neck. The position was reminiscent of being baptized, but instead of crashing to the floor, Leo was suspended there, helpless to his dad’s will, nothing to break his fall if he were to wriggle away, head left to dangle awkwardly. Dharm’s free hand came down like a vice, heel resting just between his brows, palm flat and fingers clawing to keep him still. From here, he couldn’t run, or speak, or even struggle. Not that he would’ve, since Dharm hated being interrupted.

“It’s my fault too, of course. I’ve let you run wild without consequence for too long. I saw this malice growing inside you and did nothing.” The voice was cold and husky and came from everywhere.

Leo thought that was a load of manure. Behind his eyes flashed the dozens of dozens of nonhumans which lay without graves, mangled and forgotten, without allowing them even a goodbye to their families. He could imagine all too clearly what it must’ve been like to sit there, still as death, docile, and silent as hunger and thirst raged in their bones, surrounded by rot, yet having complete faith that any minute, an initiate would come with the secret to enlightenment, setting them free from their terrible affliction, which was, obviously, their nature. Or worse, they might’ve just sat there fully aware that nobody was coming, and being perfectly okay with it. Their lives were putty in the hands of the Family, falling through their fingers to splat on the sidewalk and cook into clay under the sun.

And on top of all that, how many times had they fabricated this pretense? How long were they watching, laughing at him and his rosy blindfold, preaching about their superiority when they knew full well that they were just as ugly as anyone else? No, Leo wouldn’t bend his will so easily. Not when Noah was the only living soul to escape death’s greedy claw.

He was glad the kid free, because he was safe and with his own weird family, and Leo could accept his part in the whole thing and move on. It was strange that he of all people, who lived and breathed for his family, who knew better than anyone else how family kept each other sane, played a part in keeping the guy from his werewolf pack and Reza. They were pretty damn happy to have Noah back. Dharm was just mad that Leo wasn’t acting according to his dictation any longer.

“Consider this my apology, boy. I’ve let you suffer too long in chaos. When I rip it out,” here his hissing voice became like gravel, pronouncing the rest with awful leisure, “you’ll be empty enough to fill with fear.”

With the force of the Relic to back him up, Dharm’s palm seared against Leo’s scalp. The vision blurred, morphing into something darker, corpses turning monstrous, growing fangs, skin purpling, yellow eyes rolling around dully as if they were all intricate puppets springing around with an unseen hand pulling at their spines, tickling their dead nerves into spastic motion, spewing maggots and liquefied intestines at every twitch from their gaping mouths and spots where flesh flaked clean away from the bone. But more than that, more than disgust, more than panic, Leo’s link had lit up, helpless to do anything except experience the terror that echoed wildly between them.

“We fight monsters for a reason.” Dharm leaned down and whispered so close to his ear, he could feel his stale breath on his cheek. “Fear brings order, isn’t that what I’ve always told you? From the state you’re in, removing all that chaos will hurt. I expect you to bear it proudly. It’s for your Family.”

Leo’s mouth fell open in horror, brain kindling beneath his skull. He tried to jerk away, and was met with a harsh squeeze of fingertips into his temple. This wasn’t right, it was the Family who wallowed in chaos and deception, not Leo, but the thought melted away like dew through the rising temperature.

“I’ve got you, boy.”

Dharm’s entire body rumbled with the words, but Leo didn’t hear, eyes rolled back in his head, ears beginning to bleed, leaking steadily down his neck. He was paralyzed with the movement of the Gift. It was writhing like a squirrel was trapped there, caught between using its contents to build a nest and trying desperately to escape, gnawing and clawing, making room by any means possible. Dharm told him to be composed, so he didn’t make a single sound, biting his tongue even as his body arched.

What was the point of his rebelliousness? What good did free will do when all it got him was dragged into his place with all the ceremony of a spider waiting for its venom to still its tangled dinner? Was it worth it? In that moment, webs tangling up his mind, Leo decided it wasn’t. He surrendered, blacking out.

Time passed.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move, and if it weren’t for the swollen, satisfied thing behind his ears, he’d have suffocated. He was the same as those awful dead beasts. Disobedient. Chaotic. Straying from the path of enlightenment.

He didn’t deserve his own breath as long as he worked against Dharm.

Swimming closer to awareness, his eyes fluttered open, he recognized that he was laying on his front, neck just beginning to ache from being turned at an uncomfortable angle. Maryse had joined them, standing against the wall with her arms crossed, sorrowful as she watched Dharm, who knelt over Leo’s back with her borrowed knife. The superheated blade following the same old path along the ruined skin and shot nerves. He thought he’d be sick, hurting worse and worse with every pass.

Follow. He intended to. Whatever conflict- its exact nature eluded him currently- wasn’t worth fighting with his family. This was where he belonged.

He must have made some noise- already going back on the resolution to stay silent- because immediately both eyes snapped to him, and momentarily, the pain ceased. Like a comforting blanket, the refreshed link jumped to follow some unspoken command from his dad, smothering Leo back into oblivion so he didn’t have to feel the sharp, ever-burning point return to his spine.

[bullshitallergies]

Snap Judgements For The New Year!

January 15, 2018 1:30 am

Woods Ave.

1:30 am- wasn’t really super prepared for company at 4:30 pm on a Sunday but I was grateful that ash and dude came by considering I wasted all my money on trash. I’m used to ash’s lazy ass gay joke making self but I originally had no intention of doing any speed and I don’t regret the choice to partake, but I really want this dude to stop carpet farming and either sit still and stop dropping things every 30 seconds or leave.

1:34 am: omg can you sit the Fuck down dude.

1:36 am: this shit is super clean feeling and nice. It’s making me want to write all the words and fuck all the Kenny Owen.

1:37 am: I’m serious I really want to bang my Kenny rn.

1:38 am: I’m terrified that I’ve done hard to come down from chemicals without having any pot around. Pot is my rock.

1:38 am: every day I am 25-90% completely bummed out about and missing my Boognish. He is about to turn 11 yo and before we know it he’s going to be over hanging out and being interested in adults. It kills me to be away from him and it kills me that because I’m involved and she hates me so much, Kenny’s mom has limited Cortlands ability to see or even talk on the phone with Kenny. I am beyond secondary in this situation. I don’t matter at all, but Kenny matters. Cortland needs his father. Kenny needs his boog. Kenny doesn’t like to talk about any of this I know it’s the worst thing he’s ever had to deal with ( which is fucking saying something) but I wish that he could just talk rationally to his mother with rational results, which is a Fucking pipe dream.

1:44am: it strongly and regularly is really bothering me that Kenny’s mother has no intention of being kind or forthcoming with information in regards to Cortlands desperate need to know his mother and gain some understanding and peace of mind that despite being massively flawed, Amber loved him with all of her heart. It’s important that Mary not frame her as useless or unworthy of his love or as if he meant next to nothing to her. It’s important that he knows she died trying to get back to him. I think it’s possibly the most cruel act of selfish petulance I’ve ever seen in an adult to allow Mary’s opinion about Amber be what governs Cortlands feelings about her. It makes me sick that she shuts him down and isn’t willing to share basic information about his own mother simply because she didn’t like Amber. It makes me so angry on a daily basis that Cortland can’t pick up the phone and call Kenny or myself to ask questions(about anything in his life especially His mom) and that Mary uses her negative opinion of me as a scapegoat instead of being reasonable and allowing Cortland access to vital information and emotional security that only Kenny can provide. And it makes me sick that after nearly eleven years it’s inconceivable to Mary that Cortland have a positive image of his mom, as if there were nothing to love in her. As if she was nothing at all.

1:56am: every motherfuxker in this apartment has their nose to the ground digging through everything trying to find god knows what that this dude is losing track of every five minutes. Also, the next damn thing to fall on this floor at this time of night, surely startling my neighbor again and agin, is going to be flung across the room and land squarely about the head and face.

1:58am: I feel like a weak pussy ass bitch for not being totally sober, as if sobriety and gainful employment weren’t the two dragons to slay to get Boog back as efficiently as possible so Mary’s opinion and decisions aren’t the only thing shaping Cortlands perceptions and actions and feelings. It’s a fucking excuse but it’s true: the primary reason I was able to overcome my crack problem was having Cortland in my daily life and becoming partially responsible for him along with Kenny. It’s easy to say no when my days weren’t filled with self pity. It wasn’t easy, but my love for he and Kenny was unquestionably the most worthwhile reason I’ve ever changed. Without seeing boog regularly it’s hard to maintain focus on working toward sobriety and easy to fall into the habits that make the multitude of days without him seem less pointless and empty. It doesn’t make anything any better when we aren’t even 4 full months into the custodial assignment to Mary and she has made it clear that she intends to keep him for the long hall and has no interest in raising him in a way that is also agreeable to Kenny. I don’t know how to be strong and hopeful when this woman hates me so much. I feel like a useless shrivel of failure every day, and it makes me want to use. I have got to grow a fucking sack here. No matter what it takes. And I’m not sure where to begin.

2:09am: I worry pretty frequently that I am a terrible girlfriend to Kenny because we are both addicts. I want to inspire him ane I want him to be able to feel free and independent so he is capable of growing in a positive way. I don’t want to be a burden or a drain, particularly I don’t want to be a directionless succubus distracting him from Cortland. I also fear that one day he will just suddenly go cold and decide to leave me because I am lazy, jobless, depressed, codependent on him and my mother, terrible at cleaning, uneducated in doing simple tasks, indesicive, without ambition, fat, negative and emotionally demanding. And that’s the short list of my flaws. I seriously can’t fathom why he loves me.

2:17am: I am so in love with Kenny and it has only gotten stronger. I’m mystified that he even exists or would want to be in my life. He is so beautiful and special, and I fall in love with him more every day. Yet I’m the asshole who welcomed Red into our home and thus started the odyssey into hell that was 2017. Kenny is so inscrutable. His emotions are the ultimate Mona Lisa smile to me. I know he analyzes everything with a strategic eye for detail, therefore how or why would that ever lead to thinking I’m anything other than a massive fucking anchor. In my heart and mind I know that Kenny is the only person for me, it just feels right and I could lay it all out but it will still feel right to me even if the cons outweigh the pros. I can only hope that Kenny feels this way about me unconditionally as well. The last couple of days have stoked my insecurity fire because we argued and he got mad enough to threaten to leave me. He told me he was sick of my Shit and he didn’t want to keep being in a scenario where I lose my temper if it’s happening once a month or more. He told me afterwards that he didn’t want to leave me but he sounded pretty certain that he was over it. Then yesterday, we both got almost zero sleep because for the first time ever I had a bad reaction to seroquel and spent twelve hours flailing uncontrollably and being so uncomfortable I was yelling through the night. He finally got up furious and told me if I did seroquel again he’d leave me. I tried to explain that I wasn’t intentionally trying To fuck up his sleep or torture him but he still issued that ultimatum. The reason this bothers me so much is because Kenny is usually strongly against ultimatums and if given one himself he opts out completely. So I have one day of feeling insecure that he’s sick of me to the point where he wants to leave and the next day being issued one of the only ultimatums he’s ever given me. Seems like he’s fucking over it and disgusted with me to boot.

2:30am: I feel paralyzed by the thought that Kenny is done with me while simultaneously thinking that he should be done with me of being done with me means he can get boog back as quickly as possible. I guess that this is what it feels like to recognize how I’m never going to be as great of a person, a parent, a lover and a friend as Kenny is. He deserves someone far better than me. Again, I just don’t want to be the burden that holds him back.

2:34am: idk how to take steps toward being the person Kenny deserves, but I desperately want to try my best to be that person. I don’t know where to begin. I just try to be as selfless as I can, support him in any way I can, listen and understand him as best I can. But what if all my efforts mean nothing and he doesn’t want a future with me? I am not strong enough to lose both of the most important and amazing people I’ve ever known in this lifetime and just move on or try again. Losing Kenny and Cortland would be the end of me whether I killed myself the day it ended or lived another 30 meaningless years of suffering without them, like a hollow Fucking shell.

[isaactredrea-blog]

Isaac Tredrea. Jesus Changed my Life

Isaac's Testimony... I was born into an upper middle class family in New Zealand. My parents divorced when I was five years old and my stepfather moved in soon afterwards. When I was fifteen years of age, we moved to Australia. This change was devastating for me and I plunged into rebellion and depression. Within one year of moving to Australia, I tried to commit suicide by cutting my own wrists. I became very angry I felt lost and directionless, I left school in an effort to fulfill my dream of being a businessman. I ended up in a music shop, where two Christians worked who started to witness to me. They challenged me about my beliefs and nominal values I held onto as a Catholic. I wanted what these genuine Christians had, and they showed me true agape love even when I tried to get them fired for witnessing to me! But I’m so glad that they didn't stop… I got saved at a Wednesday night service at 17 years of age, but the pressure from my Catholic parents and girlfriend made me backslide for one year. During this time, it was even darker than any year beforehand. Everything I clung onto and valued more than God (my idols) were stripped away - my job, my girlfriend, etc. When I was at rock bottom, I remembered Jesus… and how alive I felt when I got saved for those two weeks over one year ago. Almost a year later to the day by chance I was walking down the street towards the music shop where the Christians worked who witnessed to me, I tried to turn around and walk away but I felt 2 hands push me all the way into the store where one of them saw me and called out to me! He invited me to church that night and told me to meet him back there at the shop when it closed and we'd both go to church together that night. I was running late and missed him because he had already left, so I cried out to God and said "I want to get saved tonight but I don't know how to get to this church". All I knew it was on a certain road on the other side of town, so I started driving (with no map or gps ) and by a miracle found the church! That night I got saved, to the horror of my family, who then gave me an ultimatum - the Catholic church or Jesus... and my mother said I would be cut off from the family money too! After one week of recommitting my life to Jesus, I faced the hard choice of moving out at 18 years of age with no real life experience... I chose to live for Jesus based on a promise of eternal life, a secure future, OR... follow the path of my family to have their approval and blessing - I chose Jesus! That was over twenty years ago! The following part of my story is why I don’t regret it at all. After I moved out (with only the clothes on my back, and my saxophone, car and stereo), I had every need met miraculously by God. I didn’t even have a bed to sleep on the night I moved out, until I prayed and someone from the church gave me one for free! And then people from church started bringing over towels, sheets, a desk & a cupboard too! And, I couldn’t believe that one of the guys, who I tried to get fired from the music shop, let me move in with him!! This was REAL Christian forgiveness and love - I had never seen this before in action at home or the church I was raised in. I was blown away by the kindness and support I received from total Strangers... There are so many happy memories of friendships, seeing healing miracles and experiencing my own personal breakthroughs and seeing God use me to preach, witness and pray for the sick, have financial needs met time and time again, having good health & peace of mind and wisdom beyond my years, and a understanding of God’s will for my life. I have also made some bad choices which lead to divorce and bankruptcy... I have lived my life with an eternal mindset. My faith in Jesus has surprised my unsaved family, who have even commented how I have “bounced back” and that I have a “never quit attitude” even after all the things I have gone through. I tell you, it’s not me - I was a broken young man who, at the first sign of defeat, would cave in and run away, and want to literally die because life was too overwhelming. WITH Jesus in my heart, I have the strength to face the impossible, which before would have surely crushed me. I have had many opportunities as a Christian, to see my talents develop and grow and be used in ways that I would have never thought possible if I hadn’t got saved. I also overcame my childhood stutter to lead bible study and now I preach. I was healed of asthma and allergies (wheat, dairy, mould, pollen, dust, cats, and dogs) that severely impacted my quality of life, as well as made me very sick as a child. I was delivered of anger, lust, lying and laziness - Jesus had not only forgiven me but gave me a whole new character and a second chance to live the way in which I was created. Life is like that movie, “The Matrix”, where everyone is plugged into a world they think is real but its a controlled, enslaved one - getting born-again is like waking up and really living, being un-plugged from the Matrix; everything is better and brighter, hope abounds, and inner strength is now mine! If you could see what life is like after the grave, you would listen – PLEASE surrender to God! Turn from your rebellion against God by living life your way..,What have you got to lose? Why struggle any longer with Addictions to drugs, alcohol, gambling & pornography! Jesus offers: 1. A chance to get healed of ANY illness you might have - yes, even cancer!! 2. Peace of mind - no more medication to sleep at night or that mental health issue you are struggling with. 3. Are you struggling with a sense of purpose? What is the point to your life? 4. Are you burdened by volatile family or personal relationships?? 5. Are you sick and tired of living life YOUR way and want a REAL change??
 It’s as simple as saying this prayer with all your heart, like I did over twenty years ago: Dear Jesus, Forgive me for my sins; come into my heart and be my Lord and Saviour of my life. I believe you died on the cross and rose again three days later for me, and you have the power to heal my body and mind. Thank you for saving me. In Jesus’ name, AMEN! If you just prayed that prayer, you along with millions of others have been saved. Congratulations! All of heaven is rejoicing, along with me, and you have just made the best and most important decision of your life. Now go find a born again church to meet other Christians, buy yourself a bible, start praying and this amazing decision you just made will be the start of your life long walk with God. See you on the other side… Isaac Tredrea

[overcomingscars]

Deep

Chasing a dream is never easy, but the most passionate people stop at nothing once they decide to go for it. Tito of Tito’s Handmade Vodka abandoned a safe job for the uncertainty of entrepreneurship after realizing in one life-changing moment that he was born to distill vodka. In partnership with Tito’s Handmade Vodka, we invited readers to submit their own passion driven tales reflecting the spirit of Tito’s Story for inclusion in a TC Original Book. After reading all the amazing submissions, we narrowed the lot of Fresh Start stories down to a few finalists. Below is one of the winning entries! Click here to read more inspirational stories in the TC original book, From Failure To Fresh Start. Look Catalog I know how it is. It’s late and you’re exhausted, but you can’t sleep. It’s been another long and difficult day and no matter how hard you fight or push it doesn’t feel like you’re making any progress. Little by little, you’re beginning to lose confidence in yourself, and sight of your future. You can feel doubt and frustration swell in you like a sea. Maybe everyone is right after all, you think. Perhaps these really are just silly, foolish dreams. I want you to step outside, take a deep breath, and look up. You are here, and alive, under a ceiling of stars—every one of them the result of untold years of cosmic evolution and impossible luck—but yet you have the nerve to believe that your own life has limits? That the universe has the power to give rise to galaxies and suns, but you don’t have the strength to live the life you want? I never imagined I’d be a writer. It just wasn’t on my radar. To be entirely honest, nothing was. I left high school a directionless and juvenile fringe-faced brat with a hell of a lot to prove, but nothing much else. I’d always had a sense of what I ultimately wanted to achieve—to contribute something to the world that was my own, and to live on my own terms—but I had no idea what form that should take, and certainly no clue how to get there. It wasn’t long before I fell in love with music, started songwriting, and began to learn what it means to have faith in yourself. Anyone at all familiar with the music industry knows how enormously difficult it is, even under the best of circumstances, and there I was, no experience, no connections, no talent—blindly committed to some wild and foolish dream, when a great many of my friends were sensibly readying themselves to begin their apprenticeships or university degrees. On paper that band should have never left the garage, but through a great deal of effort and perseverance we did. We sold out shows, played the Sydney Opera House, got a few songs on the radio, toured Australia countless times and recorded an album in the United States. Those seven years gave me some of the greatest experiences and stories of my life, but also some of the darkest. As you can imagine, I had pennies to my name at an age when most were beginning to pay off their mortgages. I’d also destroyed a number of relationships, unable to divide my focus, while others settled down and started families. I was making what felt like sacrifice after sacrifice for little to no reward, but I was following my dreams, and when it really came down it, that was always enough. I see clearly now that even though timing and luck play an enormous part, unrelenting dedication is the key to making good things happen. Then the unthinkable happened. Seven years in, it all started to fall apart. I hit a wall and realized my passion for music had gone. At 25, I was at precisely the same place I had been at 18—lost, uncertain and absolutely devastated. Everyone else was right, I thought. I was reckless and stupid to waste so much of my life on such a foolish dream. I felt hopeless and in tatters, and became overwhelmed and terrified at the thought of my future. I had no plan b, no apprenticeship or degree to fall back on, nothing but $600 in songwriting royalties to show for all the sacrifices I had made, or at least that is what I initially thought. See over the years, I had been writing creatively on the side. It was a natural way of developing my songwriting and in the spaces between albums I had amassed pages and pages of poetry and prose. So I decided to take one last risk. Rather than be sensible or safe, I chose to invest my every last dollar into something I’d never thought I’d do: I printed a little book called “A Boy Without His Feathers,” the physical culmination of everything I’d been through up to that point. With great nervousness and trepidation, I released it to the world. In the end, my book sold out in a single night and my life was changed forever. Looking back, it is clear to me that every lesson I’d learned and obstacle I’d faced in the music industry had in fact prepared me for this. That without songwriting, I never would have become an author. That without years of experience in an independent band, I never would have learned the skills necessary to develop and market a book on my own. Though it ultimately came about in an entirely unexpected way, I am so pleased to know in my heart that I am now living the life I always dreamed of, and that everything that lead me here had a distinct purpose. I see clearly now that even though timing and luck play an enormous part, unrelenting dedication is the key to making good things happen. I see that human potential is infinite, but that our commitment and belief in ourselves is not. That reaching a destination hasn’t got a thing to do with the difficulty of the path you’ve chosen to take, but instead the passion and persistence you walk it with. It is no accident that a great many success stories begin with adversity. You’ll find you are capable of tremendous things when you are backed into a corner, when you are stripped of all hope and left with no other choice but to push on despite the odds stacked against you. Truth is, the obstacles and criticism you will face early in your endeavors are the very things that should drive you forward, that can bless you with the strength and constitution you will need to achieve your goals in the long-term. Learn how to harness that negativity for good. If they doubt you, let it motivate you to work harder and prove them wrong. If you hit a wall, put your creativity into practice and work your way around it. Your failures are battle scars—they make you fierce, not weak. Remember that. You are not your shortcomings, you are how you overcome them. So sharpen your fangs and wear your toughest skin. Shake the skepticism and condescension of others and have confidence in your ability to forge your own way. Be wild and tireless in all of your pursuits. And prepare yourself for the possibility that you might not always get what you think you want, but so long as you never give in, eventually you’ll get what you need.