#we fought a gelatinous cube today | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honourablejester · 5 years ago

Text

My sister just reminded me of this today. When we were tiny children, so like, 90s through to early oughties, depending on which of us you’re talking to, we had a game CD-ROM called Amazing Mazes. Which was a set of games/game demos on a theme of, you guessed it, mazes. It had some cool stuff on there, like the first two parts of Castle of the Winds*, and a text-based adventure game**, and some other things. But the one I remembered today was a straight-up maze game, where you are wandering around a 3D maze of blank-walled corridors with I think a brick floor, and the object is to find the exit.

It should have been incredibly boring. Like, ridiculously boring. Featureless maze, get out. That was it (that I can remember). Except.

Except every time you twitched too far with the finicky mouse and clipped a wall slightly, this incredibly sarcastic voice would say things like:

“What do you do for an encore, fall down a flight of stairs?”

“This might be easier if you go down the halls between the walls.”

And other sundry comments to that effect. And it was amazing. I think the only one of us who ever actually solved that maze was one of our cousins, because the rest of us were too busy wandering around deliberately hitting every wall in the place to see what the voice said next. Which I suppose shows that we would be the easiest people in the world to trap, and/or that small children are easily entertained by snarky voices, but still. It was excellent.

I wish I could remember the name of it now so I could make sure I didn’t actually imagine it. You know, just to be sure.

I remember that whole disc really fondly, actually. Played on the ancient desktop in the corner of the sitting room. I loved it.

*Remembered primarily for the thief that stole all my shit then died inside a wall so I couldn’t retrieve it. Also the time I fought off a whole room full of monsters then died to a rat. Also the time I met a gelatinous cube and died to it twice before I read the bestiary and realised it was immune to magic so all those goshdarned magic missiles did precisely jack

** Remembered primarily for that one sequence where there is a shaft down through a dungeon with a window exiting onto it, and I had suction cups in my inventory, but no combination of nouns and verbs under the sun would convince the bloody thing to let me put them on and climb down. Also, that time I climbed a 200ft tree and then told the game to jump off it, just to see what happened. I remember that game getting quite sarcastic with me as well, there …

#games #pc games #90s #00s #amazing mazes #nostalgia #moral of the story is that sarcasm entertains small children #or at least us

7 notes · View notes

7-wonders · 6 years ago

Text

Shatter pt. 4

Summary: Eighteen months after the end of the world, and you’re somehow still alive. All of this newfound free time you have gives you plenty of time to ponder the question: who the hell are you?

Word count: 2080

A/N: It’s me, back with part four! Took me a little while but I finally did it. As always, special thanks to @jimmlangdon for all of their help with this series.

Read Part One HERE | Read Part Two HERE | Read Part Three HERE

Sleep is abruptly ripped away from you by the slamming of a door and a hand shaking your shoulder. You sit up, blearily blinking your eyes and attempting to discern where you are. Your neck aches painfully, and you realize that you must have fallen asleep leaning against Mallory. The witch beside you looks just as confused as you are, especially when faced with a grim Supreme.

“Follow me, girls.” You and Mallory look at each other in bemusement, both reluctantly standing to head back into the little shack. Early sunlight starts to make its way over the horizon, a faint glow lighting the bayou ahead of you. It’s peaceful, almost too peaceful considering the events of the past few weeks. Your eyes burn after all the tears shed last night, and you’re mildly disappointed that your new Sight didn’t give you anymore glimpses of Michael.

You know that you shouldn’t be sad that you didn’t see your former lover. You fought tooth-and-nail to escape him, and you should be happy that you’re now safe. But you can’t help the pangs of sadness that come with not seeing his sweet smile and his crystal blue eyes. When you first woke up moments ago, you had hoped that the hand waking you would belong to Michael. The visions of the rising Antichrist are shattered when you pass through the door and are blindsided.

It’s a coordinated attack, you can tell from the multiple witches trying to pin you to the ground and Mallory’s screams as the same happens to her. The uneven wood digs into your back, making you grimace while your hands are held above your head and your legs grow heavy. Myrtle Snow smiles at you apologetically, red hair coming into view and gloved hands making sure you don’t go anywhere.

“Miss Cordelia? What…?” You’re being assaulted, both mentally and physically, and are slow at processing your current situation as a result. The Supreme’s blonde hair is slightly mussed, and you realize that the head you had yanked in your fight to get away had been hers.

“Your allegiances, while not your fault, are still fractured. On the one hand, your mind wants to be with us, your sisters. On the other, your heart is still with Michael. Even before Michael’s mind had been made up that he would get you back, we had known of his plans for the apocalypse. You and Mallory are both extremely powerful young women, so if you were to be buried underground with us to survive the initial blasts, your magic would act as a beacon to forces that want to do us harm.”

“I don’t understand!” Mallory cries from next to you. You glance over at her to see tears tracking down her face as she shakes in terror. Your hand creeps across the floor and intertwines with hers, squeezing in reassurement.

“Coco has already made the sacrifice, and had her mind wiped as a result. Her wealth will ensure that all of you safely reach the Outposts that are being built for survivors. Your powers, along with your memories, will lay dormant until the time is right. As a result, (Y/N), Michael will not be able to use your bond to his advantage, since you won’t have memories of him to even have a bond.” It’s your turn to start crying, shaking your head back and forth desperately.

“No, please. You can’t do this! I don’t want to forget him, I can’t forget him!” You whimper. Cordelia smiles at you sympathetically, and you want to reach up and slap her across the face.

“I promise that you’ll feel differently when you get your memories back. You’re going to be saving all of humanity with this sacrifice.”

“I’ll never forgive you for this. You’re taking who I am away from me against my will! I don’t care if this will save humanity, you shouldn’t be allowed to do this.” You hiss, eyes steeling in a glare. Before you can continue with your verbal torrent, Cordelia produces a translucent powder. You start struggling in one last attempt at an escape, but your efforts are fruitless. The powder gets blown into your face, and your coughing draws it into your lungs. Before you black out, there’s only one word on your lips.

“Michael.”

30 months later…

The harsh knocking on your door acts as your alarm clock today, just as it has everyday for the past eighteen months. You jolt up, sheets tangled around your legs and bunched at the bottom of the bed. Running a hand through your messy hair, you listen as the Gray makes their way down the hallway, providing a wakeup call for your fellow occupants. Hell, better known as Outpost 3, had been your home for just over a year. The period of time directly before the bombs fell had been a flurry of events, involving gathering your few belongings and escaping with your boss to a private jet owned by Coco St. Pierre-Vanderbilt.

“Coco! Coco wait!” Mr. Gallant yelled, hopping out of the convertible and jogging towards the jet. You stay behind to grab all of his things and help his grandmother, Evie, out of the car.

“Gallant? What the hell are you doing here?” Coco squawked.

“You said there were enough tickets for your family and your husband. That’s five tickets, and only two of them are being used.” He explained excitedly.

“Your assistant can’t come, Brock should be here at any moment!” You had huffed at being called Gallant’s ‘assistant.’ You were basically his sister, but there wasn’t any time to call the socialite out when Coco’s assistant screamed a warning. Runway workers were rapidly advancing in a hope to grab a spot and survive nuclear annihilation.

“Coco, I’m not leaving without (Y/N).” Gallant affirmed, making your heart warm at his effort to save your life. Coco thought for a moment, finally rolling her eyes and nodding.

“Fine, but we need to go like, NOW!”

The jet had barely made it to cruising altitude before the bombs dropped, and you couldn’t help but to thank your lucky stars every single day. Even living in the strictest, most-backwards living conditions was better than how you were living for a while before the end of the world.

You didn’t know who you were. You had amnesia, whether it be from an injury or some sort of coping mechanism, but the facts remained the same; you had woken up in an apartment that you didn’t own, with no memory except for your name and a friend who could help you. That friend was Mr. Gallant, who quickly took you in and gave you so many things, the least of those being a job. He was a shoulder to cry on when you were frustrated about your lack of memories, your ‘boyfriend’ when weird guys were hitting on you, your therapist when you needed to vent, and your best friend. Technically being his assistant, you had been expecting to be a Gray along with Coco’s assistant, Mallory. To your shock, your name was on a list guaranteeing that you receive a spot on the highest tier of this new society. The purple dress you slip on as you get ready acts as a reminder that you’re probably the luckiest person left alive.

“Welcome to another beautiful day underground.” Gallant greets you with a snicker when you enter the dining room, handing you a glass of water and patting the chair next to you. Somehow, even after all this time, you had still managed to remain best friends with the man.

“Did I hear something about horseback riding on the schedule today?” You joke, earning a few laughs from the Purples scattered through the room.

“I mean this is the nicest way, (Y/N), but you look like shit.”

“Thank you, it’s this new beauty routine I’m trying.” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. Gallant sighs, grabbing your hand in his.

“Did you have the dream again?” ‘The dream,’ or what should be known as dreams, have plagued you since the day you woke up in the unfamiliar apartment in the middle of Los Angeles. Sometimes they involved beautiful women, all dressed in black and smiling at you. Other times there was a swamp, the muggy air enveloping your subconscious and chirping echoing from within the ecosystem. There were also a few dreams that left you crying and shaking, dreams filled with screaming, blood, and gunfire. The most common dreams, though, all revolved around a man.

You dreamed of this man almost every time you fell asleep, yet you couldn’t ever clearly see his face. You knew that he was tall and had beautiful blond curls that tickled your face when he leaned down to kiss you. You were always touching this man in some way or another, usually just holding hands as you relive what you assume are your lost memories. Sometimes, his face would clear just long enough for you to see his haunting eyes, which are the clearest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. You get so lost in reminiscing on your dream that you don’t realize you haven’t yet answered Gallant until he calls your name again.

“Of course, I always do.” You respond.

“Which one was it? The gun one?”

“It was the one with the man.” Gallant knew about all your dreams, and had listened to you attempt to dissect them for countless hours.

“I love your hot mystery man.” He says playfully, grinning.

“Apparently I did, too. Too bad I don’t know who he actually is.” The gelatinous cubes, your only source of nutrition for over a year, lay untouched on your respective plates.

“You’ve been having the dream with your blue-eyed honey a lot more often, lately. Maybe that means something?” He suggests, picking up his fork and absently spinning it in his hand. You shrug, considering it.

“Maybe. Or maybe-” The shrill sound of an alarm startles you, and your hands clap against your ears for protection. Ms. Mead walks quickly to the dining room, staring at the gathered survivors.

“Security breach. Back to your rooms, all of you.” She says sternly, watching as everyone stands immediately. You follow the herd, but your thoughts remain on what Ms. Mead just said. A security breach? For the duration of your time here, nothing had ever gotten through the walls surrounding the Outpost. You don’t know whether to be intrigued or scared at this.

“Think it’s cannibals?” Gallant whispers into your ear, snapping his teeth to make you jump.

“Don’t be so morbid, Gal, Jesus.” You mutter. He wants to retort, but you’re all shepherded to your rooms and given strict orders to remain there until further instruction.

The hours until you’re summoned out pass slowly, and you find yourself trying to sleep in order to pass the time. You’re also hoping that you see those familiar blue eyes again, but are disheartened when you’re told to gather in the library before you can dream. Coco’s already sitting next to Gallant, talking his ear off about god-knows-what, and Evie sits on his other side. You take the only open seat left, next to Timothy. He smiles at you when you join him, Emily holding holding his hand tightly.

“Any clue what this is about?” You ask.

“Maybe they’re finally gonna take us out.” Emily suggests, wiggling her eyebrows to make you both giggle.

“We should be so lucky.” Your banter is interrupted when Ms. Venable, the leader of the Outpost, enters the room. She stands at the head of the room, eyes cast towards the door the entire time. When she still hasn’t spoken in two minutes, you sigh and start picking at your nails to give yourself something to do. Heels clacking against the floor fill the room, but you assume it’s The Hand joining the group after finishing their rounds. You only look up when Timothy nudges you slightly.

Immediately, your eyes widen at the sight you’re faced with. It’s not The Hand. Instead, a tall man, dressed to the nines, with long blond hair and startling blue eyes, commands the room with only his presence. Everybody stares at him in varying degrees of lust and attraction, but you stare at him for a different reason; you know this man. You’re not sure how, or from where, but you know him.

“My name is Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative.”

Tag list: @queencocoakimmie @nana15774 @lichellaw @sammythankyou @sebastianshoe @pastel-cloudz @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @let-me-try-mom @uptosomeseriousfuckshit @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblog @everything-is-awesomesauce @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning @ccodyfern @dolceandchalamet

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #ahs #michael langdon imagines #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagine #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse

227 notes · View notes