#i shovelled and am now. experiencing the Horrors

[nectaric]

i love writing... it would be nice to do it someday

[raindownforme]

He Doesn’t Understand

C!Charlie Slimecicle x reader [they/them used]

Slime ran his hands down the white shirt of his suit, pressing it flatter against his body. Quackity would be downstairs any minute now.

“Hey.” Quackity’s voice rang true as he descended into the room Slime slept in. He bounced up from his bed, running over to Quackity.

“Hi Quackity from Las Nevadas! I’m excited to do gambling!”

“No gambling today buddy.” Quackity chuckled a bit. “I’ve got another thing for you.”

“Oh?” Slime followed Quackity out of the base of the tower towards the entrance to the city Quackity had built. He watched as Quackity extended a hand to gesture off into the distance.

“Do you remember when I had you spy on Purpled?”

“Yes!”

“Good, because I need you to spy on someone else.”

“Okay Quackity from Las Nevadas!” Slime followed Quackity to the outskirts of the SMP. Quackity pointed out to him a lone brick house that sat atop a hill to the west of the community house. Smoke rose from the stone chimney and blew daintily over the landscape.

“That’s y/n. I need you to tell me what they do on day-to-day basis. I need to know where they go. Who they hang out with. Who they trade with.” Quackity turned his back to the SMP. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yes!” Quackity walked back to Las Nevadas, leaving the green man behind. Slime bounded over towards the hill. He found himself a vantage point, climbing to the top of a spruce tree to watch. He could see into the wide windows of the home, where someone was working over a crafting table.

Slime watched in confusion. y/n did perfectly normal things, shearing their sheep, tending to their farm, and mining in caves. There was nothing unusual about y/n, other than that they were new and made Slime feel… something? It was something he didn’t recognize. Some feeling that itched at his bones — if he had any to begin with — and tore at his heart. He felt warm all over and jittery. He knew he was happy, Quackity told him what happy was. But this was a different happy. It was new. So he kept watching. Slime spent his whole day watching y/n. Spying on them.

When night fell, Slime hurried back to Las Nevadas to meet with his best friend Quackity. He was waiting at the top of the tower that Slime slept under.

“Hey buddy!” Quackity sat at one of the tables. “How was your day?”

“It was good! I think I call it, happy?” Slime sat in the seat next to Quackity, folding his tie so it lay flat against his chest.

“Good good. Here eat this.” Slime took the plate of baked potatoes from Quackity and began to eat sloppily with his hands. He took the whole potato and placed it into his open mouth, letting his slime self absorb it fully. Quackity watched on in horror of Slime’s seemingly normal actions. “Okay. Did they do anything? Anything suspicious?”

“Nope. They didn’t talk to anyone or trade with anyone.” Charlie paused. He looked to his side out the tall windows, gazing out over Las Nevadas. “Why am I spying on them?”

“Because I need to know. They’re new. They’re… unpredictable.” Quackity cut into his dinner with his utensils. “Why don’t you go back tomorrow. Tell me what you see then.”

And he did. Slime went back for the next three days. He went back to the same tree for three days and watched as y/n tended to their crops and went mining and did other meaningless tasks. And every day he went back and told Quackity what had happened and what they had done. Nothing felt eventful about it to the Slime, only the fact that he couldn’t describe how he felt every day he went and watched.

On the fourth day, Slime made a mistake. He had walked up and climbed the tree, as per usual, and had waited and watched. But it had started to rain, and the branch he was sitting on had become slippery, and he fell. He fell all the way from the very top of the tree to the muddy earth below. He opened his eyes wide, hoping that y/n had somehow not seen, but they were standing directly over him.

“Bah!” Slime scrambled to his side, sitting up and leaning against the tree trunk. y/n stood before him, pointing a shovel tip towards his chest.

“Who are you?”

“I-“ He paused. His face felt unexplainable warm. “I’m a human being.”

“Sure.” y/n hesitantly drew back the iron shovel, planting the tip in the dirt. “I’m also human. My name is y/n.”

They knelt down in front of him, extending a hand for him to obviously shake. “DAP ME UP.”

y/n laughed at his outburst, and he felt star struck. Something about the way they laughed was enchanting. He couldn’t look away. “What’s your name buddy?”

He couldn’t think. Quackity had never given him a real name before other than Slime, but he supposed that was more his species. It might be more similar to calling a cat “cat” rather than fluffy or spots. “I don’t have one.”

“Oh. Okay. Why don’t you come inside with me?” y/n stood up, extending their hand again, and this time Slime put his own hand in it. y/n tugged him upright until he was standing, then pulled him inside. “Here. Take this.”

Slime studied the fabric he’d been handed. “A towel!”

“Yeah. Go ahead and dry off and then you can sit anywhere.” y/n turned their back to him as they rummaged through a series of cabinets that hung over their furnace. “Would you like anything to drink? Cocoa? Tea?”

“Cocoa?” Slime sat on a set of oak chairs. He wasn’t sure what cocoa was, but less than a minute later y/n returned with two cups of the piping hot liquid, one for him and one for them. He sipped from it, unsure of if he would enjoy it, but quickly found it to be one of the best things he’d ever drank. Slime chugged the whole mug, nearly slamming it back down on the table.

y/n bit back a grin. They hadn’t drank their cocoa yet, instead using it to warm their palms. “So, a name. I could pick one for you?”

“Yes!” He smiled widely, but he wasn’t sure why he was so eager.

“Okay. Lemme think; Westley, Taylor- no wait!” y/n snapped their fingers, smiling at slime. “Charlie! What about Charlie?”

“I can be Charlie!” Something about seeing y/n happy was euphoric. He wanted to be able to do it every day for ever and ever.

“Good! Well then, Charlie.” y/n released their grip on their mug ever so slightly. “Where are you from?”

“I live in a tower.” He felt as though he should be careful with what he said. Quackity hadn’t told him whether or not y/n was welcomed in Las Nevadas.

“That’s cool.” They sipped from the warm drink. “Do you know anyone else from around? I’ve only lived here a week now and you’re the first person I’ve talked to.”

“I am?” Charlie felt a bubble grow in his chest, but he wasn’t sure what kind of bubble.

“Yeah. I guess that means you’re my first ever friend doesn’t it?”

The term “friend” struck somewhere inside him. It was negative somehow. “Yeah! Friend!”

y/n glanced out towards the windows. “You don’t have anywhere to be do you? It’s almost sunset.”

“Oh. Oh I do!” Charlie stood from his seat. “I have to go home. It was nice meeting you.”

y/n waved as he ran out the door. “It was nice meeting you too. Come back tomorrow.”

And Charlie did. Charlie came back every day for the next week. He liked coming back and seeing y/n. y/n who taught him how to aim a bow. y/n who taught him how to fish. y/n who taught him how to grow carrots. y/n who taught him how to make paintings. y/n who taught him love.

Once when Charlie found himself visiting y/n, early in the morning before he left, Charlie had found himself in front of Foolish. He had walked over to ask the simple question.

“Slime, I think you love them.”

“Love?” He was confused. He hadn’t experienced the word before.

“Did you ever have something or someone you care about? More than you care about yourself?” He didn’t show any signs of recognition and Foolish sighed. “Do you want this person to be happy? So much so that you would do anything?”

“Yes!” He liked seeing y/n happy. He’d help them garden and pick their favorite flowers, and he always cherished the smile on their face.

“Buddy, you love them.” Foolish gave him a halfhearted smile before walking away.

He thought about this conversation on his way to y/n’s house. He paused his walk, one hill away, and looked out. It was earlier in the morning, but it was still the normal time for him to arrive at y/n’s house. He could turn back around. He hadn’t quite told Quackity the honest truth of him and y/n’s relationship. As far as Quackity knew, Slime came home every day and told him how y/n did nothing eventful and had no idea Slime or Quackity existed. Quackity also didn’t know that they called him Charlie, and that he loved the name with everything he had.

Charlie bent down on his knees, picking a flower from the grass, then made his way to y/n’s home.

“Charlie!” They threw open the front door upon seeing him through the window. They launched themselves at him, tackling him in a hug. “What do you want to do today? We could do anything!”

“Yeah!” Charlie wrapped one arm around y/n, the other holding the flower. “I brought you something!”

“You did?” y/n released him, still keeping a hand on his shoulder. “A flower! Aw, Charlie.”

Charlie beamed with pride as y/n gently took the flower from him and went inside to place it in a pot. “I also have something I should tell you.”

y/n returned outside, confusion etched into their face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Charlie felt nervous somehow. He looked down at his fingers. “I am not human. I didn’t want to lie.”

“Oh. I knew that.” He looked up to y/n. They were smiling softly as they leaned against the door frame. Charlie felt his face grow warm and he placed his hands over his cheeks. y/n walked towards him, taking his hands in theirs. “You came here without a name, with slime on your shoulders, and skin that’s sticky to the touch. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I don’t care. Im pretty sure half the people on this planet aren’t human.”

Charlie nodded, looking back up to y/n. “Are you human?”

“Yeah. I mean, as far as I know.” They shrugged, still smiling at him. Charlie felt light, like air. It was love wasn’t it. That’s what had been consuming him this whole time. What he’d been feeling every time he looked at y/n. Every time they spoke. Every time they did anything.

“I love you.”

“What?” y/n took a step back from Charlie, their hand still hovering near him. He felt his heart reach out for them.

“I love you. I talked to Foolish because I didn’t understand what I was feeling, and now I do! Because I love you. I have loved you since I first saw you.” Charlie smiled widely, proud of himself. He waited for y/n to say something, but they stood there in shock. “I thought I should be honest. Did I say something wrong?”

“No! No Charlie you didn’t.” y/n relaxed. They leaned forwards towards Charlie, now taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. Charlie held his breath, smiling as he stared at the hands. “I just want you to be sure that’s what you meant.”

“Yes! Yes it is.” y/n softly smiled, taking one hand and resting it on Charlie’s cheek, using their thumb to gently rub the skin. Charlie felt his face burn at the touch, but he leaned into it. y/n took their other hand out of Charlie’s grasp and placed it on his other cheek. They pulled him close, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Charlie froze, lightly touching his hand to his lips. “Did you kiss me?”

“Is that alright?” y/n moved back, their hands sliding off his face. Charlie took his arms around y/n’s waist, pulling them into a tight hug. He put his forehead in the crook of their neck. y/n laughed lightly, pulling him closer again. “I love you too, Charlie.”

Charlie bent backwards, lifting y/n upwards. They laughed as Charlie spun them around. “I love you! I love you I love you I love you!”

“I love you to Charlie.”

He stopped, setting them back on their feet. y/n smiled wildly, breathless and love struck. “Can you kiss me again?”

y/n giggled, obliging to do so. They lightly kissed him on cheek, then his nose, his eyebrow, his chin, and anywhere else. They scattered kisses all across his face, avoiding his lips. “Is that what you meant?”

“No!” Charlie didn’t quite understand why they were laughing. He put his hand on their face, similar to what they had done, and firmly kissed them. He felt them relax under his touch, smiling into the contact.

Eventually y/n pulled away, needing to breath. They smiled at him and Charlie felt his face flush. “Was that your plan for today?”

Charlie relaxed his shoulders. “I didn’t have a plan.”

“Then come inside.”

y/n tugged Charlie into the home. The two spent the rest of the day together, baking cookies, reading stories, and doing any other odd tasks. The day soon came to an end, however, and Charlie had to leave.

“Come back tomorrow. Please.” y/n held his hand, keeping him later than he intended. It was nearly dark outside, and he was usually in Las Nevadas right now.

“I will.” Charlie quickly kissed y/n’s forehead and dashed off towards his country. He made it over the hills as quickly as possible, getting past the welcome sign before complete darkness fell, and racing up to the top of the tower.

Quackity stood pacing the railing. The dinner set out for the two had long gone cold by now. Quackity kept mumbling to himself, constantly fiddling with the end of his tie. Charlie walked over to his friend, lightly tapping him on the shoulder.

“Slime? Where the fuck were you? It’s been an hour. Jesus Christ I thought- where were you?”

“I was with y/n.”

“Right the spying. Listen I don’t think you should do that anymore.”

Charlie felt his heart shatter. “Why? I thought you wanted-?”

“I know what I wanted.” Quackity waved a hand at Charlie’s words. He overlooked the growing country, then turned back to Charlie. “They’re not a threat to us, they can’t help us in any way, and I don’t want you disappearing again.”

“But I-“ Charlie stopped himself, unsure of how to speak his mind. “I want to go back.”

“Why? It’s just y/n.”

“It is them. Its y/n.”

Quackity looked at him incredulously. “Did you talk to y/n? Buddy I told you not to- for how long? How long has this been happening?”

“I talked to Foolish-“

“Foolish knew?” Quackity was activated. He rolled up his sleeves. “Buddy you got lucky with Purpled, not everyone’s like that. You’re gonna get hurt.”

“y/n wouldn’t hurt me. They love me.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“Because I love them.”

Quackity scoffed, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t know what love is. You’re not even a person you’re- you’re a slime. You said it yourself.”

“Was Sapnap a person?”

Charlie watched Quackity freeze. He lowered his hands to his side in clenched fists as a sneer grew on his face. “What did you say?”

“You said I’m not a person. Was Sapnap? Was Karl?”

“You don’t get to fucking talk about them.” Quackity moved towards him. “You don’t get to even fucking think about them.”

“Then why am I different? Why is y/n different?”

“Because-“ Quackity bit back what he wanted to say.

“Quackity. What’s my name.”

“You have a name. I call you Slime. I call you buddy. That’s what everyone calls you.”

“y/n gave me a name. They call me Charlie.”

“Charlie? What and you like it? Some basic-ass name?”

“It’s MY basic-ass name!”

“Jesus christ.” Quackity sighed, rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “You’re not going back.”

Charlie tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know them! You don’t know anyone other than the people who live here and you’re just out there in love with a stranger. I feel responsible for you, Slime.”

“It’s Charlie.”

“Okay, Charlie, I’m responsible for you. So you’re not going back. No negotiation. Got that?”

Charlie paused. He looked out over the Las Nevadas skyline, then back to Quackity with a smile. “I think you’d like them.”

“Yeah. Sure I’ll see you in the morning bud.”

Charlie watched Quackity walk towards the center of the tower, dropping downwards towards the ground. Charlie went to follow but stopped. He stared at the plates of cold food left behind. Both untouched.

———

Charlie woke up quickly. Everything around him was quiet and cold, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was morning. Charlie rose from his bed and made his way to the top of his stair case. He looked out to see the sun was still rising over the horizon, painting Las Nevadas in golden light. The fountain bubbled as Charlie walked towards it. The lights inside seemed beautiful.

Charlie didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why Quackity wouldn’t let him see y/n. y/n was nice. y/n made him hot cocoa and told him stories and taught him so many things. And y/n was so pretty. y/n made Charlie feel loved. Like he was important. Like he was floating to the heavens. y/n made Charlie happy! And he wanted Quackity to be happy. Would he be happy if he met y/n?

Charlie shook his head. Quackity seemed upset last night. He wanted Quackity to be happy, but not the way that y/n made him happy. He wasn’t sure what to call it.

Charlie looked back to the tall, white casino. In an hour, Quackity would wake up and leave, coming to wake Charlie, but in less than a minute Charlie made his own decision. He turned away from the casino and proudly walked out of Las Nevadas.

He walked all the way to y/n’s house. When he arrived, the sun had barely moved, and he could see the same golden light illuminating the front windows of y/n’s house. Charlie clumsily knocked on their front door.

“Hello?” y/n slowly opened the door. Their eyes were closed and their hair stuck out different ways. Their pajamas loosely hung off their body as they slumped against the door frame. Charlie’s heart swelled. They were adorable.

Charlie rushed forwards to pick them up, wrapping them in a hug as he swept them back inside. “y/n!”

“G’morning Charlie.” y/n mumbled as they leaned back into his shoulder. “It’s early. You know that right?”

Charlie shrugged, setting them down and stepping back to make sure the door closed. “I wanted to be here.”

“Fine. But I’m going back to sleep.” Charlie watched y/n tread down a hallway, and he followed. They led him to a room with a large plush bed and they flipped into it, rolling to the side. They smiled at Charlie, looking at him standing in the door way. “I’m gonna sleep. Would you also like to lay down?”

Awkwardly, Charlie sat on the edge of the bed. He fell backwards into it, letting the softness consume him. He turned his head upwards, looking at y/n as they giggled. They stretched a hand towards him, enveloping his own hand. “This is nice.”

“Good. Goodnight. Love you.”

Charlie shivered, the unfamiliar words sending ripples over his skin. “I love you too.”

———

Charlie woke up in a weird mood. The bed was empty, and the house was noisy. It sounded like talking, between two different voices he knew really well.

Charlie walked quickly to the main room of y/n’s house. They stood in the door, still wearing pajamas, facing Quackity as he stood in the door. Quackity spotted Charlie almost immediately.

“Slime. Buddy.” Quackity tried to shove y/n aside, but they grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed his against the wall.

y/n turned around, looking at Charlie. “You know him?” Charlie nodded, and y/n let go, allowing him to approach Charlie.

“It’s time to go man.” Quackity very lightly gripped the hilt of the sword that rested on his hip. “I told you.”

“But I-“ Charlie looked at y/n with pleading eyes. “I don’t want to go.”-

“He doesn’t have to go anywhere he doesn’t want to.” y/n side stepped between Quackity and Charlie. “He can make his own decisions.”

“This isn’t about you.”

“You’re in my house you’ll fucking listen to me.” Charlie took note of the small kitchen knife in their hand, concealed away from Quackity’s vision. “Charlie can decide for himself.”

Quackity sneered at them. “Would you shut up? This isn’t any of your fucking business. He’s my fucking friend and we’re going back to my fucking country that you’re not fucking part of. Charlie.” He looked over at the boy. “I mean- Shit. Slime. We’re going.”

“No.” Charlie stepped back. “My name is Charlie. I’m staying here. I want to stay here.”

“God you don’t— that’s not—“ Quackity sighed, running his hands over his head. “Fine. Great that’s awesome. You know what? Just don’t come back when this whole charade is over, because there won’t be a place for you.”

Quackity slammed the door shut on his way out. y/n turned to Charlie, loosing the tight grip on the knife. “You don’t have to stay. He’s your friend.”

“I’ve seen this place. I don’t think he should talk to me like that.” Charlie tapped at his cheek with his fingers. Water was falling from his eyes and setting his skin. He kept wiping at it , desperately trying to be rid of the water, until y/n took his hands away. They wrapped their arms over the tops of his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “I don’t- I don’t understand it won’t stop. I don’t understand.”

y/n didn’t say anything. They simply threaded their fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, doing their best to comfort him.

The house was quiet.

[squadron-of-damned-writes]

tagged by @thiswaycomessomethingwicked. Found this sitting in my drafts after third of a year later. No time like the present, right?

Rules are: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

(how convenient that AO3 shows 20 works per page by default!)

1. It most certainly is a morning and the doorbell rings. Like the beginning of a horror movie, Sam thinks as he makes his way from his room to the front door. (The Night In Gale, 2019-10-11, Good Omens x Supernatural)

2. The remnants of the stained glass creak and shatter under the heavy plate sabatons. The men clad in deep red robes watch the armoured figures walk through the raided monastery in careful silence. (Moon And Destiny, 2019-08-24, Les Misérables x Wizardry)

3. “Alright squad! Who are we doing this week?”  (One Gay at a Time, 2019-08-31, Les Misérablex x Queer Eye for the Straight Guy)

4. Light. Everything is is spinning. Light, even behind closed eyelids. It’s omnipresent. Radiant, blinding, magnificent light. (Like A Teen Girl,[1] 2019-11-15, W.I.T.C.H.)

5. Witches have pricking in their thumbs, Varen had his stomach worms, and Lyris had her teeth. She could feel them vibrating in her gums. It usually went away with a couple of flagons of mead, but apparently not tonight. If anything, it made it worse. So here she was, Lyris called Titanborn, tipsy but not yet drunk, sitting by the campfire with the two of Companions and a growing feeling of dread as her teeth planned to run for the hills. It made her only more irritated. (Mind How She Goes, 2019-11-30, Elder Scrolls Online)

6. “Well, are you going to stand there the whole night?” (The Past, the Present, the Death, and the Devil, 2019-12-19, Les Misérables)

7. There is this thing they don’t tell you about dying – it gave you mother of all headaches. In all those tomes and epic sagas there could had been at least once mentioned that the brave heroes and mighty beings who returned from the Other side felt like a horse kicked thorough their head. This terrible pain was usually why your freshly resurrected dead scream in agony and want to destroy things. (The Many Deaths of Me,[2] 2017-04-30, World of Warcraft)

8. As strange as it was, Lyris finds an odd sort of peace here. It is not her old home – she doubts she could ever return there – but her cabin near Riften is a new home. At first it was a house, but she made it a home. It was a hard work to get there, and she is rightfully proud of it all. (To Be Found, 2019-12-09, Elder Scrolls Online)

9. Say what you want about the Tribunal and Vvardenfell, there is something that draws a good hero to the city of Vivec. That something might be a divine presence, but most likely it is simply the presence of a quarter with publicly accessible forges and looms in the close proximity to a bank and the drop site for commissioned works. (The Battlespire, 2020-05-09, Elder Scrolls Online)

10. “Your Majesty, a message for you.” The chamberlain presents the envelope on a silver tray with a gentle bow. Queen Ayrenn picks it up with her delicately manicured fingers, and the soft warm breeze of early autumn attempts to snatch the piece of creamy paper from her as it hurls large honey and amber coloured leaves before finally settling them on the ground. (War Ends, 2020-07-26, Elder Scrolls Online)

11. “Allow me to ask you again for clarification, Your Ex-” “Charles, dear brother. Simply and plainly Charles, for we all are equal in the eyes of the almighty God.” “- Charles: I have died.” (The Man Who Saved A World, 2020-08-12, Les Misérables)

12. So that’s it, you suppose. You are going to sit down on this chair, because someone has to. (The Tale of Two Fates, 2020-09-05, Death and Taxes)

13. There is a saying in Ferelden: When you think you’ve reached the bottom, the Maker shows up with a shovel. Like most farmer wisdom, even this one applies in Orlais. (Land Turned Red, 2020-12-29, Dragon Age)

14. So you come to the supermarket on Friday morning and in the ice-cream isle is a poorly paid and even poorerly shaven retail worker unloading boxes of frozen pizzas, eyeing them like man who’s missed out on breakfast and his contract doesn’t include lunch break. (Observations of an Unconcerned Bus Driver, 2021-03-07, Stardew Valley)

15. They are giving him that look. He knows it well and hasn’t seen it in a long long time. It is the look that says: “I can’t believe that out of all the people in Thedas, he was the one to save us.” (Fine Literature, 2021-03-14, Dragon Age)

16. A young woman stands in a garden. It is a beautiful garden, very lush in spite of all damnation raining from the sky lately, now that the Veil is gone and… And all that. (Houserite, 2021-03-29, Dragon Age x Homestuck)

17. If you asked Solas, it was the most predictable outcome, blatantly staring you in face, shoving middle finger into your nose and blowing a raspberry. However, nobody asked Solas and even less people cared for his issues with Sera’s behaviour, and thus when Dorian goes missing, almost everyone is surprised. (The Excellent Week of Dorian Pavus, 2021-04-09, Dragon Age x Doctor Who)

18. Talent. A short and complicated word. What is a talent? (Necromancer’s Virtues, 2021-05-06, Dragon Age)

19. Fucked.That’s what they are. Fucked. Completely and thoroughly. The Trade Tongue is a limited and insufficient language and lacks any imagination whatsoever when it comes to cusswords. (The Wolves Breach Through, 2021-05-29, Dragon Age)

20. There are a lot of ways to tell that you’ve woken up the wrong way in the morning, and I was pretty certain that I’ve hit three of them at least: Every fiber of me was aching, two men were looming over me with worried expressions, and the sky was dark. Especially the last bit was extremely worrisome, since I was fairly certain I fell asleep in my bed at home under a solid ceiling above which is mum’s room and after that is the attic and after that is a roof and only then you get to see the sky. (Real Feeling of Sharing,[3] 2021-01-10, Dragon Age)

Observations:

I use the opening lines of a story like most people use headlines; luring in the reader by making them think “Hold on, what’s going on?” and hoping it ignites strong enough curiosity for them to read further to figure it out. For that reason more often than not the opening lines are not exactly related to the story.

A surprising amount of mu openings also clearly say: “The story you know is over.”

Also very specific thing which is less about opening lines and more about the trope of my fics: A suspicious number of beginnings based on the fact that the person of focus is dead or implied to be, or implied to be really close to it.

I also don’t like long introductions to the story, so it’s either “Things are happening now, figure it out dear reader” or “This is a thing I am going to focus on because it’s my thing, deal with it, plot will come later.”

Favourite opening line is from The Wolves Breach Through, especially because it quickly evolves into a rant about langauges. The Night In Gale is a close second, because I love to take a piss on the source material. For this reason The Battlespire also comes close to the top, although the fic in itselfwas shit.

[1] Like A Teen Girl should get renamed, because the story evolved from “Parody of the Magic Highschool Girls premise” to “Drama With the Lads”, but I eh, who cares anyway, right?

[2] The Many Deaths of Me deserves to be rewritten by older and more experienced me. It could be a great fic.

[3] Probably going to get renamed to Original Real Feeling of Sharing, but only when I start the next story from the series.

tagging: @timesthatneverwere @thewronglong

[blueares]

Ruination Rewrite: Shadow Isles

Shadow Isles Part I

The light of the Wayfinder fades and is almost instantly replaced by an oppressive gloom. Though you have witnessed many Harrowings by this point, they all pale in comparison to the sight before you: The Shadow Isles, birthplace of the Ruination.

“I hate this place already.”

“I don’t suppose we could try and recruit more Sentinels first?”

Lucian: “Keep your nerves about you, Rook. The undead here are worse than anything you’ve seen so far, and they can smell fear a mile away.”

Diana: “A land trapped in endless night, yet obscured from the Moon’s pale glow… One can scarcely imagine what manner of horrors might lurk here.”

Graves: “Pardon the interruption, but there are a heck of a lot of graves here… And I ain’t talkin’ about myself.”

Sure enough, a cursory glance of your surroundings reveals that the Wayfinder has brought you to a massive graveyard, with rows upon rows of headstones stretching out all around you. Upon closer inspection, you realize that a number of the graves even appear to be recent.

“Who dug all of these?”

“Whose graves are these?”

??? response 1: “That would be me.”

??? response 2: “Mostly travelers, like yourselves.”

The Sentinels wheel around to point their weapons at the source of the voice, only to find an old, hunched man with a shovel staring back at you, unfazed.

Vayne: “Hmph. So this the kind of ‘horror’ lurking on the Shadow Isles? Should be easy enough to handle.”

Shen: “Wait! This man… His soul is touched by the Mist, but he has not been turned by not. Not wholly.”

Yorick: “That’s right. I’m just a humble gravedigger. My name is Yorick Mori, last gravedigger of the Blessed Isles.”

Riven: “The Blessed Isles? Where’s that?”

Yorick: “Before this place became the Shadow Isles that you all know, it was a place of learning and prosperity: the Blessed Isles. When that mad king came, he unleashed the Ruination, corrupting every living thing in this place with undeath… Almost every living thing.”

Suddenly, a wicked figure appears behind Yorick, speaking out in a voice that somehow calms and terrifies you at the same time.

???: “Join us, Yorick. Cast aside those measly droplets and be one with us.”

Jayce: “Look out!”

Yorick: “Don’t fret. The Maiden has whispered in my ear for a long time, but these ‘measly droplets,’ the Waters of Life, keep me sane.”

You stare at the Maiden uneasily, though the more you do, the more strangely familiar she seems.

Lucian: “Look, this is all fascinating, but we don’t have time to stand around and talk! We’re here for that Ruined Creep, to bring him down once and for all! If you know where he is, old man, you’d better speak up.”

Yorick: “You want to challenge him with these measly numbers? I can see you carry Relicstone, but that alone will hardly be enough.”

Akshan: “Do not count us out yet, old man! Akshan is here, and that makes up for at least a few missing soldiers.”

Yorick examines your group briefly, as though sizing you up. He strokes his beard in thought, then turns his gaze to a large tower in the distance.

Yorick: “…It is a fool’s errand, but perhaps this is the only chance I’ll get.”

Olaf: “What’s he on about now?”

Lucian: “Enough. If you’re not gonna help us, old man, then-”

Yorick: “You’re not the only one who wishes to bring an end to the king. Since the Ruination began, I’ve been amassing corpses here, using what little influence I have to keep them from rising in his name. You say you want to storm the king’s throne, but to do that…”

Yorick raises his spade and slams it into the ground. All around you, the graves burst open and grotesque creatures break free from the dirt.

Yorick: “You will need an army of your own!”

At Yorick’s command, the living corpses all seemed to stand at attention, awaiting his orders. You guess that they number somewhere in the hundreds, but you can’t be sure.

“So we’re going to fight the army of the undead… With our own army of the undead?”

“Lucian, what do the rules say about this? Can corpse monsters be Sentinels? What about old men with creepy ghost ladies on their backs?”

Lucian: “…Frankly, at this point, all that matters is findin’ that bastard and gettin’ Senna back. Oh, and Gwen, of course.”

Yorick: “Then the time is at hand! On your command, warriors of the light, we march!”

Lucian: “Alright then. Sentinels! Corpses! Let’s move!”

Shadow Isles Part II

With the Sentinels and Yorick’s ghouls at your side, you storm the gates of Helia, only to be greeted by Viego’s twisted forces. The ruins of the city quickly become a battlefield filled with screams of the undead.

Lucian: “Sentinels, stick together! Remember your training!”

Though clearly not as experienced as Senna, Lucian still does his best to take command of the situation while fending off the undead that get too close.

Lucian: “Olaf, Jayce, you two clear us a path! Graves, you and I will cover them! Akshan, Vayne, Rengar, you three scout ahead! The rest of you, stick with Rookie and try to keep him safe!”

The Sentinels spring into action at Lucian’s command, clearing their own respective paths through the battlefield. You linger behind with Riven, Shen and Diana serving as your protectors, cutting down the undead who dare to get too close.

Riven: “Don’t worry, Rookie, we’ve got you covered!”

In that moment, an inhuman roar cries out from somewhere above you. You look up to the sound of wings beating and your heart sinks at the sight of a familiar wyvern.

“That’s Shyvana!”

“How did she escape the dragonguard!?”

Shyvana soars across the battlefield and lets loose a stream of harrowed flame, scorching the entire battlefield with reckless abandon. As the flames draws near, Shen focused and conjures his spirit blade to form a protective barrier around you and the other Sentinels. Shyvana’s fire passes over you harmlessly, though you can still feel the raw hear even through the barrier.

Shen: “Is everyone unharmed?”

“I’m good, thanks!”

“If Shyvana is here, then…”

As if on cue, another figure descends from the sky, crashing down onto the battlefield like a meteor. Your heart sinks further as Diana speaks the name that’s on your mind.

Diana: “Pantheon… So Atreus has lost control once again. I… Look out!”

Diana shoves you behind her and wraps herself in a barrier of light just as a massive swirlseed slams into her. Dream dust scatters around Diana and you feel yourself stumble from breathing it in.

Riven: “Rookie! Stay awake, alright?”

You struggle to remain conscious as Lillia’s dream dust starts to take hold, but just as your eyelids are about to close, Riven delivers a sharp slap across your face. In an instant, you feel yourself snap to alertness.

“I’m awake!”

“Ow! Thanks, but ow!”

Riven: “Glad to see that worked.”

Your relief is short-lived as your eyes catch sight of another massive figure orbiting the battlefield: The Dead Pool, held aloft by clouds of Black Mist. At the ship’s helm stands Gangplank, though you recognize three other figures beside him.

“That’s Draven!”

“That’s Tryndamere!”

“That’s Viktor!”

Draven and Tryndamere both leap from the ship’s prow, dropping to the battlefield without care. Viktor, meanwhile, seems to direct a number of drones powered by Black Mist to follow suit. You soon realize that Yorick’s girls are diminishing in number, while your Sentinel allies are steadily pushed back.

Lucian: “Damn it! Everyone regroup! We have to-”

Whatever Lucian was about to say was cut off by the sound of explosions. The Dead Pool’s cannons let loose a relentless volley upon the battlefield, scattering the Sentinels in all directions. One shot lands especially close to you, slamming you into a nearby building.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring as you try to regain your footing. You feel a large hand suddenly wrapping around your neck and hoisting you up. You recognize the face of the man holding you, but his eyes now glow with an unearthly light.

Fetu: “Hmph. I can’t imagine why the Wayfinder would have chosen the likes of you.”

“Fetu?”

“You’re the Sentinel from Buhru…”

Fetu: “So you remember me? Then you remember that you left me to die. Me and my comrades. We held out for as long as we could, but we were no match for the Black Mist. No one is.”

Suddenly, something sharp pierces your stomach. You look down to see one of Fetu’s blades lodged deep in your gut. Pain fills your body as you cough up blood.

Fetu: “And you, you will share our fate, young Sentinel.”

You fall to the ground as your life begins to fade. Tendrils of Black Mist creep around your body, sweeping over you until they engulf you completely. Your vision fades and darkness consumes you as you take your final breath…

Shadow Isles Part III

You linger silently in the darkness. You feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing. Your thoughts and memories are scattered. Who are you? What are you? These are the answers your mind seeks, but is unable to grasp.

???: “…me?”

???: “Can you hear me?”

You hear a voice calling out to you. It feels familiar, yet you cannot discern why.

???: “Can you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Why are you?”

A glimmer of light emerges from the darkness, growing brighter in your line of sight. The light takes on the vague likeness of person, but you can’t discern the details.

???: “I’ve been with you all along. I am your guide, but I am also the cause of your anguish.”

The figure moves closer. You can vaguely discern that the voice belongs to a woman, but her face remains obscured. You think you feel fingers running against your cheek.

???: “This all began with my untimely death, which set my husband on this twisted path. He was a good man, once, but the Black Mist brings out the worst in one’s soul. Pain. Regret. Anger. That’s all my husband is now. I want to bring him back, as well as all those corrupted by his influence.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Does that mean you’re…?”

???: “I’m not who I once was. I am only a fragment of her, hidden away with Relic you carry. It was I who chose you, because I sensed you had a good heart. The Wayfinder was a tool crafted to help bring the world together in its time of need, and I offered what little power I had to that end. Now, I offer that power to you, young Sentinel. Though it means revealing myself to my wayward love, I am prepared to take that risk. I… Am prepared to place my faith in you.”

Suddenly, the darkness around you starts to fade. Your thoughts become less scattered. Feeling returns to your limbs.

???: “Our time is nearing an end. I can offer you my strength, but victory will depend on your own. You are not a warrior like your allies. Yours is the power to touch the hearts of those around you and draw out the best in them. Go, young Sentinel, and become a beacon in this dark time…”

The figure fades away and her voice falls silent. Slowly but surely, you climb to your feet, your memories slowly returning.

Akshan: “Ah, good! You are awake!”

“What happened?”

“Where is everyone?”

Akshan response 1: “Well, you were slain, but I have restored you to life! Do you still doubt the Absolver’s power?”

Akshan response 2: “While you were dying, everyone else has been fighting their hardest. Alas, I fear may we require a hasty retreat, which is why-”

Just then, Akshan’s gaze moves to the Wayfinder at your side. You look down to see that a segment in the base of the Relic has opened up. Hallowed Mist pours from the Wayfinder, and you recall your unusual encounter with the figure in your dream.

“Akshan! I know what we have to do!”

“Akshan! I need you to carry me!”

Akshan: “Oh? I am not quite certain what is happening, but I like the look that is in your eye! Very-well, hold on tightly to me, and try not to fall!”

Akshan grapples you up to the roof of a nearby building and sets you down. From this vantage point, you can see most of the battlefield around you. As you gather your bearings however, Shyvana sudden swoops down and lands before you, nearly shattering the roof.

Shyvana: “Burn all in dragonfire!”

As she prepares to engulf you in flame, you raise the Wayfinder and focus. Tendrils of Hallowed Mist pour forth and wrap around the half-dragon, stopping Shyvana in her tracks.

“Is that what your friends would want?”

“This isn’t you, Shyvana!”

Shyava: “Silence! I… I am…”

“You’re not a monster! You’re a soldier! Jerik said you’re the best he’s ever seen! Is this how a member of the Dragonguard should act!?”

“You’re not a monster! You’re the friend and protector of Demacia’s king! Didn’t you swear to defend him!?”

Shyvana: “Grrr…. RRRRAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!”

Primal fire engulfs Shyvana and her dragon form vanishes. Before you stands a woman with purple scales and crimson armor. Her hands and eyes burn with flames imbued with Hallowed Mist.

Shyvana: “I will never forget my oath! This Ruined King thinks he can tame a dragon? I’ll show him what happens to the enemies of Demacia!”

Shyvana transforms again, kneeling her head down to you.

Shyvana: “Climb on my back, and hold tight!”

Akshan: “Aha! Wonderfully done, Rookie!”

You do as Shyvana tells you and climb onto her back. The half-dragon carries you into the air and over the battlefield as you cling for dear life. As you ascend, your eyes scan the battlefield to pick out those who have fallen under Viego’s influence.

Shadow Isles Part IV

*From here, the player may choose which Ruined champ to go for in which order.

>Pick Tryndamere

Shyvana descends toward the Barbarian King, surrounding him in a ring of Hallowed Dragonfire. Tryndamere looks up at you and cries out in fury, but you respond by angling your Wayfinder at him. Hallowed Mist shoots forth, striking Tryndamere in the chest.

“Tryndamere, calm down! Is this how a king should behave?”

“Are you a man or an animal!? Get ahold of yourself, Tryndamere!”

Tryndamere: “Rrrgh… Grah!”

“You’re supposed to be the king of the Avarosa! Why are you bowing down to a guy like Viego!?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a might warrior! How can you let a guy like Viego tell you what to do!?”

Tryndamere: “I… I… I’LL NEVER YIELD!!!!!”

The Black Mist scatters from Tryndamere as he lets out a cry of defiance. In its place, Hallow Mist wraps around his form, imbuing his blade with cleansing power.

Tryndamere: “I fear no man or monster! COME AT ME!”

Tryndamere charges back into the fray, cutting through flames and undead alike. Though rage still consumes him, you notice that his movements are more focused now, his rage directed toward his adversaries in the Black Mist.

Shyvana carries you back into the air to seek your next target.

>Pick Draven

You spot Draven standing atop the remnants of an old monument, looking rather bored with the battle around him. Only as you approach does he look up, his attention drawn by the sound of beating wings.

Draven: “Oh, here we go! This this should be good!”

Draven winds up to hurl one of his axes, but you beat him to the draw. Tendrils of Hallowed Mist shoot from your Wayfinder and cling to Draven’s body.

Draven: “Hey, what gives!?”

“Draven, I’ve always wanted to meet you, but not like this. What a let-down.”

“I never imagined the Glorious Executioner would turn into a bit-player for some undead king.”

Draven: “What’d you say?”

“Come on, you’re supposed to be the star of the show! Why are you playing second-fiddle to Viego?”

“Draven what would your fans think if they saw you like this? Are you really gonna let them down by borrowing Viego’s power?”

Draven: “Hey! Draven IS the life of the party! Just you watch, kid!”

The Black Mist around Draven vanishes as the Hallowed Mist takes its place. He turns and chucks both axes, bouncing them off a pair of flying wraiths. Then, with practiced ease, he catches both axes and laughs.

Draven: “Ha! How’d you like that? Don’t get too excited, though! I’m just warming up!”

You and Shyvana watch as Draven leaps into the fray, but neither of you stick around to watch the show. Instead, you quickly ascend and begin seeking your next target.

>Pick Lillia

You spot a lot figure hiding amidst the ruins and direct Shyvana to descend on them. Lillia cries out in surprise as the half-dragon crashes down behind her.

Lillia: “Eep!”

She turns around to try and attack with her branch, but tendrils of Hallowed Mist engulf her before she has the chance.

“Come on, Lillia, you’re too cute to be one of Viego’s flunkies! Be brave! Fight back!”

“Lillia, aren’t you supposed to be a guardian of dreams? How can you be siding with Viego?”

Lillia: “W-What? But… Viego’s dreams are… So beautiful…”

“Viego doesn’t dream, Lillia! Not anymore! The man you’re seeing died a long time ago!”

“Viego’s dreams may be pretty, but his reality is a nightmare! He’ll ruin dreams for everyone, forever!”

Lillia: “T-That’s awful! I… Eep!”

Lillia lets out a startled gasp as the scatters from her form, then calms down as Hallowed Mist takes its place.

Lillia: “Oh, what’s this? I… I see an even lovelier dream. Not of the past, but of the future: a bright future, where nobody has to be afraid anymore. I… I understand. I’ll help spread this dream! Maybe Mother Tree will like it, too!”

Lillia takes a deep breath and scampers off into the fray, doing her best to sooth the dreams of the wraiths. You and Shyvana ascend once more to search for those still under Viego’s control.

>Pick Pantheon

As you and Shyvana scan the crowd, a flaming spear soars through the air, grazing Shyvana’s scales. The halfdragon cries out and makes an uneasy land. You do the same as you lose your grip and fall to the ground. Just as you start regain your footing, though, you see a figure marching toward you, shield raised. You try to use the Wayfinder, but the Hallowed Mist glances off Pantheon’s shield.

The war god lunges at you, but you narrowly dodge to the side to avoid being impaled by the spear that’s magically returned to his hand. Before Pantheon can try again, however, Shyvana lunges, engaging the war god with tooth and claw. As they struggle, you see your chance, and try again. This time, the Hallowed Mist takes hold.

“Atreus! I know you’re in there! You have to fight it!”

“Some god you are, Pantheon! I like your human half way better!”

Pantheon: “…Ngh! S-Silence…”

Pantheon struggles to break free, but Shyvana aids in restraining him.

“You’re not a god or a slave! You’re a warrior!”

“Your time is over, war god! No one’s gonna pray to you now, especially not like this.”

Atreus: “My name… IS SOLDIER!”

Two voices cry out at once: Atreus in triumph, Pantheon in despair. The Black Mist is replaced by Celestial power once again.

Atreus: “By my spear, they will know war!”

Atreus moves in the blink of an air, raising his spear to shield you from the axe of undead minotaur. In the same motion, he impales the beast, felling them in an instant.

Atreus: “Go! Rally our comrades! This battle is not yet lost!”

You and Shyvana both nod in acknowledgement before taking to the skies again, searching for those who remain under Viego’s influence.

>Pick Viktor

You spot Viktor amidst a crowd of possessed drones, which seem to swarm around him like a protective barrier. The drones become hostile as they notice you, but Shyvana effortlessly scatters them with her fire. You spot Viktor kneeling in the flames, staring up at you through his metal mask.

Viktor: “Why? Why you deny progress? Why do you deny salvation?”

In response, you raised the Wayfinder and let Hallowed Mist wash over the Machine Herald, binding him in place.

“Viego’s not trying to save humanity, Viktor! He’s trying to destroy it!”

“You call this progress? Turning people into a bunch of mindless wraiths hungry for souls!?”

Viktor: “Ngh… Illogical… Your argument is…”

“Viego’s a man driven by emotion, not logic! Open your eyes, Viktor!”

“Viego doesn’t care about humanity! He just wants to make everyone suffer!”

Viktor: “I see… It seems my own judgement was flawed. I must correct this error. I must adapt…”

The Black Mist pours out of Viktor’s mechanical body, replaced instead by the gentle thrum of Hallowed Mist.

Viktor: “And improve!”

Viktor turns and destroys the remaining drones with his laser.

Viktor: “Core upgrade complete. Now operating at maximum efficiency. Yes… Embrace progress!”

You and Shyvana leave Viktor to his own devices, soaring back into the skies to search for more of Viego’s thralls.

>Pick Gangplank

You advance toward the Dead Pool, holding on tight as Shyvana narrowly evades the ships cannons. Once close enough, she lets out a stream of flame that engulfs the entire ship, sending it crashing toward the ground. You scan the wreckages and see a lone figure limping out: Gangplank.

Gangplank: “It’ll take more than that to sink me, boy!”

Gangplank fires a few shots with his gun, but the bullets glance harmlessly off of Shyvana’s scales. You return fire with tendrils of Hallowed Mist, holding pirate lord in place.

“I’m not trying to sink you, Captain! I’m trying to save you!”

“You’re already drowning, Gangplank! I’m here to pull you back up!”

Gangplank: “What nonsense! I’ve finally got the power to take back my city! I don’t need any help from the likes of you!”

“Viego won’t give you your city back, Gangplank! If he wins, there won’t be anything left of Bilgewater!”

“You really trust Viego that much? You’ve gotta know there’s only room for one king in the world he’s trying to make!”

Gangplank: “…I see now. So, that slimy wharfrat thinks he can double-cross me, does he? It’s about time he realized…”

Gangplank grabs hold of the Black Mist around him, discarding it like an old coat that’s outlived its usefulness. In its place, the Hallowed Mist seems to restore the Gangplanks torn and tattered clothes to something resembling their former glory.

Gangplank: “Dead men tell MY tale!”

He turns and fires a bullet into a crowd of wraiths emerging from the remnants of his ship.

Gangplank: “Go and rejoin your crew, boy! I’ll discipline mine, then find that Ruined King!”

You and Shyvana take to the skies again, once again searching for allies amidst the Black Mist.

Once you’ve freed everyone you can from Viego’s control, you scan the battlefield for your fellow Sentinels. It’s not long before you spot flashes of light in the darkness, and direct Shyvana to set you down at their source.

As you descend, you see your allies have all huddled together near the base of the tower, making one last desperate attempt to push through. Shyvana lets loose a stream of flame that scorches the wraiths around them, before touching down and allowing you to dismount.

Lucian: “Rookie!? That you?”

“Hey, boss.”

“Happy to see me?”

Vayne: “What happened to the dragon? And to the Wayfinder? That looks like… Hallowed Mist.”

Behind you, Shyvana reverts to her humanoid form and addresses the Sentinels.

“He’s freed me from Viego’s control, as well as the others under that monster’s sway. Go and do what you have to, Sentinels. I’ll hold these creatures back!”

Shyvana wraps herself in flame again as she charges back into the fray, burning away any undead that try to get her.

Lucian: “I’m still not sure what you did, Rook, but I guess now ain’t the time to question it.”

Yorick: “You’ve awakened the final piece of her soul… Then the time truly has come to put an end to this madness.”

You and the other Sentinels gather before the gates of Viego’s stronghold, steeling your nerves for one last push.

Lucian: “This is it, Sentinels! Let’s show this Ruined Creep what we’re made of!”  

Shadow Isles Part V

With Yorick serving as your guide, you storm the ancient, dilapidated building that now serves as Viego’s castle. The gravedigger leads you through ancient hallways teeming with the Ruined King’s undead warriors, adorned in faded, rustic armor. Though more fearsome than the lowly wraiths you’re accustomed to, they fall quickly before the Sentinels’ onslaught of light, set to rest after centuries of servitude.

Finally, you push through one last door to emerge in what seems to be a makeshift throne room, the walls and ceiling broken away to reveal the lightless sky overhead. Across the room, a lone figure stands with his back toward you, the tip of his massive blade touching the ground.

Graves: “So that’s the Ruined King? Thought he’d be bigger.”

Jayce and Olaf: “Don’t let his size fool you!”

Viego: “Sentinels. How good of you to come. How kind of you to bring the final fetter.”

Viego turns to face you, and you get the sense that his power has somehow grown even more since your last encounter. A chill runs down your spine as you examine the room, seeing all the fetters from around Runeterra gathered neatly in a corner. They seem devoid now of life and light, nothing more than ordinary objects. Among them, to your horror, is a familiar-looking doll…

Lucian: “Enough stalling, creep! Where’s Senna?”

Viego: “Lucian… All who oppose me are hypocrites, and you may be the greatest of all. We share much in common, do we not?”

Lucian: “I’m nothin’ like you!”

Viego: “No? I know of your deeds, Purifier. You once scoured the world in pursuit of your lost love, just as I do. You place her safety above all else, even your own duties. If it meant saving her, you would damn this world without a hint of remorse.”

Riven: “What is he talking about?”

“Lucian, don’t listen to him!”

“Don’t let him get inside your head!”

Lucian: “You’re right, Rook! If this bastard won’t talk, we’ll just have to make him! Sentinels, open fire!”

On Lucian’s orders, the Sentinels charge Viego, the light of their relics illuminating the throne room. With a single swing of his blade, Viego unleashes a torrent of Black Mist that renders your attacks moot and forces you all back.

Viego: “This is the best resistance you can muster? Did you truly think yourselves a match for me, merely because you got past my armies?”

You clamber to your feet, only to find that Viego has vanished. You look around, only to find a hand wrapped firmly around your neck. Before you can even register what’s happening, the Wayfinder is snatched from your grasp and you find yourself on the floor once more. Viego reappears on his throne, examining the Wayfinder with amusement and contempt.

Viego: “To think that they would hide you away from me in such a trifling toy, my queen… But at last, the final fetter is truly in my grasp.

“Viego, stop! Isolde doesn’t want this!”

“Even if you bring her back, she’ll never love what you’ve become!”

Viego: “Silence! You know nothing, child! NOTHING! This cruel, twisted world took from me the only thing that ever mattered, the only thing that gave my life meaning! Never again! I will absorb every last piece of her soul. She will reside within me forever more, and we never be apart! No one will ever take her from me again!”

Diana: “You are mad! That… That is not love!”

Viego stands and tightens his grasp on the Wayfinder. You watch in horror as the light of Isolde’s soul fades, absorbed into the ceaseless darkness of Viego’s absent heart.

Viego: “It matters not what you think! I can feel her within me, granting me strength… She loves me, as I love her. Witness, Sentinels, the strength of our bond!”

You watch as the Black Mist pouring from Viego’s chest grows even more potent, wrapping around his body. A jet-black armor forms from the corruption, and a cape of pure darkness billows in the still air.

Viego: “You see? She and I are nearly one. Only one more piece remains, and then…”

Just then, a portal opens to the right of the throne. Vex emerges with her shadow in tow.

Vex: “It’s done. Oh, these guys are here?”

Viego: “Pay them no mind, Vex. They are no longer of any consequence.”

Vex: “Trust me, I’ve been trying my hardest to ignore them from the start. Anyway, that Sentinel chick’s nice and secure, just like you wanted.”

Lucian: “Senna…”

Viego: “Excellent. Then this is where we part, Sentinels. Do not fret. I will leave you with one final parting gift.”

With a snap of his fingers, Viego calls forth several wraiths from the sky above, which descend onto the throneroom in a screaming cloud. Viego and Vex quickly gather up the now lifeless fetters, preparing to make their escape through the portal.

Vayne: “Damn it! We have to go after him!”

Lucian: “I’ll go! The rest of you, cover me!”

With Relic light enhancing his movements, Lucian darts and dashes between the storm of souls, leaving the rest of you behind to deal with the wraiths as he makes for the portal. Amid the chaos, your eyes fall upon the now-lifeless Wayfinder, only to hear a familiar voice speak out to you from behind.

Yorick: “The king thinks that he’s won, but he’s overlooked something crucial.”

“What’s that?”

“What do you mean?”

Yorick: “Your piece of the queen was hidden from him, but there is another that he’s overlooked all this time. Take my cloak, child, and hurry.”

Yorick removes the shroud of darkness clinging to him and hands it to you. As you grasp it, you can hear countless voices whispering in your head as one: the voice of the Maiden.

Maiden: “Join us. Surrender to us. Be as one.”

Just then, Yorick opens his vile and sprinkles a single drop of water onto you. You feel the voices in your head growing fainter, but not completely silent.

Yorick: “Do not heed her, but keep her close. She’ll serve you well when the time comes. Now go.”

Yorick returns to the fray, summoning what few ghouls remain under his command to aid in the fight. You look to the portal and steel yourself before sprinting through the chaos, snatching up the Wayfinder as you make for the closing portal.

Riven: “Rookie! Where are you going!? Rookie!?”

You offer no response as you dive into the shadows once more, letting darkness engulf you once again.

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

i am very much enjoying my vague void! it's currently blasting hozier at full volume and that's almost louder than my internal screaming (don't worry, everything is fine, i just saw a spider)

i've never once in my life have followed a recipe correctly. all of my measurements are completely random and whatever happens happens. it is no longer in my hands. whatever eldritch entities exist take the wheel. and i absolutely refuse to spell anything in english without autocorrect because y'all have way too many double letters and random vowel placement

thank you! sadly, i won't have a break right now, because we just had christmas vacations, but the start of the new semester is always pretty chill. and you're absolutely right, i should take up necromancy! the snow and the cold will add to my mysterious vibes. i just need to get a big black cape with a hood to complete the aesthetic

i definitely picture everything above 5'6 feet as the same height. 5'7 and 6'2? the exact same thing. no difference here

how is morepork a real bird name. it's just... more pork? but the bird is magnificent. i completely approve of your first order as bird queen, not that you need approval from mere peasants like me, but it's a great order. ohhh salps look really cool, and it does look a lot like it! when you said boob implant i thought of mermaids and them using salps as boob implants but then i realised wait wouldn't jellyfish be better for that? because of their shape? ignoring their little leggies they're quite boob shaped, no? and then i realised that i was thinking about mermaids and alive boob implants... if i had to think it, you have to read it. i'm sorry

i was sold before but now i'm even more sure that i want to hire you. and I'll make sure to have lactose free cheese for the backflips (unless you want the lactose version? i'm not judging). will the biting of ankles cost extra?

that sounds like a brilliant set-up for a horror movie where they kill off all the children one by one. it's absolutely horrifying. if something like that would've happened to me i would've most likely just passed out. whatever happens afterwards is not my problem. and now i really don't want to know what the hell your leg was caught on because that seems like knowledge that would get me killed

ah so you're a fellow dirt eater? according to my mom my favourite thing to do outside when i was a little kid used to be eating sand. just shovelling handfuls of it into my mouth and crying when my mom made me spit it out. which i refuse to believe. if there are no photos it didn't happen

you warm climate people are starting to make me think that i'm better adjusted to the cold than i thought i am! it's either that or our buildings are better heated. i definitely don't know if anyone else calls hot water bottled hotties but i like it so from now on i'm using it

that's so cute! i was clearly a way more selfish child because when i found any amount of money i just kept it and bought candy as soon as i could. i clearly couldn't save money then and i can't now. we have stores like that (or i'm assuming that they're like that solely based on how they sell lollies) and they used to be my favourite thing because you could get so many lollies for such a small price!! and my mom even used to let me order for myself sometimes so i always felt like a very big girl jsjshsbsjk

also the fact that i can't send pictures on anon is a crime (yes i know why and it's good that that's not possible because can you imagine anons being able to send pictures? oh no is all i have to say about it) but anyways. because i have this one super cursed photo that reminded me of you and now i can't share it :((

duuuuude, sick void bro. sounds like a vibing void. I feel like I haven’t seen a spider in awhile. Other than daddy long legs. But they’re chill. They mind their own business. 

I nearly always follow recipes exactly. My mum is like oh cook this for about 7 minutes? Yeah sure. I’ll take a wild guess. I’m like they say exactly 7 minutes so I’ll set a timer for 7 minutes and start a stopwatch so if it does seem to need more than 7 I can keep an eye on the extra time and be aware of exactly how long it takes me for next time. Other people are like oh let's see I have [lists 5-10 things in their fridge], hmm...oh I know what I could make with that! I’m like I have beans in my freezer because one recipe required them and no other recipes I know how to make do so what am I supposed to do with these now,,, this is stressful,,, basically I barely know how to cook and recipes are the only things saving me in that area. That is entirely fair. Except for the fuck duck, and murder is not the word you want surely, situations, it’s pretty helpful.

Ohhh I see. At least the start is chill! For a little! Before your entire situation spirals out of hand and you’re behind in every class and it’s taken you a whole day to read 10 pages and you’re exhausted and it’s only week 2. Just me? ok. fair. anyway. I want a cloak so bad. One of my uni friends tempted me to class because she said she was wearing a cloak so my depressed ass honest to god dragged myself out of bed and to said class just to see it. It was worth it. They’re incredible. Everyone should own a big cloak for the aesthetic.

I’m glad it isn’t just me hahaha. I can visualise my own height in feet but everything else is just the same size that is a vague amount taller than me, mentally.

It’s also known as the ruru. But the name morepork amuses me. It’s named after the call it makes haha. It does sound like it’s asking for more pork if you know to listen for that. thank u for ur approval, it means a lot, turns out becoming bird queen didn’t ACTUALLY get rid of my anxiety disorder weirdly enough so validation is great! lmaooo. What if the jellyfish stung them tho? At least salps wouldn’t do you dirty like that. The mermaids would just look like there are hundreds of bugs crawling around in their boobs, flesh shifting as they float around. Which is a vibe. If you’re into that. Jellyfish WOULD make a more solid, single, implant, some of them are definitely boob shaped. But that’s kinda boring no one’s gonna be traumatised by that. Salps on the other hand...yeah, that sight will DEFINITELY traumatise someone.

To be PERFECTLY honest I haven’t done a backflip in years but for lactose-free cheese? Dude. I’ll be going back to training. Gonna be the best backflip you’ve ever seen. As long as it’s not Tasty cheese I am content, but lactose free IS better. The biting of ankles will not cost extra, it is a pleasure to be allowed to do that.

Oh it absolutely would be. It’d be very funny if it reached the wider world bc people would probably be like ok but who would send kids into the bush like that,, it’s an odd concept. meanwhile everyone who grew up in nz is gonna be like y’all, you’re not gonna fuckin BELIEVE what i experienced growing up, it’s real dude. On one hand, I feel like murdering kids in a movie is questionable, on the other hand, It exists, so maybe people would be down for it. I feel like it’d be a good concept even if it wasn’t murdery tho. Like psychological horror? I’m not sure if I’m using that category correctly I don’t watch much horror. A kid following the rope but then being shifted into a different horror dimension but they never take the blindfold off because their teachers said not to and they’d probably have to let go of the rope to do it...I feel like this could work super well as a short film. The viewers see everything. The child just knows something is off and no one is coming when they call for help. I am so down for this. I also do not want to know what my leg was caught on. Some things I am better off not knowing.

yes! I am a fellow dirt eater! We had a sandpit at home (that’s a little bold. It was a large plastic shell that my parents filled with sand. technically a sandpit. but not fancy sdflsdkfsdf) but I don’t think I ever tried to eat it. Then again, I possibly did and just don’t remember because there’s no photo evidence of that one. I’d have to ask my parents sdfhsjdfs, I would however fully believe them if they said yes. it’s very characteristic of me. I don’t doubt it for a second. muuuum that’s my emotional support sand don’t make me spit it out smh the disrespect these days.

Oh I’m absolutely terrible even by most people’s standards around here when it comes to cold and hot temperatures. I remember sitting in the sun in my school shirt and school jersey in summer on a blazing day like it’s a bit chilly, isn’t it? Meanwhile my friends were in the shade absolutely dying from the heat. Likewise in winter I’d be shivering, teeth chattering, dying with my long sleeve thermal, my school shirt, my school jersey, my school jacket, my longs, warm socks and sneakers and gloves and school scarf while ppl would be walking around in a shirt and shorts like it’s a bit warm this winter huh? my body didn’t learn how to thermoregulate and it shows. But yeah NZ does also have a reputation for shittily insulated buildings and such. It shows. skhdfsfs if it’s not common use maybe don’t say can i have a hotty to someone without context but otherwise go ahead lmao. it’s a fun shortened version.

I was typically a very good saver, to the point where my extended family started gifting me gift cards and vouchers for Christmas and my birthday because if they just gave me money I’d put it in my bank account to save towards uni once I hit like, 12 years old. Which I think was a smart move. But apparently, I’m supposed to buy myself ‘something nice’ with it. I think I’m still an okay saver but I’m not as strict anymore. I’m aware of how much I can spare and I’m not just like you can never get anything for yourself ever, so I do get lil things for myself sometimes. oooo yay! At least you know what I mean. But yes. They were the gold mine for lollies. Absolutely terrific stores. My mum would be like hey lindsey how about you order? And I’d be like mother, I am 7 years old and I have an undiagnosed anxiety disorder everyone assumes is child shyness why would you think I would want to do that. Instead I will whisper my choices to you. After therapy tho I felt pretty rad for picking my own lollies by myself. I was like 13 at that point but sdfkjhsdf listen I got there in the end.

sdfkjsdfkjhsdf I like that a cursed photo reminded you of me. That’s all I need to hear. Tumblr said no anon dick pics but they also said no anon cursed photos either,,, very sad. for the latter part. the first part thank god. If I could turn on photos on anon I absolutely would just to see this but I don’t think I can :(

[bluerosesonata]

The Legacy of Aika Village

[This will be the first of a few mini-articles I plan to post here, just about different things I’m passionate about. Please indulge me.]

This article originally was written back in early April- since then, Nintendo announced that the “Dream Suites” would be coming to the latest update of ACNH, as “Dream Islands.” As such, I thought it would be timely to finally post this.

Update: On July 2nd, the original creator of Aika Village made a tweet announcing their plans to remake Aika for Dream Islands in New Horizons! The legend lives on!

Image Credit: thumbnail from chuggaconroy’s playthrough of Aika Village on Youtube.

Animal Crossing And Horror: The Legacy of Aika Village

With a lot of the world in lockdown, Animal Crossing New Horizons has become a creative and social outlet for many, leading to a lot of people who never played Animal Crossing to engage with it for the first time. I’m sure most of you have encountered the various types of people present in the Animal Crossing community by now, but there’s a type of Animal Crossing players that a lot of people didn’t realize exist, and have existed, for a while now: The Horror Town Creators.

These players were the subject of a brief write up on Polygon by Patricia Hernandez [Hernandez, Patricia. “Animal Crossing: New Horizons is now a horror game, thanks to fans.” Polygon, 24 Mar. 2020. https://www.polygon.com/2020/3/24/21190826/animal-crossing-new-horizons-horror-game-decorations-scary-nintendo-switch-blood-spatter-pattern.], who posted an article featuring quotes and pictures of people creating horror themed towns and rooms in New Horizons, but only made a brief mention of the legacy of horror that many of these players are striving to recreate: The Nightmare Suites of Animal Crossing: New Leaf.

(These next few paragraphs are a bit of a self-indulgent aside, so feel feel to skip ahead.)

Horror gets a bad rap. Horror artists get comments like “lmao what SCP is this,”  “that’s fucked up,” or get flippant remarks about it all “looking the same.” Horror writers get made fun of for only writing “three types of stories.” Even the term “creepypasta,” which has evolved into shorthand for “horror stories independently published online,” still carries the stink of derision from the typo-filled, often poorly-written shock stories the term originated from. Despite this derision, horror, as a genre, is MASSIVELY popular (and profitable as well!). There’s an undeniable appeal to it.

More importantly, horror always finds a way to adapt itself to different mediums. As one can easily see by the success of horror podcasts like the NoSleep Podcast and The Magnus Archives, it isn’t even limited to a visual format! Like fear and dread itself, the horror genre crawls on, inexhaustible, undying, and ever-present, always returning to us in ways both novel and familiar.

Horror lovers are a tight knit, but welcoming, community, and that’s one of its biggest strengths and weaknesses.The biggest drawback is that a lot of really cool stuff produced will never be experienced, let alone documented, by people outside the community. And that’s what prompted this post. I was trying to explain the Dream Suite horror movement to my cousin, and despite my best efforts, didn’t find a lot of coverage about them, beyond the fact they existed. Worse, most of those were articles written five years ago. Even so, I’ll link to a few of them at the end of this post, as they’re definitely worth reading.

For me, I wanted to share my experience of the horror town phenomena with people outside the community. The Nightmare Suites movement was really something magical, and I know that I, personally, am still trying to recreate that magic in New Horizons. And hey, maybe once you’re finished reading this, you will too.

The Dream Suite

Before we can talk about Aika Village, we need to explain the feature that made this whole movement possible. In the 2012/2013 3DS game, Animal Crossing: New Leaf, there were two areas in every town: The village, and Main Street, which laid beyond the train tracks that ran across to the north of every town. Main Street was home several important structures, including the town shop, the Happy Home Academy, and the Post Office. Later on, more structures could be unlocked and built as public works projects, one of which was the Dream Suite.[“Dream Suite.” Nookipedia, 25 Apr. 2013, nookipedia.com/wiki/Dream_Suite.] 

As for how it worked, Nookipedia explains it best:

To begin a dream, the player must lie down on the bed and pay Luna 500 Bells. They may then choose to visit a random town, input the Dream Address of a specific town to visit, or search for a town. They may then choose to visit a previously visited town or a random town, or to input the dream address of a new town to visit. While dreaming, the player may walk around the town and perform actions just as they would in the real world, but their actions will have no effect on the town.

While dreaming, the bed will be on the dream town's plaza. Luna and Lloid stand near it until the player decides to wake up. Players can borrow tools like a shovel and axe from Lloid to use within the dream. If the player lies on the bed a second time, they will leave the dream and anything they have in their pockets will be lost.

The player cannot go to Main Street or enter any buildings with doors besides homes. Additionally, messages left on the bulletin board cannot be read; instead, the board displays the town's name and Dream Address…custom designs on display in the town, such as on the ground and in houses, will be visible. The player who uploaded the town can also be found walking about. When spoken to, they will say their recorded greeting.

In essence, the Dream Suite takes a snapshot of your town at the moment you ask Luna, the NPC running the Dream Suite, to share a dream- this includes your outfit, the way  you decorated your home, the items laying around town, etc.

The most important aspect of this feature, and the one that I feel had the most impact on the Nightmare Suite creation movement, was the method of discovery. If you didn’t know someone’s code, you would be sent to a random dream of a random town, from anywhere in the world- and this is where I feel my personal experience of being in the community departs from the articles that have already been written about the Nightmare Suites.

The Urban Legend of Aika

In the years leading to 2013, I was going through some rough shit. I won’t go into details here, but video games had become my entire life. Coming into the summer of 2013, I didn’t have any friends I kept in touch with, and I was “starting over” in a city where I knew nobody- things were looking up, but outside of tumblr, I didn’t have anything even resembling a social life. Animal Crossing: New Leaf was a stabilizing force of my life during this time, and really helped me. I had the Shampoodle haircut guide saved to the camera roll on my phone, for pete’s sake.

It was in the beginnings of my friendship with a group of girls (whom I sadly no longer even have contact with), where a lot of our initial bonding happened because of anime and RPGmaker horror games. We were sitting together in the campus dining area, me playing on my 3DS, when I first learned about the Nightmare Suites.

“Have you heard about Aika Village?”

I hadn’t.

“It’s this really creepy town in dream suites, I heard about it from a friend online.” Later that day, she linked me to a tumblr post compiling a series of codes leading to different “creepy dream towns,” the first one being simply labeled as “Aika Village.”

That dream village became a phenomenon: people would write up their interpretations and theories about it, and even lead to a few articles and videos on gaming sites like IGN and Killscreen, which is why I’m not gonna even bother going into the content of the village itself.

And So, The Dream Begins…

This, in my opinion, was the draw of the Nightmare Suites. Without a way to directly share codes from your 3DS to your social media, the discovery and sharing of Dream Towns was like that of urban legends- like virtually passing notes in class, or sharing scary stories that “totally happened to a friend of my cousin’s sister” at a campfire. It felt like a cool discovery- something exclusive and scary and weirdly intimate. They had a mystique to them, a mystery of who their creators were and what they “really meant.” But above all that? They were cool as hell.

The Nightmare Suites used the limitations of the game to try and create an unnerving atmosphere in ways that were reminiscent to me of the RPGmaker horror game subgenre, and for me, created a lot of memories of excitedly typing in my once a day dream suite visit late at night in my dorm. I never lacked variety- there were so many people either influenced or inspired by Aika to make a horror town that there are entire lists and tumblrs dedicated to collecting those codes. (I even played around with the idea of making my own horror town, but never found the right inspiration, instead dedicating my time to making themed homes and custom outfits based on different anime characters.)

The sad fact that so many of these towns have been altered or overwritten, if they’re available or accessible at all, is in itself, a part of their urban legend-like appeal. While many of us may never get to experience these towns, the stories about them endure, in lists on long-abandoned blogs and youtube videos from people’s playthroughs.

And that mystique is the real legacy of Aika; While the Nightmare Suites may be gone, the wonder and dreamlike memories many of us hold from our chance encounter with it will never fade. You could even say we’re a bit…haunted by it.

[spirit-science-blog]

The Perks of Being a Wallflower is a story about the infinite layers between a person's ego and a person's soul, and in that, the self-discovery and expression of the soul through the connection we have with each other. Much of this coming of age story is centered around being an outcast in a world of sameness, telling us of uniqueness, individuality, and that each of us has the potential to live our best lives if we can just get out of our own way. While the story is based in 1991, it relates very well with most demographics of the last 40 years, minus all the mix-tapes, as much of the message is universal to our human consciousness today.

The story was both written and directed by Steven Chbosky, for both the novel and the screenplay - and while generally, we’ll be focusing on the movie, for those interested - the book adds many dimensions to the story that we don’t see in the film. With that, here’s your Spoiler Alert, and here we go!

The film opens and closes with the infinity tunnel, the place which - to the main characters - seems to be a place of pure experience, an experience of the infinite. We see Sam and later Charlie experience this by standing up in the back of a truck, holding their arms out in joyous surrender to the expansive and seemingly never-ending tunnel. There is where we find Charlie's legendary line that became the Tagline of the movie “We are infinite”.

What’s especially amazing and curious about this is that it subtly explores the line between danger and conscious expansion. In the back of the truck, there is a notable sense of danger, as if the truck bounced or a strong wind blew through in the other direction, these kids could fall off the truck and bump their noggins! Yet, in the surrender of the will of the soul, it opens for this expansive experience that few are familiar with, which deepens their connection to themselves, feelings of freedom, and each other.

Now, in the book and a core part of the movie, is that the narrative is told through Charlie writing these letters to us, the audience, essentially providing a more intimate look at what’s going on inside Charlie’s mind and heart. Throughout the story, we peel back the layers of his nature and go deeper into resonance with his soul, but what's more so, we can see the various layers of his personality, both ego, and soul, that are steering the ship of his life.

And truly, one remarkable aspect of this story in particular is that every character feels like real people, which makes it easy for the film to connect well with anyone, as opposed to some of those other Hollywood highschools where everyone is 30… or constantly breaking into song.

But perhaps one of the challenges of going back to high school through this movie is that in a lot of ways, this is really accurate, which brings up all kinds of memories. For myself personally, there’s a lot of this story that just feels like… exactly my high school life.

Take this girl for instance… *play the clips* WHO HURT YOU!?!

But yet - if the story gives us any indication, is that each of us, with our multitude of layers, has this incredible bank of life experience, and all of us have been hurt in some ways, though rarely we show it openly. Throughout the film, we slowly bury deeper into the layers of these characters and explore the abuse that was experienced in childhood, and how they were able to overcome it, and grow as people.

So even as we watch, for those with the heart to explore it, even the people who are not so nice, like the girl in Charlies class, the teacher who calls his student nothing, or Brad and his friends - are all people who are suffering in their own ways, but just haven’t yet faced it within themselves. Perhaps one of the most significant lessons here is that… Hurt people hurt people.

So getting to know Charlie, we learn that he is a young, budding writer, making these journals and describing his life experiences… If we go into our ancient past - we find many legendary sages telling us that it is through our words that we create and steer our lives and reality, and what’s more so, that writing our words give them lasting power, which is why things like journaling and even vision boards can be so powerful both in creating new things in life, and developing wisdom and meaningful self reflection.

Charlie actively demonstrates this throughout the story by the words that he uses while he’s journaling. Early on, he writes about how his old friend and people he used to know don’t want to connect with him, and he says  “well, i’m me, so who am I kidding?” Putting himself down and reinforcing the belief in himself that he’s not worth very much. Yet, he also writes that he wants to make new friends, because he wants to turn things around… and this very intention puts him on the path to actually make some.

Now, the first friend that charlie makes is really his teacher, Paul Rudd, however - charlies own shame prevents him from acknowledging this at the start, but throughout the story, Mr. Rudd essentially becomes charlies guiding mentor, providing him wisdom in the form of books, and supporting him in becoming an intelligent writer.

We are also introduced to Patrick. Patrick really represents the outspoken voice of those who are misrepresented in the world, and one who will stand up for those who are outcasts from society. When we first meet Patrick, he is drawing a beard on himself, pretending to be the shop class teacher, and the teacher comes in and calls him pattycakes. So Patrick says “Look, my name is patrick, so either call me patrick or call me nothing”. And the teacher calls him nothing! In the book, this plays out a bit differently, but we can gleam a lesson here nonetheless.

Because of this exchange, basically all of the kids in school refer to Patrick as nothing. However, by the end of the story we see the transmutation of this energy, as he puts “Nothing hates you” on the top of his hat - owning and even changing the energy, and demonstrating some wisdom and compassion all the same. Nothing hates you, there is only love, get it? Well, this probably went over most people's heads, which... might be a pun, because it was on the top of his hat.

Speaking to friendships, the final of the main trio in the story is Sam. Now the name Sam itself actually translates from Hebrew, meaning “God has Heard” or “Listen, Name of God”, and she plays a significant role not just in her own story, but helping Charlie to open his heart, and supporting him throughout his own self discovery. There is a lesson here too for all of us in the question of - who are we showing up for in our lives? The beautiful thing about Sam is that she really shows up for nearly everyone.

There is a subtle allusion to this in that the first time we see her, she has bright stadium lights behind, depicting angelic radiance. Yet at the same time, Sam herself represents the loss of innocence, for she used to have a reputation of getting drunk with all the boys and you can imagine where that train ends. We can see this in many areas throughout the movie, such as the red and black that she often wears, which falls in stark contrast to the pink wall and twinkly lights of her bedroom, and deeper still, with her story of being taken advantage of by her dad's boss at the age of 11, which twisted her own ego into becoming the girl with the reputation.

Yet, the quality of her soul allowed her to grow as a person - she is not defined by these aspects of herself anymore, moving beyond her past into a higher reality, and progressively does so even to the end, getting into penn state, sharing that things do get better. The tunnel scene, which we explored earlier, is a scene of soaring, flying, trust, and freedom, all things that help Charlie in embodying the same thing by the end too!

Having made some friends, Charlie is initiated into the group by attending his first party, where he experiences his first plant medicine experience, eating a cannabis brownie, and opening up to his new friends in a quirky way, where they essentially adopt him into the group. Welcome to the island of misfit toys, Sam says, after Patrick gives Charlie a toast.

One of the primary activities of this group is going to and participating in the rocky horror picture show. We spoke before about how the tunnel represents freedom, and this is another special place where freedom of expression reigns supreme and inhibitions go out the window. Honestly - these scenes deserve a shout out, both to Steven Chbosky for weaving this into the narrative in a really meaningful way, and also the actors for having such courage to get on stage in front of cameras and an audience of thousands, and perform the Rocky Horror Picture! Mad respect!

Now, one of the primary a

Now, speaking of freedom and big changes, a little while later, Charlie also experiences LSD for the first and probably last time.  In addition to exploring Cannabis, later on Charlie also tries LSD. Cinematically, it’s a funny segway between taking the eucharist at church, and doing a tab - which shows a direct correlation to entering the depths of spirituality and all of the ways we can do this. But nobody ever taught Charlie that the best way to practice with psychedelics is in nature or with meditation, so he doesn’t have the best time. At one point, he ends up shoveling snow in a circle on the driveway for a while... Wait a second, THIS HOUSE HAS 6 GARAGE DOORS. WHAT?! … That seems a little excessive but okay.

Anyway, during this scene Charlie says “I just saw this tree but it was a dragon, then it was a tree again, it just lied to me”, and, I’m certain that this was probably unintentional, but when you learn about Yggdrasil, the norse edition of the Tree of Life system, we find that there is this dragon called Nidhogg. In historical Viking society, Nidhogg was a great and terrible dragon whose actions intended to pull the cosmos into chaos, and who also chewed the bodies of those who were guilty of terrible crimes. This is curious, because it relates to the undercurrent of darkness that runs throughout the story, as both Sam and Charlie, and even Aunt Helen were abused when they were kids. Again - probably not intentional, but Charlie seeing the tree become a dragon could be indicative of uncovering the darkness at the bottom of his own inner tree of life.

See, this part of the story really does begin the inward spiral that leads into himself to uncover the truth of his past, represented by the end of his LSD trip, creating a snow angel - representing his purification and rebirth.

Speaking to this undercurrent of trauma, and how it shows up for us often in life, is this idea that “We accept the love we think we deserve”, a key point made throughout as we see so many characters accepting love that deep down they know is only holding them back from becoming more authentic versions of themselves. Whether it’s Candace and Ponytail Derek, Patrick and his secret lover Brad, Sam and Craig, and Mary Elizabeth and Charlie.

The film really explores the idea that we often do things that we don’t want to do for the wrong reasons. Charlie dates Mary Elizabeth and hates it, he has nothing good to say about it at all, and yet he stays in it - why? Because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. Even though it’s not a healthy relationship, Charlie can’t see past his own ego or what he’s creating by staying in the relationship. What's more so, even after the relationship ends, Charlie is still trying to make up with her because he feels bad, he feels guilty - and in this we even gain a subtle reflection for ourselves in how we weave our own traps of suffering…

We can see this expressed during one scene where he has this black dot on his third eye, a symbol of Ash Wednesday from his church, and Mary-elizabeth wipes it off. For much of the film, she seems to represent the spiritual ego, by her tendency to boast about spiritual concepts, but doesn’t really behave much like the buddhist she claims to be.

The story asks us to reflect on our own relationships and our lives in this same way, what are we doing, and why are we doing it? Are our actions in the highest alignment with our souls? However, we must also acknowledge that - as we go deeper, we see that Charlie’s guilt of feeling responsible for his Aunt Helen’s death, also stems into not being able to tell Mary Elizabeth the truth about how he feels. From this, we may discover within ourselves that all of our actions and feelings are interwoven together, far deeper than we know.

To the surprise of many people who first watch it or read the book, towards the end, Charlie goes through what resembles a dark night of the soul, a common thing during the awakening process, where we must face some aspect of our past, we must go through the trauma and the pain, in order to emerge on the other side of it and find healing.

Throughout the film, Charlie’s pain wells up within him in a number of ways, such as the fight in the Cafeteria. Later on, when he is taken to the hospital, he says something very interesting. He asks the doctor how to make it stop, how he can stop seeing everyones pain, that everyone is in pain, all of the time. Yet, the one thing he can’t see is his own pain. It reminded me of a bible verse from Matthew 7 - “First, remove the beam out of your own eye, and then you can see clearly to remove the speck out of your brother’s eye.”  Charlie can’t even see his own pain, but it’s so strongly there that it manifests itself as if he’s seeing everyone elses pain. It’s as if his pain itself has anchored him to this frequency of pain and suffering, but unless he faces the darkness within himself, he won’t be able to stop seeing it in others too.

As he faces his past, and comes to terms with it, he begins to let go and find healing. Something we all must do on our journey of reconciling our own pasts. Here we find another moving lesson, as Charlie lets go of his past, he must also let go of his friends, as they graduate and move on into new realities. Yet, not forgetting or losing their friendship, just adding some distance.

One final aspect of the story we must explore, is this very human moment where Sam and Charlie have a serious talk, and Sam asks… why didn’t you ever ask me out? Now - this might not be a fair question, because she was with someone for a long time and hey, maybe Charlie was just being respectful that she had a boyfriend… Yet, Sam reveals something very deep and moving, something we can all learn from. She says that she doesn’t want to just be someones crush, but that she wants someone to love her for who she truly is. It is a powerful and very heartfelt moment, revealing the deepest part of their characters, showing the soul from all of the ego, and for the characters expressing what they really want most, on a heart-centered level and a natural expression of the soul.

As the story comes to a close, Charlie discovers that we may accept the love we think we deserve but it is our duty to show people that they deserve more. We all deserve to fly through the tunnels, see “the light and everything that makes you wonder, with those who love most in this world, and realize that deep down, in all of our hearts... “We are infinite”!

[spnjediavenger]

Snow Day

A/N: had this one for a little while but converted it into my first x reader (excluding ‘dating would include...’s). Please take a sec to give feedback if you can! xx

Disclaimer: i do not own maze runner or any of its characters

Snow Day (Newt x reader)

             “Y/n, love, can you help me cover the plants? It’s getting a bit too cold out and I’m worried what’ll happen to them overnight if we leave them be,” a thick British accent said from behind you.

           “But, the partyyy,” you whined, leaning your head back to pout at Newt. Today was the day the box came up and that meant a party for the new greenie. Everyone always loved the parties because it was the only time they ever got to have real fun in the Glade.

           Newt chuckled at your pouting face. “It’ll be here when you get back, now come help me.”

           “Nooo,” you groaned, dropping to the ground.

           “All right, you asked for it,” he teased. He left for a moment and the next, a pair of big arms picked you up and threw you over the shoulder of the person they belonged to.

           “Gally! Put me down!” you yelled; though you couldn’t be too convincing because of the laughing you couldn’t hold in.

           “You asked for it princess,” he said simply. “Now quit being lazy and help your boyfriend,” he continued as he set you down. You playfully punched him in the arm as he walked back to the party to throw more Gladers to the ground.

           A hand laced its way through yours from behind and pulled you along. “Come on,” Newt spoke up. “The quicker we do this, the quicker you can go back.”

           “Fineeee.”

             It was maybe and hour or two later, at the first audible screech of a Griever, that the party ended. Yourself, along with about half of the other Gladers, were shivering because of the unusual drop in temperature.

           “Alright, shanks,” Gally called out. “Use all the layers you have tonight; we don’t need any of you dumb shucks getting hypothermia and trying to get out of working tomorrow.” You rolled your eyes. Way to be caring, Gally.

           “AKA,” you butted in. “Try to keep warm – we don’t want anyone getting sick.” Everyone smiled a bit before heading to their hammocks.

           “Hey,” Gally stopped, pointing an accusing finger at you. “No sugar-coating. We don’t have room for lazy shanks using the cold as an excuse to not work around here.”

           You tried so hard to hide the smile from your face. “You know you care about them, Gally. You just don’t want to admit it.”

           He rolled his eyes, put his arm around you in a light headlock, and pulled you towards the Keepers’ sleeping hut with Newt at your other side.

                         ~                                                          ~                                                          ~

             You woke up to a commotion going on outside of the hut.

           “What the bloody hell is going on?” Newt asked groggily from beside you.

           “Guys! Guys!” Chuck pounded on the door excitedly. Gladers aside from the Keepers (and yourself) generally weren’t allowed into the Keepers’ Hut and Chuck knew that. “Guys, you have to get out here! Hurry up!”

           “Alright, alright. Calm down, Chuckie,” Newt murmured, literally rolling out of bed.

           The Keepers and you all got ready, putting on extra layers as you felt the chill from outside coming in. As bundled up as you could get, you all walked out of the hut together and your jaws dropped at the sight.

           “OH MY GOSH, IT’S SNOWING!!!” you yelled. From your very limited memory, you’ve never experienced snow; or at least not that you remember. You remembered that it feels cold, and you recalled, very faintly, making snowmen and snow angels. And of course the granddaddy of them all – snowball fights.

           Some people, however, were not as excited as you.

           “This is the hottest shucking place in the world – how is it snowing?!” Gally said, looking around in disbelief.

           “Come on, Gally, this is amazing!!!” you exclaimed, twirling around to get a full view of the winter wonderland that use to be the Glade.

           “How does this not concern you? It’s normally 90 degrees out here and all of a sudden it snows,” he says with his arms crossed, trying to level with you.

           “Yes,” you said. “It’s usually 90 degrees. And now we have a break from the heat. Be happy!”

           “I’m never happy,” he deadpanned, though you caught the small smirk on his face.

           Alby appeared behind us and called out to everyone in the Glade. “Alright, shanks. Breakfast then work. This snow doesn’t change anything.”

           “Unless you’re a track-hoe,” you smirked. Since the weather was like this, there was nothing that could be done with the plants today.

           “Oh no,” Gally said. “You’re not getting out of work, she-shank. You can help out somewhere else today.”

           “You can help brush the snow out of the builders’ way with me,” Newt said, eliciting a groan out of you. He and Gally smiled and dragged you to the kitchen to eat before you would get the day started.

           “Newt.”

           Silence.

           “Newttt.”

           Silence.

           “Newtttt,” you whined.

           “Y/n,” he sighed. “Quit complaining and just get to work already.”

           “I am working. That’s the problem.”

           “Look, we just had lunch. There’s not much time left in the day.”

           You groaned rather loudly at his response.

           He chuckled a bit. “Just keep working, you lazy shank,” he said, going back to shoveling a path of snow for the builders.

           Your jaw dropped. “What did you just call me?” you said accusingly. You were use to Gally calling you a shank, but Newt never did.

           He simply laughed as he kept shoveling.

           “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” you said deviously. You smirked as you leaned over, scooped up a handful of snow, packed it into a ball, and threw it right at the back of Newt’s head.

           All of the builders stopped what they were doing, trying their best not to laugh (only a few of them succeeded). A handful of “oohs” went around, waiting for Newt’s reaction.

           Newt slowly turned around, jaw dropped, and stared at me.

           “Are you crazy?” he asked, shocked. You just smiled. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now, love.”

           He smirked as he made his own snowball and pelted you with it, laughing hard when it hit you square in the face. You were quick to wipe the freezing snow from your face and prepared to throw another snowball at Newt when Gally’s impatient voice interrupted.

           “Would you two slintheads stop messing around and get to work? Quit distracting everyone!”

           You looked at Newt with a mischievous glint in your eyes, making his own widen in fear.

           “Don’t do it,” he mouthed.

           And guess what.

           You did it.

           The whole entire glade fell silent when your snowball hit Gally straight in the face. Everyone watched in horror at what you had just dared to do, waiting for your inevitable death.

           After what seemed like forever, something strange and practically unknown appeared on Gally’s face.

           A smile.

           “Oh, you’re gonna regret that, princess,” he said. You took that as your cue to run as Gally ran after you with countless snowballs in his arms. Everyone dropped what they were doing and joined in, initiating a glade-wide snowball fight.

           Everyone ran around in a mad scramble, ducking for cover or chasing others in glee, snowballs at the ready. Alby came out and started yelling for everyone to get back to work until an anonymous snowball hit him in the face, too. He pursed his lips together then grabbed his own snowball and ran out into the chaos with the other Gladers.

           You laughed as you hid behind a tree, looking for your next victim. Then a not-so-mysterious person put you in a headlock again and pulled you from behind the tree.

           “Newt, I got her!!” Gally called out.

           He took a snowball and smashed it into your head while Newt ran over to the two of you. He did the same, then started poking your sides as you were still trapped under Gally’s arm. You screeched and jerked the other way.

           “I think we got a ticklish one, Gally,” Newt smirked, stopping his attack for a moment.

           Gally smirked back, but quickly released his grip on me when he got pelted with snow. He turned and ran, yelling, “I’m gonna get you, Winston!!!”

           You felt another poke at your side, jerked away, and ran behind a tree, giving yourself enough time to make some ammo, and nail Newt when he came after you. He chased you and eventually caught you, pulling you both to the ground in a laughing mess.

           He looked up at your face from underneath you and smiled. You smiled back and you two shared a kiss as the snowflakes fell down around you. Even the sound of the other Gladers was forgotten as you lay there.

           Who knew some snow could make the Glade seem like a good place?

                         ~                                                          ~                                                          ~

Epilogue

 “I told you to bundle up, you shank!”

           Needless to say Gally isn’t the most sympathetic person in the world.

           “It’s not my fault you and Newt were shoving snow on my head!” you countered, blowing your nose for what must have been the millionth time that day.

           “Yeah and it’s not my fault you and Newt decided to make out in the klunk stuff.”

           Your cheeks grew red at that. As did Newt’s, who sat beside you.

           “You guys really need to get a room,” came Alby’s voice from the hallway.

           Gally, Clint, and Jeff burst out laughing then, and you hid your face in Newt’s shirt. It was worth it, though.

           And you couldn’t wait until the next snow storm.

[really-shitty-short-stories-blog]

bad takeout

I bit into the pita, tasting salty, greasy gyro meat. It had been weeks since I’d allowed myself to order from Petra’s. My doctor said I needed to cut back on my meat intake.

As soon as I heard that the city was going on lockdown tomorrow morning, it became clear. I had to get some of the wonderful gyro meat. Who knows when the next time I could get it would be?

I smeared my grease and tzatziki-sauce covered hands on a napkin, then grabbed the fork. I shoveled down some of the chow mein noodles. The noodles were cheap, thin, and dry, and they stayed in the same shape when I ate them, rather than flopping around like I imagined real noodles would. I stuffed my mouth, chewed halfway, then stuffed more in.

It was definitely an odd combination for one restaurant—Greek gyro pitas and Chinese chow mein noodles. Petra’s also served tacos on Tuesdays and Fridays, but I’ve stayed away from those. I spent an unfortunate weekend bent over a toilet bowl after the last and only time I ate those tacos.

On the TV, the anchorman was droning on about the city lockdown. Something about a flu outbreak, or maybe it was measles. I grabbed the plastic TV remote, the little rubber buttons becoming sticky under my gyros-stained fingers, and switched it to Netflix. I had a whole season of The Bachelorette to binge and this lockdown would be the perfect opportunity.

When the episode was about halfway through, and I was about halfway through the mountain of paper-like chow mein noodles, the TV froze. The cursed little spinner showed up and said “Buffering.” I cursed.

On reflex I reached across my dusty, murky-brown couch that I had found on the sidewalk just down the street from my apartment with a slat of cardboard saying “Free Couch!” Out of my purse I fished my phone and tapped open Instagram. It greeted me with a blank screen. “Couldn’t load,” it said. There was no internet. I cursed again.

Carefully I picked up the pita from its styrofoam box on the low table in front of me. Despite my best efforts, a dollop of tzatziki sauce fell out and landed on the couch next to me. I would have to clean that up later, but not now. I sank my teeth into the pita, now room-temperature, and barely tasted the meat. Something crunched under my tooth, like someone had hidden a particularly crispy Cheeto inside the meat, except it had the unsatisfying feeling of biting sand between your teeth. I spat the bite out into my hand and saw a dark black blotch in among the chewed-up pita and gyro meat. What was that?

With a groan I lifted myself off the couch and walked toward the light switch. Some of the chewed-up food in my hand fell onto the carpet floor, about the same color as the food. I would have to clean that up later, too.

I reached the wall and flicked the light switch to bring the room to full brightness. I could now see the food in my hand much more clearly: the tan-brown gyro meat, shiny with grease and fat; the moist bits of pita, no longer appetizing now that they had already been in my mouth once; and that strange black bit. I looked closely at it and saw that it was very shiny, but I still could not tell what it was. Maybe the shiny skin of a burnt pepper? I picked it out and threw it in the trash then popped the rest of the food back in my mouth and swallowed.

Why was the internet down? I paid probably a hundred dollars a month for internet, so why did it go down so often? Wasn’t that unconstitutional or something? Once I got back to the couch I grabbed my phone to Google whether I could sue for this, but of course Google didn’t work because the internet was down. Stupid.

Something tasted bitter in my mouth, so I grabbed the fork and ate more chow mein to cover the taste. Of course, they didn’t have much taste to offer, so it barely helped. I grabbed the pita, hoping it would work better.

Sticking out of the pita meat as if waving hello to me, despite having its head bitten off, was the crooked, petroleum-black leg of a cockroach. My stomach shook, like a bird flapping its wings just before taking off, and I felt an icy breeze over my skin. Then something punched me in the stomach, I felt my abs draw on in on their command, and I was running for the bathroom. The first half of my takeout meal was in the toilet within a few minutes.

Now I could definitely sue for this.

---

The hallway was lit in harsh blue fluorescent light that flickered and buzzed like something out of a horror movie. It used to scare me when I first moved into this place a few years back, but I stayed because you couldn’t beat how cheap the rent was. I could afford living alone in a dump like this, even if the lights were creepy and the landlord was too lazy to fix them.

The rough wooden floor creaked and groaned as I marched down the hallway. My breath still smelled like vomit, but I had wiped up and washed my face so I looked presentable enough. I had experienced an epiphany and so I was headed back to Petra’s: instead of suing, I could blackmail them into giving me a lifetime’s supply of free gyros.

Normally there were more people in the hallway and more voices through the thin walls of the apartment building. It was now a little past midnight, but I expected more activity than this on a weekend night. Maybe everyone had the flu, like that person was saying on TV? I wasn’t worried, I had gotten my flu shot. The doctor who gave them at the CVS down the street was pretty hot and I was pretty sure he was flirting with me, so I went multiple times a year to get shots. The needles didn’t bother me.

The elevator came to a stop at the ground floor, wheezing and shaking like an old person trying to get out of a deep chair. At least it made it to the ground floor—I was pretty certain that the elevator hadn’t been inspected in the past century. It was another thing that made rent in this building so deliciously affordable.

I could see my breath when I stepped out of the building and the cold stung my face. I had forgotten to grab my scarf and hat on my way out, so I had nothing to keep my head warm. I started walking faster.

There was a homeless man sitting against the side of the building, bundled up in warm clothes. He had a scarf and a beanie that said “Harvard” on it. At least someone is warm, I thought. I started walking past him, but something caught my eye about him. He was leaning forward as if to smoke, but there was no cigarette in his mouth. A quiet groan came out of his mouth, barely audible like someone mumbling in their sleep. Then he rocked forward on his feet and howled like a dog. Red-black blood exploded from his howling mouth as he projectile-vomited onto the sidewalk between us. Some of the vomit got on my boots.

“Watch it!” I shouted. I ran past him until I was about a hundred paces down the street. He should’ve gotten his flu shot, now he was vomiting all over people on the sidewalk. It was indecent.

Besides that man, the street was as mysteriously quiet as the apartment hallway. Crumpled up food wrappers and discarded cigarettes blew around the street, disturbed neither by cars nor pedestrians. I had lived in the city for six years now and had never seen it so eerily quiet.

As I rounded the last corner on my way to Petra’s, my face was flooded in red and white light.

“You, stop!” Someone shouted from behind the glare of spotlights.

I shielded my eyes from the glare and kept walking. Petra’s was just a block away now, and they were only open until 1 AM. If I didn’t hurry, I might miss my opportunity to secure free gyros for the rest of my life. I had the disgusting cockroach in a ziplock bag in my purse as proof.

“Stop or we’ll shoot!” They shouted again.

I obeyed. I could vaguely make out the silhouette of a bulky man behind the closest spotlight. He held a large gun pointed directly at me. It was too big to be a pistol. Perhaps it was an assault rifle? Weren’t those illegal?

“I’m in a hurry! What do you want?” I shouted back.

The man lowered the gun and beckoned me towards him. As I walked closer, I saw that there was a line of police SUVs blocking the road here. About a dozen cops stood around, all of them looking at me.

“Ma’am, the city is on lockdown due to the outbreaks,” the man said. He was a little shorter than me, had graying brown hair, and looked like he had eaten a few too many donuts. I wasn’t scared of him.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. “I got my flu shot. Now if you’re done wasting my time, I need to get somewhere before they close at one.”

“You got what shot?”

“My flu shot.”

The man looked confused and turned away. There was a woman there I hadn’t noticed before, not dressed like a cop but wearing a normal business outfit. She had just gotten off the phone and was walking towards us.

“We’re not dealing with influenza, miss,” the lady said. She had a deep southern accent, like someone you would expect to see working at a Denny’s, and her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a tight, tight ponytail. “It’s a little more—”

“Stop right there!” Another one of the cops shouted on the opposite side of the line of SUVs. His gun was pointed at something in the distance, but I couldn’t see behind the cars.

The cops and the businesswoman were all looking the other way, so I took my chance. My feet pounded against the pavement as I rounded the corner back the way I had come. My phone, still with no internet, read 12:55 AM. I didn’t have much time before Petra’s would close.

The sound of my feet filled the eerily silent night street. I saw another person walking up ahead, but they were directly in the middle of the road like an idiot. Or perhaps they were drunk? At least someone was doing something fun tonight, unlike all these stiffs trying to shut down the city.

As I ran past, I noticed the person in the street was coming toward me. I could see they were a woman, but their hair was down and covering most of their face. They didn’t seem to mind though, and began saying something to me but I couldn’t make it out. It sounded like the babbling that a baby makes before they learn to speak.

Then the woman howled like the man earlier, like she was a stupid kid pretending to be a dog or something. She fell to her knees and began vomiting. I didn’t stick around long enough to see what she did after that.

---

Panting, my chest burning from running and my face stinging from the cold, I pulled open the door to Petra’s. The smell of greasy gyro meat and day-old chow mein wafted over me like a warm, familiar blanket. The restaurant was empty but the lights were on and the open sign was still lit, so there was probably someone working in the back.

“Excuse me!” I shouted, walking toward the door to the kitchen. “I’d like to speak to the manager.”

As I pushed open the door, the cockroach bag in my hand, the small kitchen was filled with sound. That same howling, but this time the person making it was two feet in front of me. It was Lawrence, the young teenager who worked night shifts on the weekend a lot. His greasy black hair was matted, his face looked like he hadn’t slept or bathed in weeks, and his mouth was caked in dark, black blood.

As soon as he finished howling, he jumped on my like a frog and tackled me to the ground. The ziploc bag was knocked from my hand and the bitten-in-half cockroach tumbled across the dirty tile floor of the kitchen.

[paladin-andric]

Moments in History: The First King’s Passing

Fitting mood music here

Gira swooped down onto the garden grounds, everyone else already gathered. The grass waved in the cool Autumn breeze as the sun shone down on the crowd of royals.

The dragon quickly landed and moved to examine the situation. Mere moments ago, a castle servant barged into her room, panting with exhaustion. Someone had sent the man to fetch Gira immediately, the servant sprinting through the halls to make sure she could come in time.

“Godfrey,” The man said, gasping, “They think it’s the end. He’s in the garden.”

No sooner then the words left his mouth, Gira launched herself through the hole in the ceiling, rushing to her greatest friend’s side.

The prince looked up at the dragon, pain in his eyes. He was no longer the baby she once knew. Through the years, he had matured into a wise and experienced man. His young face and bushy goatee reminded Gira of Godfrey, so long ago...

“Gira...father is...”

“Leave it to me!” The dragon bellowed, “Step aside, all of you!”

“N-No, Gira, that’s not it.” The prince lowered his head. “He’s not sick. He’s not hurt. It’s just time.”

King Godfrey lay in an elaborate looking bed, the old man pale and deathly looking. The dark brown in his hair and beard was long gone, with nothing but white left. He was dressed in his finest garments and his crown lay beside him.

“He is unwell! Allow me to do my work!”

“Gira...” The prince swallowed nervously. “He’s ninety-three. You must understand that this is out of your power.”

“How dare you!” The dragon roared, “Move out of my way, NOW! He will be well as long as YOU stay out of this!”

Gira stepped forward as the crowd made room for her, the dragon leaning down and looking closely at King Godfrey. Gira felt sadness well up in her as she saw the pale shade of what was once the powerful and energetic king.

Taking a deep breath, the black dragon blew her healing breath, the wisps of magic pouring out of her maw and onto the king. She felt brief elation at her work, only to be dumbstruck as time passed.

Nothing happened. The king was still motionless, eyes closed and looking just as sickly.

“W-What?” Gira, for the first time in her life, felt true fear. “Why is...?”

“I told you,” The prince said, “He’s not sick. He’s old.”

“I do not understand...why is he not cured?”

“You cannot cure age, Gira.”

The dragon’s eyes widened as panic filled her. Quickly, she breathed again, pouring healing energy over Godfrey. Nothing. She did it again. Once more, nothing happened.

“Gira, please!” The prince cried, “Let him pass with dignity!”

“There is nothing dignified about this!” Gira shouted in horror, “Look at him! He needs help!”

“There’s no more helping, Gira. He’s reached his limit.”

“N-No! That is not true! He is just worse than when I cured his leprosy! I just need to keep using my magics! He will improve with enough effort!”

“G-Gira...“

The hoarse whisper made the dragon freeze. That voice...

“Godfrey...?”

The king was awake. Eyes open only a sliver, staring at the black dragon.

“You came...”

Gira leaned forward, frowning. “Of course I did.”

“Rufus is right...my time has come.”

“No!” Gira cried, “I can save you, just as I have before! This I swear with my life!”

“No,” Godfrey responded, “Please. You did revive me, but...I am so old...I am so tired...Gira...my body is shutting down. Forcing me to go on like this...it hurts so much.”

Gira’s tongue was tied as she fumbled to find an appropriate response. Godfrey started right into her eyes, his pain apparent.

“Let me go, Gira.”

The words hit the dragon like a mountain. Her claws dug into the earth as the shock and pain rendered the dragon speechless. Her face was twisted into a visage of horrified realization.

This was it. He couldn’t be saved.

“Oh, Gira,” Godfrey said, voice low, “I know it hurts. I felt the same when my parents before me went.“ The king took a long pause, the speech taxing on what little of him was left.

“But you have to accept that I’m leaving.”

Gira’s stomach was churning as she struggled to keep herself from collapsing. Her body felt weak and wobbly. Her vision was clouded.

“King Godfrey...I...I cannot...it cannot end like this.”

“This is the only way it could end,” the king responded, “We all go eventually.”

As the dragon stood, mouth agape, Godfrey turned to face the prince.

“Rufus...I know you will do great things. Already you’ve shown your potential. You’re a great man. I am so proud of you.”

“Father...” Prince Rufus let tears flow down his face as he wrapped his arms around the bedridden king, “I will make you proud. I promise.”

“I know you will. Goodbye...my son.” Godfrey lacked the strength to hug his son back, all he could offer were tears. The dying king turned his attention back to Gira. The dragon’s eyes were shut tight as she fought to fully grasp what was happening.

“Gira...you’ve done so much for me. For everyone. I could never truly repay you in full...but you have my eternal gratitude.”

Gira shook her head. “N-No. I could not heal you. You are going to die, and it is my fault.”

Godfrey took a deep, raspy breath. “Gira...in my youth...you cured me of leprosy. I was at death’s door. Thanks to you, I got to live my entire life, and to the very fullest. I owe you everything. It’s not your fault that time claims me. You’re a savior. This is just how it has to be.”

“Godfrey...I will not be able to go on...please...please do not die. I do not know what I will do without you.”

“You will live, Gira.” Godfrey’s face curled into a weak smile. “You are so young, compared to what you will be. You have your entire life ahead of you. Don’t throw it away. Live...for me. I want you to be happy.”

“I...I cannot...” Gira’s voice quivered. “G-Godfrey...please...”

The king sighed. His bones ached. His chest hurt. It was time.

“I’m sorry. If I could stay, I would. Thank you, Gira. For everything.”

Gira bowed her head. “Master Godfrey...”

Godfrey smiled, content. “I’ll miss you.”

Slowly, the king’s eyes closed. His chest stopped rising. Silence filled the air as the crowd wept.

Prince Rufus turned away, covering his mouth as his eyes squeezed shut.

Gira shook her head. This couldn’t be happening!

“No...NO!”

The dragon roared, the people covering their ears as her might made itself apparent to all.

“Come back! Come back, Godfrey! Do not leave me! I need you!”

The dragon breathed quick, shallow breaths as she gazed at the king.

“Please...”

Prince Rufus held his hands together as he watched the men lower his father into the grave. Thousands lined the field as King Godfrey’s funeral commenced. Loud wailing could be heard all around the fields as the king was placed into his grave.

Tears poured down Rufus’ face, but he didn’t dare wipe them away. He was the new king. He was expected to show strength and resolve, and he would conduct himself accordingly.

He had known his father wasn’t long for this world. The man was ancient. He had plenty of time to come to terms with that.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Rufus stood in silence as the priests issued their prayers. His eyes were on the grave, watching as men shoveled dirt onto his father’s coffin. This was the final time he would ever see him.

The prince took a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. He was the king now. The people needed him to be strong, to lead them through this hardship. To show them that their hopes did not die with Godfrey.

Suddenly, a deafening roar made Rufus look up, eyes wide.

The roar had come from very far away, and yet it was so loud he could hear it clearly as it echoed through the skies. It was a long, drawn out roar. In it, Rufus could hear bitterness, anger, sadness and pain.

The sorrow behind it shook him to his very core.

Gira, the man thought to himself, He was my father, and yet...I don’t think even I understand how much this hurts her...

A few years had passed since the coronation. Rufus accepted the Crown of Geralthin, officially becoming king. He continued where Godfrey had left off, centralizing power and strengthening the kingdom. He was by all accounts, an excellent ruler. He gave the people hope, knowledge that this fledgling kingdom was destined to survive, something to believe in after the death of one the greatest rulers in history.

Even with all the work he had put in, he managed to reach Gira. The dragon had been holed up in her wing of the castle, inconsolable. She spoke to no one for the first few years, yet after much time, Rufus managed to speak to her, slowly getting her to open up. It hurt, he knew, but he made himself something of a shoulder to cry on. It felt good for Gira, getting to let everything out.

It was soon after her mention of the good old days, when she and Godfrey played together, that a decree was made. Absolute War had always been Gira’s favorite board game, and Rufus decided to officially decree a rule change to the game. Each faction would now have a Hero, a powerful unit that offered many bonuses to the army.

Geralthin’s Hero was clad in shining armor, wielding a large sword raised above his head in triumph. A crown adorned his helmet, and his presence made everyone on the field stronger. In the new rules book, players were given the information about this new unit.

Unit type: Hero

Name: The First King

Description: A legendary champion that inspires all around him. Men become greater than themselves in his presence.

Okay, I actually cried writing this one. This hurt.

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @candy-m-s, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @the-true-shadowmaster, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy

Want to be tagged whenever I post about Blackheart? Just ask and I’ll add you to the list!

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons: Ruination Episode (Shadow Isles)

Shadow Isles Part I

The light of the Wayfinder fades and is almost instantly replaced by an oppressive gloom. Though you have witnessed many Harrowings by this point, they all pale in comparison to the sight before you: The Shadow Isles, birthplace of the Ruination.

“I hate this place already.”

“I don’t suppose we could try and recruit more Sentinels first?”

Lucian: “Keep your nerves about you, Rook. The undead here are worse than anything you’ve seen so far, and they can smell fear a mile away.”

Diana: “A land trapped in endless night, yet obscured from the Moon’s pale glow… One can scarcely imagine what manner of horrors might lurk here.”

Graves: “Pardon the interruption, but there are a heck of a lot of graves here… And I ain’t talkin’ about myself.”

Sure enough, a cursory glance of your surroundings reveals that the Wayfinder has brought you to a massive graveyard, with rows upon rows of headstones stretching out all around you. Upon closer inspection, you realize that a number of the graves even appear to be recent.

“Who dug all of these?”

“Whose graves are these?”

??? response 1: “That would be me.”

??? response 2: “Mostly travelers, like yourselves.”

The Sentinels wheel around to point their weapons at the source of the voice, only to find an old, hunched man with a shovel staring back at you, unfazed.

Vayne: “Hmph. So this the kind of ‘horror’ lurking on the Shadow Isles? Should be easy enough to handle.”

Shen: “Wait! This man… His soul is touched by the Mist, but he has not been turned by not. Not wholly.”

Yorick: “That’s right. I’m just a humble gravedigger. My name is Yorick Mori, last gravedigger of the Blessed Isles.”

Riven: “The Blessed Isles? Where’s that?”

Yorick: “Before this place became the Shadow Isles that you all know, it was a place of learning and prosperity: the Blessed Isles. When that mad king came, he unleashed the Ruination, corrupting every living thing in this place with undeath… Almost every living thing.”

Suddenly, a wicked figure appears behind Yorick, speaking out in a voice that somehow calms and terrifies you at the same time.

???: “Join us, Yorick. Cast aside those measly droplets and be one with us.”

Jayce: “Look out!”

Yorick: “Don’t fret. The Maiden has whispered in my ear for a long time, but these ‘measly droplets,’ the Waters of Life, keep me sane.”

You stare at the Maiden uneasily, though the more you do, the more strangely familiar she seems.

Lucian: “Look, this is all fascinating, but we don’t have time to stand around and talk! We’re here for that Ruined Creep, to bring him down once and for all! If you know where he is, old man, you’d better speak up.”

Yorick: “You want to challenge him with these measly numbers? I can see you carry Relicstone, but that alone will hardly be enough.”

Akshan: “Do not count us out yet, old man! Akshan is here, and that makes up for at least a few missing soldiers.”

Yorick examines your group briefly, as though sizing you up. He strokes his beard in thought, then turns his gaze to a large tower in the distance.

Yorick: “…It is a fool’s errand, but perhaps this is the only chance I’ll get.”

Olaf: “What’s he on about now?”

Lucian: “Enough. If you’re not gonna help us, old man, then-”

Yorick: “You’re not the only one who wishes to bring an end to the king. Since the Ruination began, I’ve been amassing corpses here, using what little influence I have to keep them from rising in his name. You say you want to storm the king’s throne, but to do that…”

Yorick raises his spade and slams it into the ground. All around you, the graves burst open and grotesque creatures break free from the dirt.

Yorick: “You will need an army of your own!”

At Yorick’s command, the living corpses all seemed to stand at attention, awaiting his orders. You guess that they number somewhere in the hundreds, but you can’t be sure.

“So we’re going to fight the army of the undead… With our own army of the undead?”

“Lucian, what do the rules say about this? Can corpse monsters be Sentinels? What about old men with creepy ghost ladies on their backs?”

Lucian: “…Frankly, at this point, all that matters is findin’ that bastard and gettin’ Senna back. Oh, and Gwen, of course.”

Yorick: “Then the time is at hand! On your command, warriors of the light, we march!”

Lucian: “Alright then. Sentinels! Corpses! Let’s move!”

Shadow Isles Part II

With the Sentinels and Yorick’s ghouls at your side, you storm the gates of Helia, only to be greeted by Viego’s twisted forces. The ruins of the city quickly become a battlefield filled with screams of the undead.

Lucian: “Sentinels, stick together! Remember your training!”

Though clearly not as experienced as Senna, Lucian still does his best to take command of the situation while fending off the undead that get too close.

Lucian: “Olaf, Jayce, you two clear us a path! Graves, you and I will cover them! Akshan, Vayne, Rengar, you three scout ahead! The rest of you, stick with Rookie and try to keep him safe!”

The Sentinels spring into action at Lucian’s command, clearing their own respective paths through the battlefield. You linger behind with Riven, Shen and Diana serving as your protectors, cutting down the undead who dare to get too close.

Riven: “Don’t worry, Rookie, we’ve got you covered!”

In that moment, an inhuman roar cries out from somewhere above you. You look up to the sound of wings beating and your heart sinks at the sight of a familiar wyvern.

“That’s Shyvana!”

“How did she escape the dragonguard!?”

Shyvana soars across the battlefield and lets loose a stream of harrowed flame, scorching the entire battlefield with reckless abandon. As the flames draws near, Shen focused and conjures his spirit blade to form a protective barrier around you and the other Sentinels. Shyvana’s fire passes over you harmlessly, though you can still feel the raw hear even through the barrier.

Shen: “Is everyone unharmed?”

“I’m good, thanks!”

“If Shyvana is here, then…”

As if on cue, another figure descends from the sky, crashing down onto the battlefield like a meteor. Your heart sinks further as Diana speaks the name that’s on your mind.

Diana: “Pantheon… So Atreus has lost control once again. I… Look out!”

Diana shoves you behind her and wraps herself in a barrier of light just as a massive swirlseed slams into her. Dream dust scatters around Diana and you feel yourself stumble from breathing it in.

Riven: “Rookie! Stay awake, alright?”

You struggle to remain conscious as Lillia’s dream dust starts to take hold, but just as your eyelids are about to close, Riven delivers a sharp slap across your face. In an instant, you feel yourself snap to alertness.

“I’m awake!”

“Ow! Thanks, but ow!”

Riven: “Glad to see that worked.”

Your relief is short-lived as your eyes catch sight of another massive figure orbiting the battlefield: The Dead Pool, held aloft by clouds of Black Mist. At the ship’s helm stands Gangplank, though you recognize three other figures beside him.

“That’s Draven!”

“That’s Tryndamere!”

“That’s Viktor!”

Draven and Tryndamere both leap from the ship’s prow, dropping to the battlefield without care. Viktor, meanwhile, seems to direct a number of drones powered by Black Mist to follow suit. You soon realize that Yorick’s girls are diminishing in number, while your Sentinel allies are steadily pushed back.

Lucian: “Damn it! Everyone regroup! We have to-”

Whatever Lucian was about to say was cut off by the sound of explosions. The Dead Pool’s cannons let loose a relentless volley upon the battlefield, scattering the Sentinels in all directions. One shot lands especially close to you, slamming you into a nearby building.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring as you try to regain your footing. You feel a large hand suddenly wrapping around your neck and hoisting you up. You recognize the face of the man holding you, but his eyes now glow with an unearthly light.

Fetu: “Hmph. I can’t imagine why the Wayfinder would have chosen the likes of you.”

“Fetu?”

“You’re the Sentinel from Buhru…”

Fetu: “So you remember me? Then you remember that you left me to die. Me and my comrades. We held out for as long as we could, but we were no match for the Black Mist. No one is.”

Suddenly, something sharp pierces your stomach. You look down to see one of Fetu’s blades lodged deep in your gut. Pain fills your body as you cough up blood.

Fetu: “And you, you will share our fate, young Sentinel.”

You fall to the ground as your life begins to fade. Tendrils of Black Mist creep around your body, sweeping over you until they engulf you completely. Your vision fades and darkness consumes you as you take your final breath…

Shadow Isles Part III

You linger silently in the darkness. You feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing. Your thoughts and memories are scattered. Who are you? What are you? These are the answers your mind seeks, but is unable to grasp.

???: “…me?”

???: “Can you hear me?”

You hear a voice calling out to you. It feels familiar, yet you cannot discern why.

???: “Can you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Why are you?”

A glimmer of light emerges from the darkness, growing brighter in your line of sight. The light takes on the vague likeness of person, but you can’t discern the details.

???: “I’ve been with you all along. I am your guide, but I am also the cause of your anguish.”

The figure moves closer. You can vaguely discern that the voice belongs to a woman, but her face remains obscured. You think you feel fingers running against your cheek.

???: “This all began with my untimely death, which set my husband on this twisted path. He was a good man, once, but the Black Mist brings out the worst in one’s soul. Pain. Regret. Anger. That’s all my husband is now. I want to bring him back, as well as all those corrupted by his influence.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Does that mean you’re…?”

???: “I’m not who I once was. I am only a fragment of her, hidden away with Relic you carry. It was I who chose you, because I sensed you had a good heart. The Wayfinder was a tool crafted to help bring the world together in its time of need, and I offered what little power I had to that end. Now, I offer that power to you, young Sentinel. Though it means revealing myself to my wayward love, I am prepared to take that risk. I… Am prepared to place my faith in you.”

Suddenly, the darkness around you starts to fade. Your thoughts become less scattered. Feeling returns to your limbs.

???: “Our time is nearing an end. I can offer you my strength, but victory will depend on your own. You are not a warrior like your allies. Yours is the power to touch the hearts of those around you and draw out the best in them. Go, young Sentinel, and become a beacon in this dark time…”

The figure fades away and her voice falls silent. Slowly but surely, you climb to your feet, your memories slowly returning.

Akshan: “Ah, good! You are awake!”

“What happened?”

“Where is everyone?”

Akshan response 1: “Well, you were slain, but I have restored you to life! Do you still doubt the Absolver’s power?”

Akshan response 2: “While you were dying, everyone else has been fighting their hardest. Alas, I fear may we require a hasty retreat, which is why-”

Just then, Akshan’s gaze moves to the Wayfinder at your side. You look down to see that a segment in the base of the Relic has opened up. Hallowed Mist pours from the Wayfinder, and you recall your unusual encounter with the figure in your dream.

“Akshan! I know what we have to do!”

“Akshan! I need you to carry me!”

Akshan: “Oh? I am not quite certain what is happening, but I like the look that is in your eye! Very-well, hold on tightly to me, and try not to fall!”

Akshan grapples you up to the roof of a nearby building and sets you down. From this vantage point, you can see most of the battlefield around you. As you gather your bearings however, Shyvana sudden swoops down and lands before you, nearly shattering the roof.

Shyvana: “Burn all in dragonfire!”

As she prepares to engulf you in flame, you raise the Wayfinder and focus. Tendrils of Hallowed Mist pour forth and wrap around the half-dragon, stopping Shyvana in her tracks.

“Is that what your friends would want?”

“This isn’t you, Shyvana!”

Shyava: “Silence! I… I am…”

“You’re not a monster! You’re a soldier! Jerik said you’re the best he’s ever seen! Is this how a member of the Dragonguard should act!?”

“You’re not a monster! You’re the friend and protector of Demacia’s king! Didn’t you swear to defend him!?”

Shyvana: “Grrr…. RRRRAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!”

Primal fire engulfs Shyvana and her dragon form vanishes. Before you stands a woman with purple scales and crimson armor. Her hands and eyes burn with flames imbued with Hallowed Mist.

Shyvana: “I will never forget my oath! This Ruined King thinks he can tame a dragon? I’ll show him what happens to the enemies of Demacia!”

Shyvana transforms again, kneeling her head down to you.

Shyvana: “Climb on my back, and hold tight!”

Akshan: “Aha! Wonderfully done, Rookie!”

You do as Shyvana tells you and climb onto her back. The half-dragon carries you into the air and over the battlefield as you cling for dear life. As you ascend, your eyes scan the battlefield to pick out those who have fallen under Viego’s influence.

Shadow Isles Part IV

*From here, the player may choose which Ruined champ to go for in which order.

>Pick Tryndamere

Shyvana descends toward the Barbarian King, surrounding him in a ring of Hallowed Dragonfire. Tryndamere looks up at you and cries out in fury, but you respond by angling your Wayfinder at him. Hallowed Mist shoots forth, striking Tryndamere in the chest.

“Tryndamere, calm down! Is this how a king should behave?”

“Are you a man or an animal!? Get ahold of yourself, Tryndamere!”

Tryndamere: “Rrrgh… Grah!”

“You’re supposed to be the king of the Avarosa! Why are you bowing down to a guy like Viego!?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a might warrior! How can you let a guy like Viego tell you what to do!?”

Tryndamere: “I… I… I’LL NEVER YIELD!!!!!”

The Black Mist scatters from Tryndamere as he lets out a cry of defiance. In its place, Hallow Mist wraps around his form, imbuing his blade with cleansing power.

Tryndamere: “I fear no man or monster! COME AT ME!”

Tryndamere charges back into the fray, cutting through flames and undead alike. Though rage still consumes him, you notice that his movements are more focused now, his rage directed toward his adversaries in the Black Mist.

Shyvana carries you back into the air to seek your next target.

>Pick Draven

You spot Draven standing atop the remnants of an old monument, looking rather bored with the battle around him. Only as you approach does he look up, his attention drawn by the sound of beating wings.

Draven: “Oh, here we go! This this should be good!”

Draven winds up to hurl one of his axes, but you beat him to the draw. Tendrils of Hallowed Mist shoot from your Wayfinder and cling to Draven’s body.

Draven: “Hey, what gives!?”

“Draven, I’ve always wanted to meet you, but not like this. What a let-down.”

“I never imagined the Glorious Executioner would turn into a bit-player for some undead king.”

Draven: “What’d you say?”

“Come on, you’re supposed to be the star of the show! Why are you playing second-fiddle to Viego?”

“Draven what would your fans think if they saw you like this? Are you really gonna let them down by borrowing Viego’s power?”

Draven: “Hey! Draven IS the life of the party! Just you watch, kid!”

The Black Mist around Draven vanishes as the Hallowed Mist takes its place. He turns and chucks both axes, bouncing them off a pair of flying wraiths. Then, with practiced ease, he catches both axes and laughs.

Draven: “Ha! How’d you like that? Don’t get too excited, though! I’m just warming up!”

You and Shyvana watch as Draven leaps into the fray, but neither of you stick around to watch the show. Instead, you quickly ascend and begin seeking your next target.

>Pick Lillia

You spot a lot figure hiding amidst the ruins and direct Shyvana to descend on them. Lillia cries out in surprise as the half-dragon crashes down behind her.

Lillia: “Eep!”

She turns around to try and attack with her branch, but tendrils of Hallowed Mist engulf her before she has the chance.

“Come on, Lillia, you’re too cute to be one of Viego’s flunkies! Be brave! Fight back!”

“Lillia, aren’t you supposed to be a guardian of dreams? How can you be siding with Viego?”

Lillia: “W-What? But… Viego’s dreams are… So beautiful…”

“Viego doesn’t dream, Lillia! Not anymore! The man you’re seeing died a long time ago!”

“Viego’s dreams may be pretty, but his reality is a nightmare! He’ll ruin dreams for everyone, forever!”

Lillia: “T-That’s awful! I… Eep!”

Lillia lets out a startled gasp as the scatters from her form, then calms down as Hallowed Mist takes its place.

Lillia: “Oh, what’s this? I… I see an even lovelier dream. Not of the past, but of the future: a bright future, where nobody has to be afraid anymore. I… I understand. I’ll help spread this dream! Maybe Mother Tree will like it, too!”

Lillia takes a deep breath and scampers off into the fray, doing her best to sooth the dreams of the wraiths. You and Shyvana ascend once more to search for those still under Viego’s control.

>Pick Pantheon

As you and Shyvana scan the crowd, a flaming spear soars through the air, grazing Shyvana’s scales. The halfdragon cries out and makes an uneasy land. You do the same as you lose your grip and fall to the ground. Just as you start regain your footing, though, you see a figure marching toward you, shield raised. You try to use the Wayfinder, but the Hallowed Mist glances off Pantheon’s shield.

The war god lunges at you, but you narrowly dodge to the side to avoid being impaled by the spear that’s magically returned to his hand. Before Pantheon can try again, however, Shyvana lunges, engaging the war god with tooth and claw. As they struggle, you see your chance, and try again. This time, the Hallowed Mist takes hold.

“Atreus! I know you’re in there! You have to fight it!”

“Some god you are, Pantheon! I like your human half way better!”

Pantheon: “…Ngh! S-Silence…”

Pantheon struggles to break free, but Shyvana aids in restraining him.

“You’re not a god or a slave! You’re a warrior!”

“Your time is over, war god! No one’s gonna pray to you now, especially not like this.”

Atreus: “My name… IS SOLDIER!”

Two voices cry out at once: Atreus in triumph, Pantheon in despair. The Black Mist is replaced by Celestial power once again.

Atreus: “By my spear, they will know war!”

Atreus moves in the blink of an air, raising his spear to shield you from the axe of undead minotaur. In the same motion, he impales the beast, felling them in an instant.

Atreus: “Go! Rally our comrades! This battle is not yet lost!”

You and Shyvana both nod in acknowledgement before taking to the skies again, searching for those who remain under Viego’s influence.

>Pick Viktor

You spot Viktor amidst a crowd of possessed drones, which seem to swarm around him like a protective barrier. The drones become hostile as they notice you, but Shyvana effortlessly scatters them with her fire. You spot Viktor kneeling in the flames, staring up at you through his metal mask.

Viktor: “Why? Why you deny progress? Why do you deny salvation?”

In response, you raised the Wayfinder and let Hallowed Mist wash over the Machine Herald, binding him in place.

“Viego’s not trying to save humanity, Viktor! He’s trying to destroy it!”

“You call this progress? Turning people into a bunch of mindless wraiths hungry for souls!?”

Viktor: “Ngh… Illogical… Your argument is…”

“Viego’s a man driven by emotion, not logic! Open your eyes, Viktor!”

“Viego doesn’t care about humanity! He just wants to make everyone suffer!”

Viktor: “I see… It seems my own judgement was flawed. I must correct this error. I must adapt…”

The Black Mist pours out of Viktor’s mechanical body, replaced instead by the gentle thrum of Hallowed Mist.

Viktor: “And improve!”

Viktor turns and destroys the remaining drones with his laser.

Viktor: “Core upgrade complete. Now operating at maximum efficiency. Yes… Embrace progress!”

You and Shyvana leave Viktor to his own devices, soaring back into the skies to search for more of Viego’s thralls.

>Pick Gangplank

You advance toward the Dead Pool, holding on tight as Shyvana narrowly evades the ships cannons. Once close enough, she lets out a stream of flame that engulfs the entire ship, sending it crashing toward the ground. You scan the wreckages and see a lone figure limping out: Gangplank.

Gangplank: “It’ll take more than that to sink me, boy!”

Gangplank fires a few shots with his gun, but the bullets glance harmlessly off of Shyvana’s scales. You return fire with tendrils of Hallowed Mist, holding pirate lord in place.

“I’m not trying to sink you, Captain! I’m trying to save you!”

“You’re already drowning, Gangplank! I’m here to pull you back up!”

Gangplank: “What nonsense! I’ve finally got the power to take back my city! I don’t need any help from the likes of you!”

“Viego won’t give you your city back, Gangplank! If he wins, there won’t be anything left of Bilgewater!”

“You really trust Viego that much? You’ve gotta know there’s only room for one king in the world he’s trying to make!”

Gangplank: “…I see now. So, that slimy wharfrat thinks he can double-cross me, does he? It’s about time he realized…”

Gangplank grabs hold of the Black Mist around him, discarding it like an old coat that’s outlived its usefulness. In its place, the Hallowed Mist seems to restore the Gangplanks torn and tattered clothes to something resembling their former glory.

Gangplank: “Dead men tell MY tale!”

He turns and fires a bullet into a crowd of wraiths emerging from the remnants of his ship.

Gangplank: “Go and rejoin your crew, boy! I’ll discipline mine, then find that Ruined King!”

You and Shyvana take to the skies again, once again searching for allies amidst the Black Mist.

Once you’ve freed everyone you can from Viego’s control, you scan the battlefield for your fellow Sentinels. It’s not long before you spot flashes of light in the darkness, and direct Shyvana to set you down at their source.

As you descend, you see your allies have all huddled together near the base of the tower, making one last desperate attempt to push through. Shyvana lets loose a stream of flame that scorches the wraiths around them, before touching down and allowing you to dismount.

Lucian: “Rookie!? That you?”

“Hey, boss.”

“Happy to see me?”

Vayne: “What happened to the dragon? And to the Wayfinder? That looks like… Hallowed Mist.”

Behind you, Shyvana reverts to her humanoid form and addresses the Sentinels.

“He’s freed me from Viego’s control, as well as the others under that monster’s sway. Go and do what you have to, Sentinels. I’ll hold these creatures back!”

Shyvana wraps herself in flame again as she charges back into the fray, burning away any undead that try to get her.

Lucian: “I’m still not sure what you did, Rook, but I guess now ain’t the time to question it.”

Yorick: “You’ve awakened the final piece of her soul… Then the time truly has come to put an end to this madness.”

You and the other Sentinels gather before the gates of Viego’s stronghold, steeling your nerves for one last push.

Lucian: “This is it, Sentinels! Let’s show this Ruined Creep what we’re made of!”  

Shadow Isles Part V

With Yorick serving as your guide, you storm the ancient, dilapidated building that now serves as Viego’s castle. The gravedigger leads you through ancient hallways teeming with the Ruined King’s undead warriors, adorned in faded, rustic armor. Though more fearsome than the lowly wraiths you’re accustomed to, they fall quickly before the Sentinels’ onslaught of light, set to rest after centuries of servitude.

Finally, you push through one last door to emerge in what seems to be a makeshift throne room, the walls and ceiling broken away to reveal the lightless sky overhead. Across the room, a lone figure stands with his back toward you, the tip of his massive blade touching the ground.

Graves: “So that’s the Ruined King? Thought he’d be bigger.”

Jayce and Olaf: “Don’t let his size fool you!”

Viego: “Sentinels. How good of you to come. How kind of you to bring the final fetter.”

Viego turns to face you, and you get the sense that his power has somehow grown even more since your last encounter. A chill runs down your spine as you examine the room, seeing all the fetters from around Runeterra gathered neatly in a corner. They seem devoid now of life and light, nothing more than ordinary objects. Among them, to your horror, is a familiar-looking doll…

Lucian: “Enough stalling, creep! Where’s Senna?”

Viego: “Lucian… All who oppose me are hypocrites, and you may be the greatest of all. We share much in common, do we not?”

Lucian: “I’m nothin’ like you!”

Viego: “No? I know of your deeds, Purifier. You once scoured the world in pursuit of your lost love, just as I do. You place her safety above all else, even your own duties. If it meant saving her, you would damn this world without a hint of remorse.”

Riven: “What is he talking about?”

“Lucian, don’t listen to him!”

“Don’t let him get inside your head!”

Lucian: “You’re right, Rook! If this bastard won’t talk, we’ll just have to make him! Sentinels, open fire!”

On Lucian’s orders, the Sentinels charge Viego, the light of their relics illuminating the throne room. With a single swing of his blade, Viego unleashes a torrent of Black Mist that renders your attacks moot and forces you all back.

Viego: “This is the best resistance you can muster? Did you truly think yourselves a match for me, merely because you got past my armies?”

You clamber to your feet, only to find that Viego has vanished. You look around, only to find a hand wrapped firmly around your neck. Before you can even register what’s happening, the Wayfinder is snatched from your grasp and you find yourself on the floor once more. Viego reappears on his throne, examining the Wayfinder with amusement and contempt.

Viego: “To think that they would hide you away from me in such a trifling toy, my queen… But at last, the final fetter is truly in my grasp.

“Viego, stop! Isolde doesn’t want this!”

“Even if you bring her back, she’ll never love what you’ve become!”

Viego: “Silence! You know nothing, child! NOTHING! This cruel, twisted world took from me the only thing that ever mattered, the only thing that gave my life meaning! Never again! I will absorb every last piece of her soul. She will reside within me forever more, and we never be apart! No one will ever take her from me again!”

Diana: “You are mad! That… That is not love!”

Viego stands and tightens his grasp on the Wayfinder. You watch in horror as the light of Isolde’s soul fades, absorbed into the ceaseless darkness of Viego’s absent heart.

Viego: “It matters not what you think! I can feel her within me, granting me strength… She loves me, as I love her. Witness, Sentinels, the strength of our bond!”

You watch as the Black Mist pouring from Viego’s chest grows even more potent, wrapping around his body. A jet-black armor forms from the corruption, and a cape of pure darkness billows in the still air.

Viego: “You see? She and I are nearly one. Only one more piece remains, and then…”

Just then, a portal opens to the right of the throne. Vex emerges with her shadow in tow.

Vex: “It’s done. Oh, these guys are here?”

Viego: “Pay them no mind, Vex. They are no longer of any consequence.”

Vex: “Trust me, I’ve been trying my hardest to ignore them from the start. Anyway, that Sentinel chick’s nice and secure, just like you wanted.”

Lucian: “Senna…”

Viego: “Excellent. Then this is where we part, Sentinels. Do not fret. I will leave you with one final parting gift.”

With a snap of his fingers, Viego calls forth several wraiths from the sky above, which descend onto the throneroom in a screaming cloud. Viego and Vex quickly gather up the now lifeless fetters, preparing to make their escape through the portal.

Vayne: “Damn it! We have to go after him!”

Lucian: “I’ll go! The rest of you, cover me!”

With Relic light enhancing his movements, Lucian darts and dashes between the storm of souls, leaving the rest of you behind to deal with the wraiths as he makes for the portal. Amid the chaos, your eyes fall upon the now-lifeless Wayfinder, only to hear a familiar voice speak out to you from behind.

Yorick: “The king thinks that he’s won, but he’s overlooked something crucial.”

“What’s that?”

“What do you mean?”

Yorick: “Your piece of the queen was hidden from him, but there is another that he’s overlooked all this time. Take my cloak, child, and hurry.”

Yorick removes the shroud of darkness clinging to him and hands it to you. As you grasp it, you can hear countless voices whispering in your head as one: the voice of the Maiden.

Maiden: “Join us. Surrender to us. Be as one.”

Just then, Yorick opens his vile and sprinkles a single drop of water onto you. You feel the voices in your head growing fainter, but not completely silent.

Yorick: “Do not heed her, but keep her close. She’ll serve you well when the time comes. Now go.”

Yorick returns to the fray, summoning what few ghouls remain under his command to aid in the fight. You look to the portal and steel yourself before sprinting through the chaos, snatching up the Wayfinder as you make for the closing portal.

Riven: “Rookie! Where are you going!? Rookie!?”

You offer no response as you dive into the shadows once more, letting darkness engulf you once again.

[mittensmorgul]

I can't respond to your reply directly for some reason, but thank you. I saw that post after I'd sent you the ask, and have reblogged a few iterations of it, including your addition now. It's exactly the kind of meta I've been wanting to see. I am hopeless at meta-ing myself, but I always appreciate your perspective. Thank you so much for taking the time to respond to this.

Note: this reply is regarding this post:

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/167142803515/about-anger-and-reality

Excellent! Yeah, I’d been meaning to write something, and most of what I’d been seeing did seem too extreme for me one way or the other. I was hoping to find something more balanced and objective, and I know we’re going to have more to say on the subject as the season goes on, just like we did with Mary last season.

Season 12 started with “Mom?” and s13 started with “Father?” It only makes sense. :P

One thing I haven’t really seen commented on yet is this:

Sam: Dean, what's up with all the orders, you're starting to sound like Dad.Dean: Is that a bad thing?Sam: You're saying his drill sergeant act worked with you, but it didn't with me. And that's not the way we're gonna get through to Jack.Dean: Look, you wanted the kid here, he's here. Alright? But I'm not gonna hold his hand and tuck him in at night, pass. I'm not gonna be his mother and neither are you. And the kid can dig, so I give him that.

And I really should... because Sam specifically accuses Dean of sounding like Dad, and Dean counters with a jab about not being his MOTHER. I think that’s pretty significant here, and in addition to the different ways that Sam and Dean experienced John’s parenting (and the fact that Sam doesn’t seem to recognize that the way Dean most frequently treated HIM was not as a father figure, but as a MOTHER figure, and THAT is what Sam is continually pressuring Dean to do for JACK, despite Dean’s repeated insistence that he is not willing to do that again).

(heck at this point typing I realized I’m actually writing that meta, and will probably end up posting this instead of just replying privately again... >.>)

I think part of Sam’s failure to engage with Mary AS A MOTHER is that he doesn’t understand that that’s the role DEAN filled for him for most of his life. I mean, you can hardly blame him, but his whole life what he thought of as a BROTHER had also been serving the role of MOTHER and FATHER to him. He has a difficult time adjusting to the fact that some of the emotional labor Dean provided for him as a child is just not normal brother stuff.

And Sam doesn’t understand that he’s STILL reacting to Dean the way a child would to a parent. He knows John’s “drill sergeant” routine, but in a VERY DIFFERENT way that Dean experienced it (touched on in that other post). And Dean (to me, and outside observer) Dean didn’t seem particularly “drill sergeant-y” there, just emotionally detached. Jack wanted to help, Sam wanted to find a way for Jack to help, so Dean gave him something to do that would help. That’s how Dean’s seeing the situation.

But to Sam, if Dean’s “parenting style” doesn’t match the sort of care and investment Dean showed HIM as a kid, he’s seeing it as some sort of brother-level failure, while Dean sees it more as a refusal to provide all the emotional labor of a MOTHER to Jack... and really, good on him for standing up for himself.

So while I said it’s not Sam’s FAULT that he doesn’t understand the burden of “motherhood” he’s attempting to shovel onto Dean (because again, he thinks of all that stuff as “brother stuff”), or why Dean is fighting so hard against taking that emotional burden on for not just a complete stranger but a being with an undefined and potentially terrifying set of powers at his disposal IN ADDITION to being (in Dean’s mind) the primary cause of Cas’s death... I mean, Dean’s got A LOT of extremely valid reasons for wanting to stay the hell out of that whole situation.

Meanwhile, SAM is the one who (throughout 13.03) was displaying some pretty startingly John-like behavior toward Jack... if you want to see some genuine drill sergeant behavior, just rewatch Sam’s “training sessions” with Jack. They’re complete with emotional manipulation, insensitivity, and a complete lack of empathy. Thank heck Sam finally saw what his demands for results were actually doing to Jack and apologized, but it took Dean breaking down and calling Sam out at the end of the episode to make Sam see the full extent of what he was doing with Jack (we didn’t lie, we avoided certain truths to manipulate you).

I know there’s also been a lot written on the fact that Sam has largely failed to build and maintain his own relationships with people outside of Dean’s “primary relationship” status with anyone, and that it’s been said he doesn’t trust his own ability to make good choices in relationships and therefore doesn’t even try anymore... but I don’t think Sam is entirely blameless in this (nor is he entirely at fault).

He was deceived and manipulated by Ruby, so that’s not a particularly relevant comparison, but his two primary relationships shared one shocking commonality. With both Jess and Amelia, the entire relationship was built on a lie. Sam never told EITHER of them who he was and what he’s done. He’s never tried to build an actually HONEST relationship with someone on his own, outside of Dean. It’s why I was so freaking thrilled when he came out with the “something, with someone, someone who understands the life” in 11.04. Because YES Sam, that’s how you build a relationship with someone. Not by cutting out 90% of who you are and never revealing any of that to the other person.

I feel like I’ve wandered really far afield here... but heck, I mean, talk about a John-like behavior. John’s whole hidden relationship with Adam, keeping that entire life separate from Sam and Dean and hunting. But again, that’s kinda the same move Mary pulled with hunting regarding her entire relationship with John. Sure, it was all done in the name of keeping their loved ones “safe” and “out of that life” that they felt trapped by just by KNOWING about the monsters and demons and all the horrors they lived with... but really that’s the sort of burden you can’t carry through a healthy relationship with anyone.

Obviously that wasn’t standing in the way of Sam developing the sort of relationship he wanted to with Mary, and Mary had a lot of the same issues with relationship maintenance that Sam does (plus their whole mutual fear/guilt/loss thing), but I think a lot of Sam’s personal issues stem from the fact that he just doesn’t understand how much of his relationship with Dean actually falls into a Mother/Son dynamic and not a normal, healthy brother dynamic.

I’m just relieved that DEAN is beginning to understand it. It’s progress.

[whataloadofmalarkey]

The Best of Times, The Worst of Times (Tommy Shelby x OC)

Hello everyone! Here is a way too long Tommy Shelby x OC one-shot. I’m planning a multi-chapter fic and wanted to experiment with some ideas - so feedback on this would be much appreciated!

“What’s that?” 14 year-old Thomas Shelby asked as he approached her. The boy had been playing a match of football with his brothers and a few friends when he noticed her sat beneath a tree. He recognised her as the sister of his friend and current team-mate, Charles Anderson.

The girl raised her head to look at him. She seemed startled by his arrival, almost dropping the object in her hands, but quickly covered her surprise by lifting it toward him, “It’s called a book.”

Tommy was taken aback by her patronising tone. Did she really think he didn’t know what a book was? He was on the verge of confronting her about it when he caught on to the playful glint in her eye. She was teasing him.

He held back a grin as he rolled his eyes, “I know it’s a book. I meant, what are you reading?”

She smiled up at him and turned the cover to face the boy, “’A Tale of Two Cities’.”

“Charlotte Brontë, right?” he prompted, trying to impress.

The girl giggled at his undoubting and somewhat cocky expression. She shook her head, “Dickens.”

“Oh,” the boy’s face fell in defeat, causing her sniggering to escalate. He moved to sit beside her and attempted to change the subject, “What’s your name?”

“Maggie. Or Margaret if you want to get cut,” he raised a brow at her bluntness, though he could tell she was still just taunting, “Yours?”

“Tommy. Or Thomas if you want to get cut.”

The pair exchanged an approving smile as she extended her hand, “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“And you, Margaret,” he replied as they briefly shook hands.

“You’re a friend of Charles?” Maggie asked the boy beside her.

“Yeah, he’s your brother, right?”

She nodded, “And you’re a Shelby?”

“I am. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” she shrugged, “You have that way about you.”

“What ‘way’?”

“A pompous walk. Your brothers have it too.”

Tommy’s brow creased in confusion, “What the bloody hell does ‘pompous’ mean?”

“Arrogant, egotistic, boastful-“

“Excuse me?” Tommy shot her an incredulous look.

She continued, “Conceited, flaunting, pretentious-“

“Alright, I get it.”

She ignored him, “Flatulent, selfish, ostentatious-“

“That’s starting to get annoying.”

“Imperious, overbearing, supercilious-“

“-Ok you made that one up. That’s not a word.”

She then began to giggle again, laughing at the astounded expression on the boy’s face. Tommy guffawed at her nerve. Even at 14, he wasn’t used to people being so direct with him –especially a girl. He just stared at her, watching her laugh. Her cheeks had reddened and her eyes were creased shut. She had placed a hand over her stomach as she bent forward, her curls falling into her face. Eventually, despite his attempts to resist, Tommy found himself laughing too. The way her eyes glistened as they reopened ignited something within him. Pure joy seemed to invade his senses, making him forget, even just for a brief moment, all the misfortune his father was causing with his reckless antics. It had been a while since he had laughed like this.

Through his blurry eyes, Tommy noticed the book had fallen from her lap. He picked it up and studied it. Noticing his movements, Maggie turned to face the boy, still beaming. Her breath caught slightly as his eyes lifted from the book to reach her own. Just as her books would describe, they were a cloudless blue. Or perhaps they were azure whirlpools that she wished to dive into and drown in - she was certainly experiencing a similar spinning motion as he gazed at her. It was as if all the novels she had read were manifesting into reality and creating her own romantic hero.

“Read to me.”

His voice broke through her reverie. She blinked as she noted his arm outstretched, motioning for her to take the book back.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as she looked at him, perplexed, “What?”

“Read to me,” he replied. Tommy nudged her upper arm with the corner of the book.

She let out a short chuckle and hesitantly took the novel from him. As they passed it, their fingers barely brushed– but they certainly felt it. Their eyes snapped to lock onto each other’s. Tommy’s heart clenched. Maggie’s skipped several beats. Both unknowingly held their breath. This was definitely something she had read in a novel. Frozen, the book remained held between their two bodies-

THUMP!!

A football flew toward them at a powerful force and hit the tree above them, instantly destroying the moment. Their gazes broke to watch as the eldest Shelby brother ran toward them.

“Sorry, Tommy!” Arthur yelled as he retrieved the ball. He turned to throw Maggie a quick, apologetic smile before turning around and resuming the match.

Maggie released a long breath, almost grateful to have been distracted. The boy beside her cleared his throat and looked back to her, “So…read to me?”

She dropped her gaze to the book before offering him a soft smile, “Sure.”

Tommy struggled to keep himself from grinning at his victory. He shuffled slightly to lie back in a more comfortable position on the grass.

“Just don’t think I’m going to re-read the first 67 pages just so you can follow what’s going on,” she sneered, cheekily, “If you get confused, read it yourself.”

“Maybe I will,” he found himself smiling at her, “It’s no problem. Just pick up from where you left off.”

He watched eagerly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and opened the book to the correct page. Quietly clearing her throat, she began, “’For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. And when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you…’”

 The years progressed and the pair grew closer.

After the war, Tommy was not the same. No one was. He became riddled with nightmares. Blood, wires, mud, the damn shovelling. He hardly slept. The increasingly dark shade beneath his eyes was a clear indicator of that. The headaches too. He would not reveal any of this to the others, of course. No matter how much he craved comfort, he could not ruin his image. And so, he kept his torment to himself.

But Maggie knew. She worked it out for herself. He allowed her to. Maggie volunteered as a nurse. She was in France. She saw the horrors too.

Often she would stay late to clear up the betting shop for the boys. She would hear the whimpers and muffled yells coming from his room. Knocking gently and waiting for his approval, she would unobtrusively close the door behind her and sit beside him on the bed. After handing him a glass of water and placing a cool, wet towel on his head, she would reach over to his small bookshelf. After choosing a book, she would open it and begin to read. No other words would be spoken before or after. All he needed was reassurance that he was safe and not alone. He didn’t need to explain himself. She understood. She was there for him.

In a complete contrast to his hot, heavy illusions, her serene tone created a calm, content atmosphere. The words would drip from her tongue into his hear and instantly numb his senses. Eventually, this ease would allow him to drift into unconsciousness.

He would wake to find her gone. However, the book would always be placed on the table beside him as a reminder of her visit, like a notification that she was genuinely present. It would become a regular occurrence. They had silently agreed to never discuss what happened the next day. It was their private, almost nightly ritual. They wanted to separate the War from their civilian lives. There was no need for it to distract them from their day-to-day lives.

On this particular day, Tommy knocked on her apartment door. She opened it with a warm smile, “Tommy! What can I do for you?”

“There is a family counsel at 6 this evening. Be there,” and with that, he began to walk away.

She called out, “But, I’m not family. What’s going on?”

He stopped on the street and turned back to her. There was a hint of playfulness in his eye as he spoke, “’Family not only needs to consist of those whom we share blood, but also for those whom we would give blood.’”

Maggie stood bewildered in her doorway before a grin brightened her features. He had to suppress his own smirk.

“Thomas Michael Shelby,” she drawled in astonishment, “Did you just quote Dickens to me?”

Tommy turned from her confounded expression and sauntered down the street without a word.

Maggie let out a short laugh as she watched his retreating form. Once he had turned the corner, she closed her door and reflected on what he had said. Their relationship had now gone beyond acquaintances. Beyond friendship, in fact. He considered her family.

That night, Tommy stopped by Maggie’s apartment. She had not been present at the family meeting and he came to find out why. Knocking on her door, he called out for her. No response.

He knocked again. No response…except for the small sound of female weeping.

His heart began to beat wildly. His mind became frenzied and swam with endless disastrous scenarios. Before he could consider any other action, he ran to her back door she always forgot to lock and barrelled into her front room. His heart shattered at what he saw.

As a victim himself, he recognised the symptoms almost immediately. Maggie was sat in the corner of the room. Her knees huddled to her chest. Her arms gripped onto them so fiercely that the nails seemed to be breaking skin. Pale tear marks streaked her dark red cheeks.Her eyes were sore, wide and staring straight at him. Her cries had quietened.

As if realising he had caught her, she suddenly struggled to her feet and wiped at her wet cheeks. She looked guilty. Her eyes remained glazed as she tried to avoid his.

“T-Tommy?” she spoke, her voice timid and almost inaudible. It was not the smooth and confident voice that read to him every night. That’s when he realised; she was broken. Like him, the War had ruined her.

“Maggie,” he greeted, attempting to keep his voice strong and assuring.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” she sniffed.

“You weren’t at the meeting. I came to see if you were alright.”

“Oh,” she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve again and attempted to smile at him. She failed.

“Maggie?” he called to her, gently.

“I’m sorry about the meeting, I completely forgot,” she quickly replied, as if trying to avoid the question he would no doubt ask.

“Maggie.”

“I was just…cleaning the apartment,”  she avoided his gaze and looked behind him, “Did you break my door?”

“Maggie.”

She made to move to the door, “Because if you did, you know you’re paying for a new one, right? Because I don’t have the mon-“

He reached out for her arm as she passed. The touch made her freeze and turn to him suddenly. Tommy almost flinched as her red-rimmed eyes locked onto his.

“Maggie.”

She knew what he was going to ask. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Are you alright?”

There it was.

“I’m fine,” she tried to say as convincingly as possible. It didn’t work.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking,” she almost spat.

Tommy simply continued to looked at her, unconvinced by the bravado she tried to portray. His gaze seemed to snap something in her and she burst into tears again, shaking her head frantically.

Tommy reached out for her. She felt his cool palm press against her burning cheek. The other hand found its way to the back of her head and cradled it to his chest. Easing into his arms, Maggie allowed herself to sob. This was the first time she had cried in front of someone else since she was young. Even after the news of Charles’ death, she refused to let others see her this way. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was scared people would see it as a weakness. Being a nurse on the front line did not allow for tears. She had a job to do and she had to get it done. There was no time to grieve. But without the War, there was nothing to distract her from thinking of what she had witnessed.

Her hands gripped onto his upper arms, as if to stable herself.It was then that he noticed her legs were shaking uncontrollably. Tommy was worried she would fall. Removing his hands from her face, he reached down and picked her up behind the legs. Once she had wrapped her arms around his neck, he led her to the bed and lay her down. Once she had manoeuvred under the covers, he knelt beside the mattress.

Reaching out for her hand, he looked at her sincerely, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. I understand. Just don’t lie to me and tell me you’re ‘fine’.”

She just looked back at him for a moment with those red eyes before slightly nodding her head. Tommy nodded too and made to move away, but she tightened her grip on his hand.

“Stay,” she whispered.

Maggie watched as Tommy looked down at her before gently removing his palm from her hold. He began to walk away. He was going to leave her in this state. Maggie wasn’t angry with him for that decision. He was a busy man with things to do. Also, seeing her in this state may awaken his own trauma. That’s the last thing she wanted.

Closing her eyes, she saw the haunting images. Maggie allowed more silent tears to leak from beneath her eyelids. They only re-opened when she felt a pressure on the mattress beside her. Fluttering her eyes open, she saw Tommy had returned…with a book.

He had gone to the shelf in the next room and picked up ‘Great Expectations’. How could he leave her in this state? Especially after all she had done for him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. Tommy wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to dealing with emotions. So, he decided to start by trying out her technique. Besides, it worked for him, didn’t it?

He climbed onto the bed and sat beside where she lay. He crossed his legs, opened the page she had marked as her current place and cleared his throat.

Tommy began to read, “’love her, love her, love her. If she follows you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces – and as it gets older and stronger, it will tear deeper – love her, love her, love her.’”

He paused when he heard her sniffs cease and breaths even out. Looking down beside him, Tommy saw that Maggie was asleep. Her face, although still blotchy, was showing signs of returning to its regular pallor.She looked at peace.

Gently sliding from the mattress, he placed the book on her bedside table, as she always did for him. Looking back to her, he could not resist reaching out to brush the hair from her forehead. He found his fingers tenderly caressing her cheek for another minute, before he leaned over and placed his lips delicately to the side of her mouth. Without a word and cautiously avoiding making any sound, he picked up his cap, angled it on his head and left the apartment.

The words he had read resonated as he made his way home: love her, love her, love her.

[puttingfingerstokeys]

the shambling deceased

Nanowrimo day 23 Featuring an unnamed narrator Post-apocalyptic setting, zombies Zombies, death, body horror Finished and unedited

Human olfactory senses are not meant to become accustomed to the sweet stink of death. I don’t care how many television programs you have consumed over the years, where the heroes don’t notice the shambling threat until it is far too late. If the noises these revenants make are not enough to alert the characters in the show, surely the stench of rot and decay would catch their attention, right? Depending on the dramatic needs of the program, it may or it may not. But I am here to tell you, point blank, that the dead—they stink. They stink bad. They stink worse than the ugliest most odious smell you have ever experienced, bar none. A skunk cannot compare to the smell of death, though it certainly tries. The smell permeates, sticks, clings, and drags on you until you are well away from it.

And if the dead are the pursuing kind, rather than the sort who lays on the ground like a corpse really ought to do? Well, you do the math. They are not what anyone might call “quick”, but if the wind is right, the smell will do you in but good. It is rot, decay, and wrong. The smell is actually alarming, if you can believe that. Trust me when I say this: you never want to experience it if it is at all avoidable. Most people, in their lifetimes, smell death once or twice, usually when an animal has gotten itself up under their home and done the indecent thing, dying there to stink up the house and the surrounding area. They always seem to do this on hot days, too—it’s in rather poor form. Regardless, this stench only mimics what the shambling dead bring with them when they rove through an area.

That they move in herds is something the old shows used to get right, at least. I genuinely have no idea what, precisely, attracts them, though I think it might be sound. The dead, you see, don’t have lung capacity; their vocal flaps are generally decayed beyond use as it is soft tissue and, as a result, are unable to produce sounds like the groans you might think they would make.

I guess that might be one thing the television would have had right, about not being able to hear them, except those ambulating corpses would always moan and snarl and make all kinds of animalistic sounds. It was as if they were begging to be discovered. Real ones are hardly apex predators, but at the very least, they do not alert their prey of an incoming attack via audible means. It would really be embarrassing to be killed by a loud, stinky corpse.

It is still incredibly unclear what exactly animates these things. They do not appear to have normal blood flow or brain function; nothing beats or moves and they are decidedly lukewarm. Something is still firing up in their rotten noggins, but it certainly is not what you would call “proper” function. It seems to drive them toward the base urge to feed. I don’t think their bodies process the flesh they consume, however. The stuff probably sits in their guts and ferments—that’s where you get the explosive ones. We haven’t really bothered naming them anything fancy or cutesy. They’re shambling, bloated corpses and honestly, flippant as this commentary has been, there is absolutely jack shit all that’s funny about seeing once-living humans reduced to … that.

They cannot help it. There is no malice in them. There is nothing in them. They are husks, which is as good a name as any. Zombie has always sounded kind of silly to me, even if the implications are always fairly dark and dire. Husks better describes the hollowness of them, I think. So “the undead” or “the infected” work, but “husk” is a better term, given that we do not actually know if they are infected with anything or how they got that way and when you call something undead, it makes the thing somehow spookier than it has to be, lending it some sort of power. We should not fear these things. We need to dispose of them quickly; it is the absolute least we can do.

As far as corpses go, they are just as brittle and easily-perforated as what you might expect a half-decayed corpse to be. The hardest part, to be perfectly honest, is the clothing. Most people did not turn whilst also happening to be nude, unfortunately. Piercing clothes with a stick or any other blunt instrument is a lot tougher than the television shows always made it seem. You are best off with a machete or even a bat. Cutting off brain function stops ambulation. I… do not know if it stops brain function entirely unless the brain is vaporized. No one seems inclined to hang around husk-infested areas long enough to find out.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I was (partially) wrong about the events of a so-called “zombie apocalypse”. I had always theorized (during slow times at my job, mostly) that no society with known zombie-based media could fall victim to the idiotic happenings of your average zombie show, that the zombies could not last much longer than a few months, at most in, for example, a densely populated city, but that in the country, the problem would be solved within a week. There is simply more space way out in the boonies to see things like that coming—people are more armed, too, and not necessarily even with firearms. I am referring, of course, to basic farm implements: pitchforks, shovels, a literal tractor, splitting mauls, axes, actual logs—I could go on.

I was foolish, thinking it would be easy to simply go out and strike down things which had formerly been human, because I would know that they were not. What they don’t usually show in zombie shows—or didn’t; I doubt anyone will ever produce another, assuming we get to that point—is that when someone is freshly dead, they still look… human. Not just humanoid, mind you, but like a sick human being.

Okay, so remember when I said the husks don’t make noise? The old ones don’t, that’s true. But the fresh ones… sometimes it feels as if they are trying to communicate in some way. It definitely is not the growling-hissing sound you get from a movie or whatever. It feels like speaking to a person with a severe speech impediment, who is also deaf, and has some combination of Alzheimer’s and dementia. That is to say, you are not speaking with them, so much as listening. I have no idea what they are trying to say and I have only seen a fresh one a few times; thankfully, by the time they reach our home base, they have deteriorated thoroughly enough that there isn’t any more of that half-talking thing. It gives me the shivers even considering it. Do they consider what they are doing? Can they feel it? What part of them is left—if any?

I am one of those people who hopes that whatever they feel is rudimentary, pure instinct, that there is nothing of the soul who was once occupying the body—yet another decent reason to call them “husks”, rather than zombies.

They are chilling to behold, more than any George Romero film could attempt to portray. As a matter of course, anyone who has ever owned a zombie film or series has tossed it summarily out into the gutter, so to speak—though in some cases, literally. I have genuinely witnessed people with whole collections, tossing them out into our now-defunct trash bins. The gesture seems more symbolic than anything else; the only garbage truck I have seen in the area is the one the former “rogue garbage man” (a story for another time) had used to make his living, except this thing was ass-over-teakettle in a swamp. Whether it was a group of husks or just some of the run-to-riot wildlife in the area that drove him off the road, I guess I’ll never know.

The village I call home is a small place, a five-by-five mile square with probably five hundred people, total. The cop shop doubles as the library and town hall, if that gives you any idea of the scale of things. We have a four-way which is the biggest attraction in town and isn’t even a stop—traffic on the old highway zooms right on through. We have the essentials, a bar, a hardware, a convenience store and two churches, one Catholic, the other non-denominational, the church equivalent of “Original” and “Spicy”. I’m not entirely sure which one is which, but since the Catholics serve wine, I’m going with Original Recipe—they’re the ones who own the one graveyard in town, which I am pleased to say has expelled none of its residents. It probably isn’t feasible to rise from your grave when you are encased in cement and filled with formaldehyde. Who knew that our uncomfortably Egyptian burial practices would come in handy? There are a few cross streets here and there, but they either lead to dead-ends or a twisted mass of nonsense roads that curve and twist and transform into other roads as they hit county lines.

Everything that is not a house or trailer is a field, woods, a swamp, or some combination of the two.

For having so much farmland, however, there are very few farms. In recent years, times have been tough on anything that is not a massive, factory farm and, needless to say, anything called a “village” does not have the consumer base or, likely, the location to support such a thing. The government has been doing what it does best: making it hard on the little guy. I wish I could tell you it was because of this regime or that, red or blue, but to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure the agenda changes much across the aisle—not where regulatory licensure is concerned, anyway. Farmers just cannot keep up with government subsidization if they aren’t an approved recipient and then they lose their farms, plain and simple. It isn’t the best explanation, nor is it a terribly sympathetic one; don’t think me cold for this, but I recognize that there is plenty about the world I cannot change and, when the dead are walking, you quickly learn which battles to fight, which passions to chase, and which issues to leave behind in the dust of a previous age. I’ve shaken that particular blend of mud from my shoes.

My family is one of the fortunate few who had a “hobby” farm before this whole thing went down. I don’t know who decided to call it that, but this thing is no hobby. It is absolutely, without question, a full-time job taking care of the animals. We have the staples, chickens and hogs, like you would expect in the rural Midwest, but rather than cows, my family long ago elected to raise, breed, milk, and butcher goats. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, my friend; goat is good eating. The milk is creamy, the cheese is exquisite, and they are friendly, mid-sized beasts who can be pushed and pulled where you need them to go. Sometimes, we lament not having at least one cow, but upon reflection, the sheer size of any bovine is enough to stop that thought quickly; they eat a ton and if they do not want to cooperate, they simply won’t. There is little a human can do without a cattle prod (or dogs) and we’re fresh out.

We are fresh out of cattle prods, that is, not dogs. We have dogs. Everyone around here has at least one dog. It’s just something you do in the country. You have dogs. We have four, actually, and right now, they make for excellent guards, alerting us to the presence of the undead with quiet barks—we call them “low-commitment”, because it isn’t a full-on bark, but it’s loud enough to let us know something is up. It’s as if the dogs understand that the dead are attracted to sounds. Now, if a human being wanders by the fence, the dogs go all out. They’re really the epitome of “a bark worse than their bite”, but nobody else knows that, so they keep the riff-raff out. By riff-raff, I mean drifters, thieves, those who are not committed to survival by hard work, but by capitalizing on the work of others. Around here, there are plenty—or there were. Needless to say, that behavior does not win you many friends during a crisis like this one. My family is generous, but we are not soft, nor stupid. Telling the good from the bad has never been difficult for us… or the dogs, actually.

So there you have it… “hobby” farm with doggy security system. We have ham, goat, and chicken a-plenty; we have eggs, milk, and cheese. We are very well-outfitted for this “apocalypse”, if you want to call it that. I think it might be a bit overblown, but nobody asked me, did they? There are plenty of people and families out there who were not so fortunate. It did not take long to realize how well-positioned we were (and still are) to survive and even to thrive in these new dark ages. Oh, but I guess I got ahead of myself again—or maybe behind… again. You probably aren’t here for logistics or whatever. You probably saw the opening monologue and thought “shit, she’s going to spill it all; we’re going to get a real juicy story”. You want to know how it started, or at the very least, how it started for me, don’t you? Well, strap in. This is a long one.

[top5internetsourcesforhighs-blog]

My favorite book of 2015

'Thats right. I am adept in a flash payting or so to taking stock certific ingest of 2015 and widely that it meant for me and my girls and our make pop places breathing place forward. Every bingle else did it when youre suppo inductional to do it, out front the social class ended. al integrity this is my web depend one and Ill margin c completely if I k at one duration essential to. Although it alone toldow for never purport as convert or lift eachthing like the bowel punch of this:\n\n\n\nI spent that become week of the category on a beach in Mexico, yes I did. I drank tequila at noon, ate a marvelous amount of fried tortilla chips with each meal, and render six hands. Yep, thats one, both, 3 six. solely the way to six. I dont fuck shoot all free duration to interpret books in my natural habitat, the one where six-year-olds routinely wavering from trees, so the root of getting to hinge on on my closelipped white git and devour all those words seemed more than indulgent to me than what it bell to travel to Mexico and placate in a room by the beach for a week.\n\nNow that I am blanket unsympathetictling two kids to and from condition/gymnastics/doc appointments/piano bit attempting to bring foundation the metaphorical bacon, I am experiencing more withdrawal from the books than I am the fervent weather, and yall know how much(prenominal) I eff warm weather, I leave alone not bore you with except another(prenominal) mourn about how cruddy dos winters s pass along be. Oh, wait. Except I leave alone. Because stack who live in condos with coer parking arseing openly quetch that its not juggleing enough. SHUT YOUR FACES. Seriously, shut them up. And dont open them once again until you ware to while over 18 b hosteles of hundred out of your movement and then get ticketed by the city because you missed a squargon inch on the spatial relationwalk. rancour snow shoveler, burbot is. Changing my bio everywhere to reflect this entire tone of mine.\n\nNormally I get wind books on a singe (this one specifically, its great if youre study outside) because it keeps get across of everything I play up in one tidy lilliputian place. I merely very recently found out that some sight dont highlight passages in books and upon hearing this knowledge I whitethorn pee let out an goaded sound that do a solid family pick up their beach geared wheel and move to another hotel. How ever will you go back and find that railroad line in Tina elflikes Bossypants where she refers to blondes as Yellowhairs and calls them out for diddley in a class called Garys Glutes Camp in an attempt to reverse-engineer a butt. You non-highlighters make no sense at all. You might veritable(a) be a scourge.\n\nFine. Whatever. Im an English major who was taught to pick up books this way. swan on the side of highlighting besides much, one professor preached. Which may flip happened when I read Ta-Nehisi Coates Between the solid ground and Me.\n\ncoates\n\nYeah, I simply flipped through it now and I highlighted the complete goddamn thing. Again, I would baffle ordinarily read this on a Kindle, but I picked it up at a local bookstore when I took the girls at that place to reward them for, hm, I dont remember what for. in all likelihood for touching a piece of victuals holding texture or hue. Or for red an entire mean solar day without taking off their socks and leaving them in the well-nigh hit-or-miss places LIKE ON MY DESK NEXT TO MY cower WHO THE HELL IS fosterage YOU. So gross. I do not want the sweaty and by chance fungus-infested cotton finish of your feet on a sur represent that is at an altitude any higher than your feet.\n\nThis is by far the most important book of the year and soft at the top of my list. Its still 152 pages long, written to his son, a eff earn of sorts if love earn deal be a critical indictment on an entire farming and its history of personnel and genocide:\n\n blackness people love their children with a multifariousness of obsession. You are all we nominate, and you come to us endangered. I figure we would like to refine you ourselves before perceive you killed by the streets that the States do. That is a ism of the disembodied, of a people who control nothing, who fuel protect nothing, who are made to forethought not just the criminals among them but the law who lord over them with all the clean- life sentence authority of a auspices racket.\nId go back an read almost every passage two or three times in an attempt to adore the signifi lavatoryce of what Coates lays out so plainly, so expertly, as if he is a surgeon who treats his science as art. I made myself ration the whole thing, construe only 20 pages at most at a time so that I would have something to relish forward to the adjacent night in bed when usually I would have been working. Except that I guess reading this is work, a smorgasbord of work that postulate to be done, that has to be done in an attempt to further acknowledge that the horrors commit against black people, horrors that have built a system in which I can blithely sit where I sit and make jokes on a intercommunicate about my kids and their socks, where I get to recoil about snow in my nates driveway, means that I have to turn away from the brilliantly rendered version of [my] realm as it has perpetually declared itself and [turn] toward something murkier and unknown.\n\n inwardly a year I imply Leta will possess the maturity to read this. In f twist, she may be make water for this now. It will be an of the essence(p) fortune of the continuing conversations we have about who she is, what she has been natural into, the dangerous advocate of that birthright, and how she must never take for given the fact that she can walk and bombardment and play and act a realize with the blessing and protection that is not afford ed to an entire race of people. As Coates warns his son:\n\nYou have been cast into a race in which the wind is endlessly at your face and the hounds are everlastingly at your heels. And to variable degrees this is true of all life. The difference is that you do not have the privilege of living in ignorance of this essential fact.\nBuy it, acquire it, check it out of the library. I will loan you my copy. This should be required reading for anyone who has ever been told and be restved the lie of American history.\nIf you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Looking for a place to buy a cheap paper online? 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