#its either that or starve to death not like he has a choice

[buwheal]

if you keep eating from the trash, you'll get food poisoning. most of the food is probably rotten, that's why it's in the trash there's also a possibility that a maus got it's saliva all over what you're eating you could also get a virus if the food's contaminated with malware because someone sick ate some of it

[fandxmslxt69]

Terrible Liar

Avenger!Loki x Avenger!f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injury (reader has a nasty ass wound), mentions of blood and medical supplies, Loki and reader are both assholes to each other but its FUNNY. Rushed plot bc this came to me in a fever dream. Maybe some bad grammar, run on sentences etc. Ignore those ahaha. this is NOT edited or reviewed AT ALL. she's as raw as they come.

A/N: This came to be in a fever dream. Btw. Like God sent it to me. I'm sorry if it feels rushed I was so desperate to get it all down I blacked out. IT'S 5K OKAY MY BAD AHAHAH i'm kind of a slut for this kind of trope so MY BAD. anyway this is for THE @sarahscribbles 's Christmas Celebration!! Sorry I'm a little late, these two wouldn't shut the fuck up so I got carried away. ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ENJOY SARAH I LOVE YOU <3

Synopsis: What could possibly go wrong with spending a night sharing a room with Loki? (aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope)

Word count: 5K

Oh man. You watched Loki bang the hood of the car in anger. That can’t be good. 

You rested your head against the window of the stolen car, taking deep breaths. You could feel your whole body shaking from the adrenaline. You hadn’t calmed down a single bit since the ride out here. How long has it been? Probably less than an hour. You had no idea how far out you were from the nearest town and it absolutely was not the right time for this car to stop. Your entire body hurt from getting kicked in the ass repeatedly during the fight, and your head spun. Your left side throbbed and your shoulder screamed in agony. Not to mention, you are completely separated from the rest of the group, and you have no means of communication. Somewhere along the way, you had lost your comm, and your spare was of no use. Loki said the lines were down anyway, so it wasn’t much help to begin with. 

Speaking of the devil, he threw the door of the car open, letting in the chill winter air, and huffed as he got back in, slamming the door behind him. “Stupid, useless vehicle. What is the point of transportation if it fails so easily?” He grumbled.

“It’s out of gas, genius,” “Well it’s not making for a very efficient getaway car,” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well?” You looked at him expectantly, but he only looked back with an expression of confusion. You sat up straighter to face him, but your vision blurred and your head swam. It took you a minute to collect yourself. “We can;t just sit here, we’ll freeze to death,” Loki scoffed. “No I won’t,” You clenched your jaw. “Okay, I’ll freeze to death,” “Tragedy,” His tone was dead as he pulled out his phone to mess with. “I’ll let them know it was a heroic death,” “You’re such an asshole,” “How original,” You nearly growled. “Laufeyson,” “Agent,” He replied smoothly, looking up at you with one of those disarming grins. You were not falling for it. You may be delirious and crashing soon, but you were not falling for Loki’s charms. 

“We need to figure something out,” “You mean I need to figure it out,” “Oh my fucking god. I’m not gonna sit here like some passenger princess-” “Agent, you are trembling so hard you couldn’t even walk a foot much less help out in this little dilemma,” Loki interrupted. “I have no desire to starve out here, and horrifyingly, I can’t find it in my heart to let you die out here either. I’ll figure it out,” 

You grumbled under your breath, and you were certain he heard you because he grinned wider and went back to messing with his phone. 

He was right though, you were shaking really hard- both from the adrenaline and now, the cold. Whenever you exhaled, a puff of white air formed in front of you, and the tip of your nose was starting to go numb. The idea of leaving your fate at the moment in the hands of Loki was an absolutely horrifying idea, since you knew how reckless this guy tended to be. But you didn’t have much of a choice, and as much as it physically pained you to sit quietly and wait, you did just that. It was made another fifteen minutes before Loki peeled his eyes away from the phone pad. He opened the door to the car, and stepped out. 

“Hey!” You yelled. “Where the hell are you going? Close the goddamn door!” But of course, he didn’t bother answering or listening. He looked around, staring at his phone occasionally before surveying the area again. And just when you thought he couldn’;t get more insane, he started walking away from the car. Your heart squeezed in your chest. Was he going to leave you here? Like hell he was. You kicked open your door, shakingly getting out of the car. You were vaguely aware of the stab of pain at your side that nearly had you doubled over as black spots danced in your vision, but you willed yourself to push it aside. You slammed the door shut as you walked out after Loki. 

“Hey!” You yelled out to him. You had no idea if he could even hear you with the way the wind howled and snow whipped at your face. It was freezing cold, snow biting your cheeks and your teeth chattering after being out here for less than a few minutes. “Laufeyson!” You yelled louder, arm clutching your side and limping in the direction he walked in. No answer. You were positive a storm was kicking up. 

“Loki!” You screamed this time, as loud as your voice let you. Your chest heaved, your throat hurt, and the air you gulped stung so bad you were so close to never breathing it again. 

“Loki! God help me, Loki, when I find you!” You looked around slowly, yet all you saw was the outline of your stolen car in the winds, and white. So much white. “I’ll haunt you, you know!” You shouted into the wind. “If I die here, I’ll haunt you forever!” You had to shield your eyes from the harsh snow as you yelled. You knew he couldn’t hear you, but you also knew that he couldn’t have gotten too far. How long could he even last out here? Damn it, he could probably last a while. 

Stupid, horrible, arrogant Loki. You contemplated going back to the car, but decided that if you were going to imagine a million and one ways to kill and haunt Loki for eternity, you might as well do it while freezing out here. You were only at number fifteen of your haunting possibilities when you heard his stupidly smooth voice. “What in the Nine Realms do you think you’re doing out here?”

You whirled around to find him standing there, absolutely unaffected by the weather or your situation. His cheeks were rosy and his pretty hair was up in a bun (that was more falling apart than anything) and pretty snowflakes hung in the curls. 

He looked….well. He looked heavenly, to say the least. 

“I was out here looking for you,” You shot back as harshly as you could, but with the way your teeth chattered and the small smirk that tugged at his lips, it didn’t seem to be working. “You should have stayed in the car,” He sounded almost…angry. Why the hell would he be angry when he left you behind? Although, the frown and furrowed brows were a little cute. “You shouldn’t have wandered off and left me behind,” “I was coming to get you,” “Like hell you were,” “I was,” He stepped closer to you, and you had to hold back everything to not huddle up closer to him like a goddamn penguin. He snapped his fingers and you felt something warm and heavy fall on your shoulders. “Put that on. We’re leaving,” 

“Leaving?! Where the hell are we leaving?! Do I need to remind you that we are stranded in the middle of a storm?!” 

Loki grumbled as he forcefully got you into the jacket he conjured. You didn’t bother saying thank you, which was fine because he only kept glaring at you before marching ahead. 

“Where are you going?!” He didn’t bother answering. “Loki!” Assshit. You grumbled and huffed the entire time as you hurried after him, trying to block off the tingling ache at your side. You knew you didn’t get stabbed. Maybe it’s a big cut. You were certain you’d know if a knife had lodged itself into your side. 

You had no idea where Loki was taking you but you kept your mouth shut in hopes that it was someplace warm and safe. 

“Your hair looks like shit,” You blurted out. Okay, maybe not always keeping your mouth shut.

He looked at you from the corner of his eye. “You don’t look much better,” “Yeah but I said it first,” “Maybe I should have left you in the car,” “I would’ve still found you,” “Yes, haunting me forever,” “You heard that?!” He shrugged. “I was heading back to the car. You weren’t exactly quiet,” You stared at him with wide eyes. “And you didn’t even say anything,” “I found it too amusing to interrupt,” You frowned, shoving him with your shoulder. Wrong move apparently, because your vision started spinning and your knees nearly buckled. Loki wrapped an arm around you ever so gently, as if scared you’d shatter otherwise. “Stop talking,” He snapped. “And stop being so damn aggressive. I would like to make this journey without you collapsing on me,” “I’m not going to collapse,” You mumbled. “You always were a terrible liar,” He muttered under his breath, and more or less carried you to your destination. At first, you didn’t let him, but he won eventually, like he always did, and you leaned the rest of your weight onto him. 

You had no idea where you were until you reached the smack middle of a small town. A picture perfect fantasy, almost. Little houses and small shops lined with lights and trees and covered in snow. It was like stepping into a Hallmark movie. Each house was so full of light, and even through the howling wind, you could hear the sounds of laughter and shrieking children. 

How the hell did Loki find this place? “There’s a motel here. We’ll book rooms, spend the night. I’m sure there’s Wi-Fi too,” Loki sounded like he was talking more to himself than you. 

“Freaking out?” You asked. 

“Yes. I’m thinking of which way Stark will kill me if you die,” “Pfft. Tony wouldn’t kill you,” Loki raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet as he walked you both through the town. The storm was clearly picking up, and you were thankful that he had all those genes to keep him alive in this weather, and that he was able to find this place. 

When you reached the motel- which appeared to be the only one in town- you couldn’t help smiling (even if you couldn’t feel your face at all anymore). It was a cute little building, rustic and heartwarming. Little snowmen lined the front, and a bed jingled as you and Loki entered. The inside was even better, with burgundy and gold designs and wallpaper that looked like it came straight out of a Victorian novel. It was cozy, and more importantly, warm. 

You almost sobbed in relief as you practically collapsed onto an armchair by the counter. Your body sank into it, your nerves singing in joy as you slowly felt your fingertips again. 

“Are you alright?” Loki asked. 

You nodded. “Yup,” He made a sound of disapproval. “You need to lie better,” “Go shove your head through the wall,” You muttered back. He only grinned. Loki didn’t even appear fazed or relieved at the warmth, and simply marched up to the counter. There was no one there, and he rang the bell at least five times. 

“Would you stop that?” You snapped after the sixth time.

“It’s a bell. It’s meant to be used,” “Not like that,” “It’s how you call for attention,” “Well I’m sure whoever runs this place will be here shortly,” He lasted a whole two minutes before he hit the bell again. 

“Loki,” You hissed. 

“Just a minute!” You heard a cheery voice call from the back, and a short old lady appeared, seemingly out of breath. “Sorry about that, all those damn stairs,” She chuckled to herself.

Loki flashed her a smile. “It’s not a problem at all,” “Oh my,” The old woman smiled back but this time you swore up and down she blushed a little. 

Loki and his stupid, disarming smile. 

“My…friend and I are a little caught in this storm,” He started, gesturing to you. You waved weakly at the lady and mustered up a smile. She probably thought you were crazy. You had no idea how you looked, but you knew it wasn’t how a normal person should. 

“We were wondering if you had any available rooms for the night. Just two is fine,” He turned back to the lady with an even bigger smile. 

“Well,” She smiled wider at Loki. “I’ll see what I can do,” He nodded, “Thank you…” he squinted at her name tag. “Lucy. Thank you very much, Lucy,” And there Lucy went, blushing and grinning at him again. 

Horrible, absolutely tragic. The poor woman had no idea how insufferable Loki was. 

Lucy rummaged through her desk, seemingly looking for keys to the rooms. She pulled out one, placing it on the counter, before going back to look for the other. You waited, tagging your foot on the wood floor, staring at the cute fireplace. Your whole body hummed in gratitude, and your feet tingle, feeling back in them. 

“Oh dear,” Lucy muttered to herself. 

“Everything alright Lucy?” Loki asked. 

“It seems that I only have a single room available. This storm has the place booked fully,” She explained. 

Hell no. 

Loki sighed. “Very well-” “Are you sure?” You interrupted him. “Can you check again?” You probably sounded desperate, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

You can’t share a room with Loki. You’d go crazy. You’d do something disastrous- like give in to the urge to cuddle into his chest! Or God forbid, tangle your hand in his hair. 

“I did, hon. I’m afraid this is all I’ve got,” She said apologetically. 

Fuuuuck. 

“It’s quite alright, Lucy. There’s two beds in the room, correct? I’m sure we can manage to share a room for a night,” Loki said hastily before you could interrupt again. 

Lucy opened her mouth, as if to say something else, before she stopped. “Alright,” “How much is it for the night, darling?” Oh okay, he was really laying it on thick then. 

“Oh- oh um…” Lucy chuckled nervously. “This room….it’s 150$ for the night. You can pay in the morning, if you prefer,” “Nonsense,” Loki smiled, pulling out cash from the pocket in his top armour, counting the bills. “Here you go, Lucy,” He handed her the money. “Thank you so very much for your help,” She nodded wordlessly as she handed him the key. Loki took it and turned back to you, arms on his hips. “Are you coming, or must I carry you?” “I wouldn’t mind being carried…” You started jokingly. Apparently, Loki couldn’t read the room, because he frowned, shrugged and then walked over, picking you up effortlessly. 

“Hey-!” You started to protest, but a sudden wave of pain shot through you, shutting you up. “I was joking,” You muttered.

“Mhm,” He said, shooting Lucy another smile before heading upstairs to your room. The stairs were cute too, you noticed, lined with a soft matt and cute lamps lined the walls. And Loki’s chest was really warm, and- that had nothing to do with the motel. 

Before your thoughts could get any more dangerous, Loki stopped in front of a room, hand rummaging through his back pocket to get the key. “You can put me down now,” “I’ll put you down when I feel like it,” Shithead. 

He unlocked the door and stepped in, closing it behind him with his foot. All businesslike, he walked over to the big bed and placed you down on it. It was comfy, and you had to control yourself from not falling back and getting it dirty in all your blood and gore. Loki looked you over. “Fine?” You nodded. “Fine,” He smiled and you were certain he was going to call you a liar but you stopped him. “Laufeyson?” “What?” “Where’s the other bed?” Loki froze, looking around the room slowly. “Oh,” “Oh?” He looked back at you. “It seems, darling, that there is no other bed,” “No fucking shit! You’re sleeping on the floor,” He looked at you in disbelief. “Absolutely not. We can share the bed like civilised people,” “Everyone always says that! And then it never works out!” You threw your hands up. You winced, immediately dropping your hands to hold your side. “Everyone? Who the hell is everyone?” “The movies, duh,” He stared at you. “You’re serious,” “Dead,” He ran a hand down his face. “Alright. We’ll split the bed or something. I truly don’t care enough. I simply want to sleep,” You shrugged. “Fine. Go shower first, then I’ll go in,” “I don’t have clothes to change out of, genius,” “You’re a god genius,” You replied mockingly. “I’m pretty sure you can snap your fingers and get us some clothes,” He stared at you, like he hadn’t had that thought at all. “Right.” And indeed, with a snap of his fingers, a pile of clothes appeared on the bed, and one in his hands. “Try not to get yourself killed,” “I hope you drown in the shower,” He smiled at you before heading into the washroom. You were finally alone, even for a few minutes. You breathed a sigh of relief. Being around Loki always ended with one of you flustered. Tragically, it tended to be you. You looked through the pile of clothes Loki summoned- a plain shirt that appeared way too large, and some plaid pants. They weren’t outrageous. You just had to make sure you hadn’t lost any limbs. 

You slowly peeled off the layers of your top- the jacket, weapons, cash, your useless comms and phone- and then unzipped your equally-useless-in-the-cold vest. You laid all your things on the floor, not wanting to get the bed dirty. Then, slowly, you lifted your top just under your chest, sucking in a deep breath.

Fuck. 

There was a nasty looking cut, starting from right under your ribs and nearly crossing the other side. You didn’t think it looked terrible, but you are almost certain it needed stitches. It wasn’t bleeding too much, but that might have to do with being out in the cold for too long than anything else- even your top was more or less soaked in blood. 

You didn’t even have a first aid kit. You traced around the cut slowly, wincing when it hurt. You prayed it wasn’t infected. 

“Alright, hm?” Your head snapped up to see Loki freshly showered and changed, his now useless mission suit nowhere in sight. “Um, yeah, I’m fine,” His jaw ticked. “You’re hurt,” “Yeah but I’m fine,” “You are bleeding,” He sounded ...angry. Was he mad at you? “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” You snapped. 

He clenched and unclenched his fists. He opened his mouth to say something, before he shook his head and stormed out of the room. 

“What the fuck? You called out after him. He didn’t answer as the door slammed behind him. 

You had no clue why he had to be so mad. It’s not like you chose to get hurt, and you certainly weren’t going to ask him for anything, so why’d he get so pissy? You grumbled to yourself as you grabbed the clothes, heading into the bathroom to scrub off the day. 

It took you a solid twenty minutes to wash everything out. You were very careful to not open your cut further, taking warm water to wash off the dried blood around it. 

You tugged on the plain shirt as you stepped out of the bathroom. You winced when you reached up to tie your hair, deciding to just leave it down to dry. You had thrown your old clothes on the pile of Loki’s in the bathroom, and used a spare towel to press against your wound. 

“Welcome back,” You said sarcastically when you found Loki sitting on the bed. 

“Come here,” He said curtly. 

“You can’t just order me around after you walk out you know? And you can’t get bitchy with me for no fucking reason-” “Will you please come sit down so you can look at your wound,” Loki snapped, but it didn’t sound harsh. It was almost…pleading. You froze in your spot, blinking slowly at him. His voice sounded devastated and in your daze, you nodded, slowly walking over to sit on the bed beside him. 

“May I?” He gestured to your shirt and you nodded again. He lifted it over your head, and suddenly you were thankful for putting on the sports bra Loki brought with your clothes.. “You didn’t say anything,” He whispered. 

You swallowed. This was too freaky. You never got this close with Loki. “We-...we had other things to worry about,” You swore his hands trembled as he reached into the first aid kit beside him. Where did he get that? Did he run out to buy one? Damn it. You and Loki didn’t do fluffy shit. The one day you needed him to be an asshole….

He took his time cleaning the wound, and you tried your best to keep your yelps of pain down. 

“Do you want stitches?” Loki asked in a soft tone. He looked ...frightened. And why too pale. Did he get squirm-ish at this stuff?

“Are you a medical professional?” You asked. 

“Farthest thing from it,” You hummed. “Just wrap it up,”

He nodded, grabbing some cotton pads and the gauze. He carefully placed the pads onto the wound, and began wrapping the gauze around your waist. His fingers brushed against your skin, and you shivered at the touch. 

“There,” He exhaled, pulling his hands away. “You can put your shirt back on,” “Yeah,” You nodded. You should definitely grab it now. You should probably put it on. But you didn’t move a muscle, not with the way Loki stared at you, and the way his eyes dipped lower occasionally. He looked away, appearing flustered, his fists clenched on his thighs. “Loki?” “What?” He snapped. 

“Why are you so angry?” “You could have died,” His voice died down to nothing but a desperate whisper. “You could have died,” You opened your mouth to protest, to say that you had it under control and that everything was fine, but he shook his head. 

“Don’t you dare say everything was ‘fine’. You’re still such a terrible liar,” You weren’t. He just had that freaky ability to tell when you lied every damn time. 

“You could have died. Human life is so horribly fragile, you could have died at any second. What was I to do then, hm? Stare at your lifeless body?” “I thought you’d rejoice at my death,” You joked, trying to break the tension. His eyes snapped to look at yours, his jaw clenched and his eyes wide with fear. You thought he’d say something, but instead he just leaned in, crushing his lips harshly against yours. Before you could even react, he pulled away, breathing heavily. 

“I would have died too. In the simplest terms, my heart would have stopped working the minute yours did too,” You froze in shock, staring at him with wide eyes. What just happened? Your lips tingled from the kiss. You wanted him to do it again. “What the hell are you saying, Loki?” “I’m saying that you are incredibly stupid and idiotic and completely selfish. And that I would rather die than live a life without you in it,” He started, his tone angry and desperate. Your head was spinning. Maybe there was drugs in the linen of this bed. Or maybe Loki hit his head. 

“Say something,” Loki pleaded now, the fight gone from him. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. I can’t help myself. I go crazy every time you’re around. I can’t think straight and I….I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve never done this before. I thought perhaps if I annoyed you enough, I’d get you out of my head. But Norns, every time you shot some clever remark back, it only egged me on more,” He was rambling at this point. 

You felt confused, but at the same time a sense of relief washed over you. It wasn’t like you were in love with Loki- but you definitely didi entertain the idea of occasionally making out with him or spending the day shopping together. 

So maybe it was a little crush. 

And fuck, it was a relief to hear him blurt out how helpless he was with you. 

“Did you black out?” Loki asked. He cursed under his breath, getting up to give you some space. “I apologise, I shouldn’t have said anything. I came off too strong,” He fumbled as he stood up, running a hand through his hair. “I just…I panicked. I apologise-” “Loki,” You stopped him from spiralling further, even if it was cute to see his usually composed self dissolve. You shuffled over to him on your knees. Even while on the bed, he was still fucking giant. You cupped his face and pulled him down, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

You pulled away after a second, dizzy from the feel of his lips on yours. It was better than you could have ever imagined. He stared at you in shock, lifting his fingers up to press them to his lips. You nearly died right there. 

“What was that for?” he asked, shocked. 

You laughed, kissing him again. He leaned into it this time, wrapping his arms carefully around your waist, his lips pressing against yours. 

You kissed him again and again and again, until you were both breathless and his lips were swollen and you were sure yours were too. 

“You’re really fucking insufferable, by the way,” You muttered against his lips. He hummed, chasing after yours as you pulled away. “You drive me insane. You’re in my head all the damn time, I can’t get rid of you,” “Don’t get rid of me, then,” He captured your lips in another bruising kiss. “I don’t plan to,” You sighed happily as you shuffled back onto the bed, pushing aside bandages and gauze wrap and wipes. Loki was a lot neater, taking his time to put them away onto the night table. He crawled into bed with you, his body hovering over yours, hands on either side of your head, caging you in. He leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips. One kiss turned into two, into three, and then you were making out lazily, your lips crushed together, heavy pants and heated breaths for god knows how long. Tragically, Loki rolled off of you, laying down beside you. You took deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. 

Loki shifted, laying now on his side to look at you. You did the same, smiling softly. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“If you couldn’t tell, I’m not quite a people person,” You chuckled. “No, I guess not,” He could be your person though.

Maybe that’s too early to say. You kept your mouth shut. 

“Did I come off too strong?” “Nah,” You shook your head, reaching out to wrap your finger around a lock of his hair. “It was a Hallmark-worthy confession,” “What in the Norns is this Hallmark?” You laughed. “It’s a company. It makes lots of cheesy rom coms, all of which have some sort of frustratingly handsome male lead and big confessions,” “So you’re saying I’m handsome,” He grinned devilishly.  

“Can’t deny it,” 

He leaned in and kissed you again. You kissed him back but then pushed him off. “Stop it. I’ll become addicted,” He leaned back in. “Not a problem. I have no plans to go anywhere,” You ducked away from him, laughing. “If you keep making out with me Loki Laufeyson, we will be having sex,” His brows furrowed. “Absolutely not. Not while you’re injured,” Damn. 

“Fine, then stop kissing me,” “Well that’s unfair. I just got started!” You shrugged. “It’s not my call,” He huffed, pulling you closer, your back flat against his chest. His arm wrapped carefully around your waist, the hand coming to rest just under your wound. “Go to bed then. Before I do something crazy,” “I like crazy. I’m quite fond of crazy,” “Yes, crazy seems to follow you everywhere. It might be your whole identity, really,” “Is that an insult?” A pause. “I don’t think so,” 

You fell silent for a minute. “I think Lucy has a crush on you,” Loki laughed. “What makes you say that?” “Um, the way she blushed when you smiled at her? You laid it on so thick,” You could hear the shiteating grin as he spoke. “I have no idea what you mean, darling. I spoke to her like a normal person,” “Hm,” You wiggled closer to him. “Nah, you definitely were charming her,” His hand squeezed your hip. 

“Stop that,” “What?” You feigned innocence. 

“Stop moving,” You wiggled your ass again, just for a bit of emphasis. “What? This?” 

You swore the sound he made then was some growl. “You find new ways to annoy me every day,” “It’s my talent,” “And you excel at it,” You truly did. No one ever got under his skin like you did. And now with this new layer of your relationship, you have an infinite number of possibilities. 

You knew you guys should probably talk. Figure out where you stand. A plan for tomorrow morning. Try to communicate with the team. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care right now though. Loki was warm, and as he peppered kisses across your shoulder, you felt like maybe tomorrow would be a good day too. 

“I still think you’re an ass,” You mumbled, your eyes half closed. 

He laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Truly a terrible liar,” He pressed a kiss under your ear. “I still think you are the bane of my existence,” “The only one?” “The only one,” You hummed, content with the answer. You could figure things out tomorrow. Tonight, you just wanted to lay in this haze of sunshine. To sleep and wake up to get drunk on Loki again.

Tags: I'm gonna tag a few people because I think I'm silly and this is my second little christmas-y fic so what the hell i dont care LMAO. DONT FEEL OBLIGED TO READ <3 @sarahscribbles @divine-knight-hand @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @saturn-rings-writes

[scudslut]

18+, mdni

s4!daryl x fem!reader

a/n: this is such a random drabbleish thing, idk. i just have so many feelings about s4 daryl and how angsty but all consuming it would be to be with him at that point, like my fucking god i’ll explode.

sex is all it was — initially.

he didn’t even remember how it started if he was honest; one day finding himself thrusting all his burdens and frustrations into your supple, welcoming body.

it was an escape for the both of you, nothing more. somewhere to get lost for the lingering moments between life and death. leaving as soon as it was done and hardly speaking otherwise, if at all.

he wasn’t blind though. he knew it was more for you… something deeper than just an outlet for anger. solemn eyes tracking him around the prison searching for any sign of reciprocity. And he wasn’t void either. he felt the strings each time you were under him, or against him, whispering his name like a bedtime prayer to bind you two.

but there was a wall within him. one he built so tall and long ago he didn’t even remember the workings of. but any wall has its cracks and weakened points, and he found you knew them all somehow. had them mapped and jotted in your memory, poking them till they crumbled so he worked overtime fortifying. leaving you in the shadows for weeks at a time, with nothing but a glance towards you at most.

he couldn’t care — couldn’t let himself. there was too much on the line for not only him, but you. He didn’t want him for you, that wasn’t how it should be, but it seemed that the harder he pushed you away, the greater the fall was. finding you and slamming you against the nearest counter to be consumed by you. pent up so badly it honestly felt like he’d black out within the passion, the only thing keeping him lucid being the chants you sang softly. the eyes you gave him as he unloaded everything into you.

the longer it went on the worse it got, finding himself noticing the smaller details about you. the way sweat would build across the high points of your cheeks, glowing radiantly and flushed as he thrust slower. the way your hair would fall so perfectly around your shoulders and catch the light seeping in through the windows. and most of all, the way your voice lured him closer like the works of a siren, tone so soft and sultry as you praised him, his hands began to sweat.

he would turn you around, hoping the distant position would keep you unattached, or more so, him unattached. only to later begin tracing his eyes across your profile, over your jaw and neck while you gasped with closed eyes, eyelashes thick and wet from pleasured tears.

he was fucked, and he knew it. ran from it for so long he forgot what direction he was going and somehow circled back. and you were there as always, understanding him so fluently it was useless to hide. giving yourself to him so completely and vulnerably he had no choice but to give up.

he’d whimper as the new feelings washed over him, letting you soothe and pleasure him however you wanted, finally feeling the overwhelming understanding that all you wanted to do was take his pain and absorb it yourself. feel it for him so he could see he wasn’t alone. you’d keep him, and he’d keep you.

you wouldn’t push him. emotional exhaustion was prevalent in you both and finally a night was spent together, close but distant, open arms but lingering remnants of closed-off barricades. it wasn’t simple for him, or you for that matter. it was a new map being drawn and completely new territory he’d never dipped a toe in before.

and the next time it wasn’t uncontrollable passion against any counters. it was shaky fingers unbuttoning his vest while he tried to control his breathing. eyes darting all over your body, unsure but starving and trying to trust. slow and deliberate hands would take him in, all of him, gentle and curious, learning him in a way no one had before. a way he’d never let anyone one.

he never felt like he had been lost until he was with you. you saw him. accepted him without even batting an eye like it was the most natural and obvious thing to do. years he had shut every ounce of sympathy and companionship away, scarred from all the bad he had seen people do, it was jarring to realize there were people who simply loved to love, that you loved him just because he was him. and he knew now he wouldn’t go back. he wouldn’t shut you out anymore because he loved you just the same.

he would always circle back to you.

[invidiia]

Can you do yandere Sigma?

꒰ yandere sigma x reader headcanons ꒱

notes ; HI yes, i can!! i love sigma so much i was excited to write this!! thank you for requesting, have a good night!!

warnings ; kidnapping, murder, yandere themes, stalking, obsessive "love", unhealthy relationships, death, red flags but its fine, i don't condone yanderes outside of fiction

⋆ he probably met you at the casino, considering he probably doesn't leave a whole lot

⋆ the moment he met you, he was constantly over your shoulder or watching you from afar. if you or anyone else noticed it and/or called him out for it, he'd just say he didn't mean to get so close, and that he was just watching over his customers. it was reasonable, seeing as he was the manager - the perfect excuse.

⋆ he isn't too good for stalking, either. if he can't just happen to be in the same place as you at the same time, he's on the cameras, looking across all the screen monitors in the room for your figure. he even has audio on the cameras - so technically, he has eyes and ears everywhere, too.

⋆ every game you end up almost losing in, he steps in to point out a minor rule that was broken, or a mistake in the game's initiation. somehow, you've won just about every game you took part in.

⋆ as patient as he is with you and other people, every time he looked your way when you won a game, he also looked at the customer who lost, eyeing you with annoyance while the grip on their card tightens in the slightest.

⋆ at first, he would try to get rid of them. but there were just so many flaws. if he killed them, he'd have to worry about covering up his tracks. even he isn't ready for that kind of disaster! just imagine sigma trying to cover up evidence of murdering someone. it would be like leaving behind bloody footprints while he mopped the blood the blood in front of him. there's no WAY he wouldn't screw up! well, that's what he thinks. he could probably get away with murder, especially if he contacted someone else, like fyodor or nikolai. but even so, they might not be of help ..

⋆ i think sigma would kidnap you fairly early, instead of waiting to do it. customers could get violent, and plus, you're not going to stay at the casino forever, so why not just save the two of you some time and a fight, and put an end to potential problems?

⋆ sigma would understand if you don't like it. he also doesn't like depriving people of their freedom, but all his other options could risk in you getting hurt. can't you see he did it for a reason? he didn't wanna do this, either!

⋆ one thing he'll never do is starve you. he sees no reason you should be denied food, since it was a basic human need. the only starving happening in the casino would be of your choice. at first, he leaves you to eat the food he brings you alone. best to give you your personal space, considering you were probably a little upset upon being kidnapped. if you chose not to eat the food, for whatever reason, like fear of poison or just out of spite, he likely won't notice for at least two days. i mean, he was bound to find out..

⋆ upon realizing you aren't eating the food he brings you, sigma will probably stay with you. but i can kind of imagine him feeding you himself when you refuse, and by that, i mean shoving it down your throat while sweetly telling you it's fine and you should just cooperate. he's SO sweet !! /sar

⋆ OH and he gives you gifts!! he figured he should probably give you things you might want, or opportunities to pick up safe, new hobbies if you're gonna be stuck there with him! it's good to express to him what you want to do, because he'll get you them the next day! if you ask to pick up sewing, knitting, or even crochet, he'll immediately say no. all of those have potentials to be weapons - even if you don't plan to use them against him, he just can't risk getting stabbed with a dull knitting needle!

⋆ lastly - if you were to ever escape, you'd probably be found immediately. he could probably try to get fyodor to help, and fyodor would probably rope in nikolai. so there isn't a huge chance of escaping successfully unless you never show your face around yokohama again. even then, you STILL might get caught!

[magpod-confessions]

it seems like a lot of people, when discussing avatars, fixate either solely on their villainy and how completely bereft of morality they are, or how they are just a poor manipulated pawn of their patron. there’s a large focus on avatars either having malicious intent or a lack of control. and i feel like the thing a lot of fans are missing is that the fears don’t work like that. avatars don’t work like that. yes, a few of them are just shitty people, but the majority of them? what they do isn’t out of malice or cruelty. they are a thing obeying its nature. they hunt and hurt and kill because it feeds them and feeds their power.

as to how much of their actions are taken of their own volition and how much are the influence of their fear, i don’t think it matters that much. free will doesn’t really exist. people make choices based upon their life, circumstances, emotions, situations, and a hundred other factors. it’s a complicated knot that’s impossible to untangle.

but we know that the fears both

a. build off of and enhance what’s already there, what people already desire and feel and do

b. ramp that up to insane levels and twist it around to fit their own agenda (food and rituals)

c. make their avatars unable to back out of servitude without death, and detach them from both their own humanity and the rest of humanity to the point where choosing between their own lives or the lives of their prey is a simple decision.

basically, it’s like a rabbit who becomes a fox that must eat rabbits or die. the fox may be haunted by guilt in the early days, for eating what used to be its kin. maybe the occasional fox is even grief stricken enough to starve itself. but in the long run, that fox is a fox. the rabbits are no longer a peer with the same thoughts and feelings as them, to be sympathized with and understood. they are simply a food source, and the fox is not one of them anymore.

if the fox spends years and decades and centuries killing and eating rabbits, it might feel the occasional twinge of pity or amusement at their antics, but ultimately, they’re just food. feeling guilty about eating it gets them nowhere. after all, they had a choice in what they became, and they made it a long time ago.

it’s kind of like helen and jon’s conversation, where she explained that she felt the same guilt jon did at first, but it wasn’t getting her anywhere and eventually, she had to let it go and choose to eat to survive. jon started this process, too. in season 4, mainly, and also in season 5, but in season 5 he has the constant buffer of martin’s presence as a safeguard so it’s a little more complicated. but within months of his transformation, he started willingly taking live statements, uncaring for the victim’s state, just wanting to eat. it’s either eat or die, and any living avatars chose to eat. there is a reason they all admit that they did what they did not because they were under someone else’s control, but because they liked it and needed it and chose it.

so, trying to assign this narrative of avatars being either innocent pawns of their power with no choice in what they’re doing, or an evil entity with malicious intent who wants to be cruel, just doesn’t work. both could be viewed as part of the truth, but also, neither is really accurate, for the simple fact that anyone who serves the fears is operating off an entirely different mindset and lived experience that human morality just doesn’t really translate well to.

ironically enough, i think michael phrased it best- “There was a great evil, she said, and Michael was going to help her fight it. Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it?”

anyways, this is getting pretty long, sorry if it doesn’t make much sense. i’m just irritated by fandom trying to find a Morally Correct way for avatars to exist, and ignoring the fact that being an avatar doesn’t just give people a few spooky powers, it completely upends their entire existence and mindset and priorities and morality.

yeah exactly . morality and avatars is such an interesting concept that a lot of people simply handwave !! i . have thoughts but i can't word them right now but . i do agree with you anon - deceit

Im eating this anon - rosette

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

Namari is the first of laios old party that gets reintroduced into the story before dungeon meshi really shows it's hand about the bigger themes it wants to tackle. Theres a lot of sneaky setup during her two chapters. Lets talk about her!

Dungeon meshi starts out as kind of a straight forward fun dungeon adventure amoungst adventurers and friends. Namari notably, throws a wrench in this perception while maintaining that lighthearted tone--notably, through introducing the fact Laios is a weak leader. Namari was in the party since the start. She was clearly in a bad situation at the time where adventuring was her only option bc she didnt have enough money to even get off the island. Despite that, she stayed in the party despite the fact she needs money bc she liked the comraderie. Sad that she felt like she had to choose between getting out of debt or having ppl she could be honest to.

All three party members who left did not have their needs properly met. Falin let her life be dictated by laios and marcille and was too passive to try to make choices for herself. She ends up getting eaten trying to save them + then puppetted around by thistle as a result of marcilles attempt (sucess) at reviving her (+ ends up starving the whole time) . I think shuro got kidnapped into laios party and then steamrolled over bc hes just so bad at saying no + also seemed to have never chosen anything for himself in his lyfe.

Theres a clear parallel between laios lack of attention towards these threes needs and his lack of attention that he was hungry at the fight.

Laios treated his like a group of friends going out adventuring without any regard to the needs of the group. Yeah, you could say they couldve told him, but as a leader its kinda ur job to actively keep tabs on this. And Namari really exemplifies this bc she really is in dire straits, her joining the party was out of desparation, and her need for money was getting ignored for years. That she even brought this up to the siblings and they still went on a dangerous expedition and didn't take missions aimed at making money is kinda like.. wow......

It takes a near death experience for her to realize she has really got to go actually achieve her goals —but crucially I feel if laios took more jobs to make money, she wouldnt have left at that crucial moment. I think theres an argument to be made that shuro probs wouldnt have left if namari didnt bc hes a passivity king and may have been more willing to get his retainers to work w laios party if they didnt both mutually agree laios wasnt cut out to lead the party to try to rescue falin. Which I dont think is an unfair assessment of his skills at the time.

Like he is well intentioned and doesnt mean anything bad by it but theres a limit to the amount of carelessness you can have as a leader. Later on, shuros going to have similar complaints and hes going to be much less nice abt it.

Anyways, i think its interesting the party namari aligns herself w afterwards is the right hand man of the lord of the island, awfully close to the occupation her father held before he disapeared after getting caught for money laundering. In her intro, she keeps her guard up from mr tansu and the party bc shes jaded about either having to accept a job for money or to be friends w her new party. I think this may be partially bc she let herself get dragged around for too long in laios party bc she had a soft spot for em. But after sharing a meal , having laios affirm his trust in her, and actively communicating w mr tansu shes able to get both the money she needs to climb outta debt and a good working relationship w the tansus and the twins by clarifying specifically how she feels. I think tansus a bit suspicious bc he thinks shes just in for the money and disregards her feelings as a result. I think theres a bit of an undertone that the way he treats her like a human shield reminds her of how she was cleaning up her fathers messes all the time as a kid.

Crucially, I think this is the turning point for how she acts bc she has so much love to give to the world! She needed to have this basic need taken care of before she oculd help other people. She goes down to the morgue to check for falin. She agrees to help kabru after hearing his motives w utaya even tho theres nothing in it for her. Shes the one who reaches her hand up to support him when he almost gets trampled by the adventurers in the dungeon.

I think seeing ppl help him without asking anything in return helped kabru be more open towards other, which leads to him throwing his lot w laios despite all his doubts.

Doesnt rat out laios party under the threat of interregation tho also it seemed shuro was just 🤐 abt it. She tells tansu shes headed down w shuros retainers to rescue him when he gets kicked like a football into the dungeon - also a nice bit of character development that she clearly wants to help laios w the water spirit and only goes w tansus permission, but here she takes the initiative and tells him she'll report if she sees anything funny. Crucially she throws her lot against the elves, who are the closest to power at great risk to herself. (tho lowkey she may lose her livelihood if the elves take over so there may be a bit of self interest there + her patron is in charge of some of it).

constantly asking shuro for his input bc she knows hes shy

able to support marcille when shes in tears after losing her dream falin and laios despite feeling awkward towards her (kinda interesting parallel w how shuro feels hes bad w laios

For the two of em, think laios failed them as their leader, so they leave. And afterwards, their relationship improves bc they can truely dedicate themselves to what they want from him as their friends--running a legendary sabatoge against the elf cops so he doesnt go to jail!!!

I think theres something to the fact shes the one shown being eaten by the lion when time stops. Then also the one in the mana realm happy that she’d never have to struggle or hunger again. Her whole life seemed to be cleaning up her fathers messes, getting cast out for her fathers messes, just a constant struggle w the dwarves not seeing her as someone worth being in their community and drifting around without a place to belong. Even tho she found ppl now it doesnt change what happened w her. It's sad. But she also accepts she has to go back and face the future.

her love for music and dance is interesting- how like something communal that draws others in spontaneously is something she feels close to

also interesting is her interactions w other races--seems like she primarily interacted w dwarves for the first few years of her life, w just tenous connections to people of other races and it was getting so suddenly ejected that got her there. No coincidence that shes the one who goes in between the orcs and elves towards the finale to go hey we are on the same side. Also not a coincidence she gets along so well w the twins who were abandoned by their families and taken in by gnomes but also always feeling a little out of place in that community.

Tansu clearly stand in for her dad : ( her mom walked out when she was young : ( honestly im really happy she gets a family of a sort w them.

Im also glad she still has her own interest in weaponry and design even tho its tainted w her fathers actions

Her friendship w shuro is so fun. You wouldn't expect them to get along so well bc they seem so different on the surface and namaris blunt in a way that ud think be offputting to shuro and he kinda indirect in a way that would piss her off but theyre very often on the same wavelength.

da warriors bond...no words are needed i think they might be using telepathy. once u get below the surface they have a lot in common.

family issues so severe it managed to creep onto a thrid person thats not their parent

pretty pragmatic ppl at their core (eg. shuros less mad about ancient magic being wrong and more that theyre gonna go to jail for 10000 years before chimera falin apears, his gripe about eating monsters seems more being about youll get food poisening that way etc. namari placing herself close to power in her new party, her insistance on getting paid, checkin the morgue for falin,when things get too complicated she focuses on what she can do now).

seemed to have suffered pretty badly under laios leadership

both seem to be treated as outcasts on the island, namari despite growing up there , shuro for being a forienger even tho 4/6 ppl on his party are foreign

theres interesting contrasts w her replacement senshi, in the way theyre both outcasts in the dwarven community and the way their family/partys legacies weigh heavily for them. but i ran out of steam

shes good at keeping ppl grounded and has a good inventory of ppls strengths. of the three ppl who left the party, i think she has the best potential to be a good leader at the start.

shes pretty linked to the community of adventurers as a whole but (u guessed it) i ran out of steam

I think a lot of her role in the story parallels w the theme that u need careful boundaries and consideration of other ppls needs to be an effective leader, something chilchuck hits upon a lot. but also you need to take care of your own needs first (senshis running theme) and be able to take good inventory of your desires to face the future (izutsumis running theme)

[plantwriting]

Assigning. Greek gods to jrwi pcs. Because special interests go brr

(Clarification for nobody: gods that i think just like. Fit them. Their vibes. Some of these are more obvious than others in their reasonings. Some barely have any reasonings. I’m just in a fun mood.)

Gillion: poseidon would be the easy choice. But. No. Selene. The goddess of the moon. Because moon mom :)

Jay: there’s a lot of good contenders i think. But to me its definitely either artemis or apollo. Both are archers, artemis obviously has the whole huntress thing which fits with her being a ranger, while apollo has the sun thing (lets not get into that convo rn) and prophesies which obviously works with every riptide pc, honestly not sure which one i would go with

Chip: hermes!! God of travelers and thieves and all that fun stuff so perfect for our pirate boy. Also a trickster, and his job as a psycophomp works with the like. Chips connection to the hole in the sea and all that fun mystery stuff

William: the wispy boy himself… now you might be tempted to say hades or thanatos because. You know. Death. But no. Dionysus. Especially in season two. I mean hes the god of madness! The greyscale arc!! Also he’s got his whole weird rebirth thing going on with his mom dying and zeus having to carry the pregnancy to term and all that stuff (id recommend watching overly sarcastic production’s video on dionysus its very interesting)

Dakota: now running into the problem of almost none of the greek gods and goddesses being explicitly heroic. However i have found a fitting answer: Prometheus. Stealing fire for humanity and just the overall care for people? Pretty fitting i think

Vyncent: Athena is a pretty good fit i would say! Clearly capable in battle, he is actually pretty smart once you get past the whole ‘from another world and therefore has no idea how things work’ thing, and just. Idk. Vibes!

Thanatos: well. Uh. Thanatos..? But also i feel like either Zeus or Kronos could fit since they both did the whole overthrowing gods thing! Idk really

Peter: PSYCHE. So immediately psyche. A human who became a goddess, was brought back from the dead by her lover, the goddess of the human soul?? She’s perfect for peter

Rumi: working off of peter! Eros! God of love brought psyche back from the dead just wow now i kinda wanna write a fic thats just the myth of psyche and eros but its peter and rumi instead

Rolan: kinda feel like hades is a good fit. Generally just a chill guy who also just so happens to be the god of the underworld and so people just kinda. Assume hes a bad guy. Rolan is just a chill lawyer who also just so happens to be a bug monster

Kian: now sure i could go apollo because music and blah blah blah or i could go persephone to satiate my shipper brain but. Aphrodite. Goddess of beauty, love, and sexuality? Being a rockstar is just the front he puts on, but beyond that his entire thing is just love. And since eros already went to Rumi Kian gets his mom (sometimes) instead ((also im biased because kian is my fave and i worship aphrodite lol))

Rand: Rand could definitely also have Dionysus but Will already got that so instead! Demeter. Both because Rand obviously has the whole plant thing (yes its a weed plant but its still a plant) and also losing those he loves and then holing up inside and refusing to do anything until he gets them back… rand absolutely would let the entire world starve because he was upset if he had the power to do so

Now for the suckening please keep in mind that im not actually caught up on the series, im still in the like first hour of episode 11 because i am bad at listening to things. But.

Emizel: Ares! Good fighter? Check. Very aggressive? Check. Uh. Honestly idk too much about Ares. But well i still think it fits

Shilo: Persephone. Sweet pretty spring goddess? Yes. Also the queen of the underworld and definitely terrifying if you anger her? Also yes. Fits shilo’s whole ‘oh im just a small innocent boy whos never done anything wrong anyways let me shh this person so they cant scream while theyre being diseccted’

Arthur: …i somehow genuinely cant think of anything. Uh. If anyone has suggestions please tell me? My brain just stopped working

[planetformer-central]

Please please please please PLEASE!!! I NEEEED to know more about the knight au!

I will GLADLY tell you more dear anon! Its still in production, BUT my thoughts go something like this:

The Bots and Cons have landed on Earth in the 8th century rather than the 21st. Due to series of mishaps, the Autobots end up scattered all over the world initially. They get back together quickly once groundbridges are established, but the bots have already taken on new appearances by that point. With no vehicles of reasonable technological quality on the planet, the bots have instead taken on the only metallic thing on the surface, that being armor.

The story progresses differently with Fowler being a sword for hire from Baghdad territory and June being a former Abbess. Jack is June's son as normal and he is training to be a Squire. Rafael is the eighth son of the resident Lord and has taken to training to be a scholar since it was either that or the monastery. Miko is a young Japanese recently orphanage child who got picked up by Wheeljack when he found her freezing to death on the streets. The language barrier between her and the others is quite real and so she largely relies on Wheeljack and Bulkhead to translate as she learns the language.

This story takes place in England and the Autobots camp out in a castle that Fowler took for himself and his mercenary crew a few years back. The Con's keep their warship but struggle to locate the Autobots due to the lack of any and all tech on the planet.

Its still a work in progress, but here are the design bases I have so far.

Ratchet landed in Norway and ended up getting himself Norse armor design something like this:

Bumblebee was plopped down in Wessex and choose Saxon styled armor as his alt of choice.

Bulkhead got thrown toward China against his will and found himself bulky as ever.

Wheeljack was thrilled to find himself in Japan when he arrived and promptly picked the armor that suites him best.

Arcee crash landed in Baghdad territory and chose the only armor that allows her to move.

Cliffjumper landed himself in North America and was rather starved for options, but he chose anyway.

He has the weakest armor out of all the team. He tried his best, but his armor barely qualifies as such due to the lack of metal. He looks the part though.

As for the Cons? Haven't thought too much about them yet, but Soundwave got himself something like this:

[see-arcane]

The Vampyres (PREVIEW)

Something is culling the dead.

Whether they imbibe blood, leech life, or merely traded mortality away to their devil of choice, the revenants of the world are disappearing. A phenomenon that has been carving its way through the undead like a belated necrosis moving steadily through the past century and more. One which the Vampyre, a possessor of many names and collector of many lives, has been fretting over for some time.

A laughable fear, for he is one of those canny cadaverous few who made a deal for perpetual resurrection. The bitten may crumble, but the bargainer may rise from death after death. So he reminds himself. So he worries is no longer the case.

Not when the old boyar in the Carpathians was one of the first to vanish. Still, the monster from the mountains may simply be in hiding, just as the rest must be. The Vampyre himself is surely jumping at shadows. So he convinces himself for a single night…

…before a Thing known only as ‘Quinn Morse’ makes itself and its work known.

Surprise! I accidentally finished a novella during what was supposed to be a short story break. Whoops. Updates to come.

Below is a preview of the opening chapters. A link to the Google Doc version is here.

Warnings for some grisly imagery. Keep an eye out for some familiar faces (such as they are).

 The Vampyres

 “Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it.

Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God

And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven

Am not tormented with ten thousand hells

In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

O Faustus, leave these frivolous demands

Which strikes a terror to my fainting soul!”

 —Mephistopheles, Doctor Faustus

 I

           The phone came alive at midnight. A fact he would mercifully only become aware of well after two in the morning. He followed at least one form of etiquette at the table by silencing the device from start to finish of each game. He broke no rules in any casino, however polished or derelict. It was what preserved his hobby. The gambling itself he could leave or take.

         But the players themselves were excellent sport.

         He beggared every starved and bloodshot player hoping to win funds enough to live off for a month, then played as if blind in order to lose it all to whichever moneyed tick needed it least. Considering how equal the misfortune spread across the board for any who played with him—rich or poor, Good Samaritan or giddy sinner—it was rarely too long before even the least credulous in his circles began to shiver when he showed his face. Or so it was in less congested metropolises where the cattle weren’t so bombarded with other distractions that they couldn’t recognize an ill omen when he took a seat at the felted table. It remained true now, as always, that whoever played against him wound up either penniless or slated for an avalanche of misery the moment they spent the money he’d lost to them. A fact that so many of them never bothered to notice even in this age of conspiracy and wildfire gossip living in their myriad screens.

         Bless their blunted little souls.

         That night he was feeling slightly more at ease than he had in some weeks. Even one of the cocktail girls, whose mind carried a pleasing well of empathy and whose fingernails were still lined with soil from a group tree planting, tickled at his peripheral senses and twitched his appetite half awake. If he wanted, he could talk her number out of her over a drink he would never choke down, perhaps keeping her pinned at a stool with his face and his wallet. He might dance her along for a date or three and then bite her throat out before they struck June. The same could be said for the svelte young man behind the bar who had almost fumbled his showman mixologist pour upon making eye contact with him. He had a tang of hope and action sweating from him, the kind that was destined either to make a hero or a martyr of him someday. It would almost be a mercy to put him down in his prime.

         The girl, then.

He flung a little mental nudge her way. Enough to make her turn her head. At the same time, he fished out the phone to play with. Just to have it ready should the exchange come quicker than anticipated. A small mountain of text messages sat fresh and unread there. This was surprising by its own merit, considering how scant his contacts were. Then he saw the name. Irritation broke out on his mood like a rash.

Taking himself to a private corner, he began to read. And read. And read. Irritation grew into something heavier. Sicker.

At the bottom of the reading, he tapped play so he might watch.

When all was seen and heard, his hand twitched, crunched in the phone’s sides, and sent spider web cracks flying across the screen. A ruddy gentleman stopped en route to the toilet in time to see this and mumble something about how he ought to invest in a device of higher quality. The man had this cousin working for a new startup, you see, and if he was so inclined—

The last mote of joy he took away that night was the look on that rubicund face as it met the eyes of something no longer bothering to pretend it was human. A grey eye might be ignored. Not so for a dead one. He left the man scrambling his way to the stalls.

On his way to the doors, he made sure to radiate every deathly ounce of his presence into the air as he could. A quelling cold that made the glee of the night’s winners crumble into a dread of things they could not name. Then he was out and under the moon. He nursed from that pale waxing wedge in a desperate reflex. It was a thin taste here, lost in the searing pollution of streetlights and neon, but he basked just the same. Still basking, he crushed the phone in his fist and dropped the remains down a sewer grate. Then he was gone, one of a thousand streaks of rolling light and metal on the asphalt.

 II

 He only ever carried phones as a prop.

In this age and those to follow, it would be imperative to keep one of the aggravating little slabs on hand for the purposes of adding the phone numbers of sundry quarries or engage in the back-and-forth patter that so many of them insisted on in those hours when they weren’t side by side. Fortunately, he’d found himself blessed enough to dodge one of the maladies which others indulging in a healthy unlife hadn’t. True, the form he had bartered for had only so many perks, but opting out of extravagant powers had trimmed down the amount of tells.

         Some poor bastards had to walk around without reflections or shadows while grumbling over the barriers of running water and uninvited thresholds. Others only discovered their drawbacks as the 20th century budded, revealing too late that their photographs came out either empty or hideously distorted. Even the audio of their voices came out muted or garbled into static. He’d avoided all of these caveats by trading for a more thinly arcane state of undeath rather than glutting himself on all the powerful options in reach. And why not? It still came with the most desired prize without any need for filigree.

         Given blood and moonlight enough, there was no iteration of death from which he could not rebound. Same as any of the self-made devils lurking about in the shadows. Such shadows as were left for things like them. In a lighter mood, he might have enjoyed the notion of picking at the wounds of those who’d not bothered with the foresight of arranging investments and back doors of identification for the centuries to come. Only fools could miss how tight the noose of bureaucracy was becoming. A body loitering among the mayfly mortals had to be prepared and he had once laughed to himself at how many times the sorcerous types had to gnash their fangs and scramble to cover themselves as time ticked on and their lounging hedonism softened into corrosion.

         But such amusing thoughts had iced over in recent decades.

         He had not gotten as far as he had alive or undead by resting on his laurels. Oh, he might enjoy playing with his food and sowing a bit of casual desolation where it could be nurtured, but he never gambled when it came to things that might inconvenience him. Things like other bloodsuckers, for instance. A few had been proper nuisances of old. The majority of the stray vampiric beauties wandering around crypts and lonely midnights luring gullible lovers into their teeth were invariably the result of irresponsible collecting by the usual harem hoarders. Such carelessness often led to sleeping cadavers staked and slaughtered in their boxes like oversized leeches. Not a concern for himself, naturally—he could enjoy a bed rather than graveyard dirt or casket walls—but the attention itself got too many hackles up.

         Enough of them raised about a certain type of person could lead to inconvenience. One of his older worries had been the notion of an outright arrest. A trial. A boxing away into a great stone cage of a prison where he would have no choice but to resort to his teeth rather than his daggers or risk being found out as a perpetually young and deathless inmate. A bloody break out, an escape, some secret place where he could lay under the moon and heal from the bullets, going on the run for a decades-long stint until all assumed he must be dead, all these he could picture…

         …but frankly would rather avoid. Hence the need for cannier sorts with this unique condition. Those who knew how to take their fun and their fodder between the lines of human living and laws.

It was not against the law that certain formerly-benign persons around you turned apoplectic with madness, horror, or rage after spending a few months in your company. Nor was it against the law to stamp someone’s empty little head with the alien impression of infatuation, lust, or that softly syrupy joke called romance so that they, like the insect drawn to the pitcher plant, would come within reach willingly; regardless of former commitments or fearful kin. There was no law against trances, against the mystic weight of locking an unwitting brain inside an oath with more power to it than hollow words, against having a seventh sense of awareness when it came to the makeup of a soul.

         And, apart from those silly backwards places where superstition still ruled, there was certainly no law against being an accused vampire. Or a vampyre, to go by his preferred spelling. Kate Northcott mocked him for this and other affectations on those sparse occasions when they met.

         Her name was not Kate Northcott any more than his was Gordon Williams, but it was the name she was the most attached to.

         “I turned into a proper ghost story with it in the 1880s. Back when the mesmerist fad was booming, you know. Popped one little stage magician’s blood vessel right there in the middle of his act.” A dainty finger waggled. “I take offense to people playing with my toys. It’s his own fault for trying to walk my poor John around.”

         Her poor John, who had, like every beau before him, been told the exact nature of both their lovely cruel Kate’s being and precisely what she intended to do with them should they go through with marriage and life thereafter. More, that she would see them dead if they abandoned her. Each man had run. Each had died. Perhaps they’d have lasted longer if she ever allowed a trip to the altar before laying out the truth post-honeymoon, but the rules of her own contract demanded the revelation come before any wedding bells. Not a terrible bargain, all things considered.

         This in mind, he had posited that she might have better luck keeping a paramour if she used her fine senses to detect one of those lot who would trip over their own aching members for the chance to be an eternal puppet to her psychic appetite and the twitch of her riding crop. Miss Northcott had batted her lashes. As always, the lambent shine of her eyes tried to work their magic on his own will. As always, they’d scrabbled for a grip on the frictionless wall that shielded his mind from all such parasites; dead drinkers of blood or soul or otherwise. Following the expected failure, she had huffed and tittered.

         “Now what’s the point if they want it? I don’t see you jumping at the sea of willing victims hoping for unlife eternal draped in your arms at the cost of a hickey and a liquid diet. You could have had a set of twins that one time, no? The brother and sister, whoever they were. The Audreys? The Ambers?”

         “The appetizers,” he said with all the pining recollection of an epicure mourning an especially pleasing steak. “They were a pleasant distraction. It’s the most any quarry can aspire to.” So saying, he made a point of revealing one of the daggers he still kept on his person. Antique and bejeweled, he took some small pride in keeping the whole set gleaming and up to the task whenever the latest game came to an end. He’d unsheathed his current pick, admiring the dead grey of his stare reflected in the steel. “I have no interest in collecting sycophants.”

         “Likewise.” She had sipped at her cup daintily. Perhaps purposefully, the better to show she was capable of consuming more than the spirit of a collared victim. Whether she could taste anything the café had to offer was not a topic he was interested enough to pry for. “But that begs the question of why you’re suddenly so concerned for your fellows that you would bother with the labors of social interaction to pass the warning on.”

         Gordon regarded her stonily over his untouched plate.

         “I’m not concerned for any of our ‘fellows’ any more than I’m concerned for you. I have every belief that I am one of the least endangered of our kind and all its branches by dint of having some amount of grey matter dedicated to not flaunting my reality like those idiots who decided to take Bowie and Deneuve as role models. At most, I give you credit for being canny enough to dwell within plausible deniability with your methods. More, you have senses enough to glean for yourself if this threat is in your midst and have enough intelligence to enlist others to help with culling it.”

         She muffled a laugh and picked at her croissant.

         “Even if I believed you would exert effort to come to my aid, I still fail to see what threat you’ve conjured to be afraid of. Your only evidence so far is that you haven’t been in touch with the others of the old guard in some time. Most have never been keen on letter-writing or trading numbers. The last I checked, the bulk of them prefer the sedentary life to our migratory lifestyle. Castles and manors and villages turned into necropolises and so on. Hermit types by nature.”

         “Hermits would be at home. All the places I’ve visited have been empty.” He was surprised at having to keep his throat from bobbing in anxious imitation of a tic from his living years; back when there was need to fret for his life. “And filled with dust.”

         Miss Northcott had frowned up at him.

         “Dust..?”

         “Dust and growth. There were flowers growing in the messes that were fresh enough in their conversions to have flesh leftover. Compost.” He thought back to the surreal gardens left behind in that sequestered corner of Munich that belonged to Dolingen. Then a Serbian village that had been swallowed by a ravenously loving pack of wurdulacs, stopped short of virulence by their rules of homeland borders. Among others. Dust in piles, dust wearing ancient clothes, dust in coffins. And scattered throughout, the bounty of younger fledglings. Meat and bone converted to soil from which wild roses, ash trees, and garlic sprouted in healthy crops. As for the nobler estates?

         “The chateaus and mansions are either abandoned, passed on to the wealthy living, or museum pieces now. Maybe their former masters left it all behind in the past hundred or so years to dodge modern eyes scrutinizing the family tree. I’d like to think so. Just as I’d like to think there was a less worrisome reason that all the pseudonyms and auxiliary domains I tried to follow up on had no recognizable owners when I checked in. But even if I were dense enough to convince myself of such, there’s at least one case that suggests—,”

         “The Carpathians.” She beamed at him and his stunted oration. “The castle in the mountains has been gutted since 1897, dear. Looted and halfway dismantled to the foundation by the locals. What’s left of it is there for the tourists.” Her slim hand patted his knuckles. “If you’re worried about the handsy old boyar, don’t be. He’s been mobbed and murdered before. A shame about his girlfriends in their boxes, but they were only born of a bite, poor things. No contractual resurrection to fall back on. The Count, if he is still bothering with being a Count, is doubtlessly off haunting some contemporary castle someplace. Probably a nice high rise for him to skitter down or make his batty flights from. Just as the other oldies have likely taken themselves to higher ground. And if their minions really have run afoul of some sterling sorts with hammer, stake, and axe?” Miss Northcott shrugged. “Well, there’s always more pretty chattel to choose from.”

         Now she did laugh aloud. A brittle crystalline sound.

         “Honestly, I’m shocked that you’d be the one to turn jumpy over such a thing. Supposing there was some active force in the world bumping the lower tier wraiths off, it would still be no more than an annoyance for us. We’ve both had our share of murders to prove as much. The dried-up old conqueror certainly had his fill in the warlord days, if I don’t mistake the legends.”

         “He did,” Gordon granted. “And he has reassembled himself plenty of times before. Which is my point. Supposing he is undead and active today, or was a hundred years prior, why would he let the peasants harvest his fortress down into a ruin?”

         “Well, he’s obviously left the place,” Miss Northcott shrugged without looking at him. Her attention had gravitated down to her phone. A manicured thumb tapped and scrolled. More appetite than apprehension lived in her gaze. “You can only pass yourself off as your own descendant so long before things start getting sticky. Everyone hits the point where you have to get on with setting up elsewhere. And really, the warlord days are ancient history. If he’d gone out with a flourish of a massacre on the neighboring towns squirming under his eye, it would only have gotten him more unwanted attention. I recommend you start trawling through top mogul names and see if you can’t spot his picture lurking in there, gone fat and happy slurping up interns.” Her lips pursed. “Supposing he was one of the lucky sorts who can have a photo taken.”

         With that, the topic was dead. Gordon managed to sit through another quarter of an hour in which she lamented the double-edged factor of her electronic allergy, woeful at never having a decent photo to spare for social media or dating apps, but likewise glad of the identity-baffling glamour it leant.

Chirpily, she reminded him that even those who grew suspicious of her would never be able to take a reliable photo or video of anything but a spectral horror with mist for eyes, unlike some. Better still, no one even spoke on the phone anymore. Bless texting.

He held on until she started regaling him with talk of her latest doomed darling—a Mr. Quinn Morse, the mortuary assistant who she had met in the before and after of her latest fiancé’s funeral—and what a scrumptious psychic treat he was to the palate. She was frankly surprised at herself! He had proven so pleasant a distraction she might not even bother goosing his mind into vomiting out a proposal. Not for a while anyway. Why, she may even take up two-timing the boy just to snack on a fiancé behind his back, ha ha.

         Gordon didn’t bother wishing her bon appétit. He picked out a young couple on his way back to the train. Mister and Missus would be found folded inside a dumpster later that evening, chests carved and throats torn. A rejuvenating bout of gluttony that only gave him new energy with which to curse the lack of answers he sat with. Worse still was the lack of competent allies to make up for the former’s deficit. For a while longer he strained to lower his suspicions to the level of Miss Northcott’s confidence.

         His main concern was so implausible as to border on impossible, after all.  

         The turned might be slain, it was true. But those who had commissioned their states from their devil or deity of choice were immune to total destruction by any of the cattle, no matter how endowed in strength or holy accoutrement.

Days and nights were spent rereading these facts in the volumes that still traveled with him to whatever land or identity he haunted. They remained preciously stored in enhanced safes as the centuries ticked on, now handled only with silk gloves and the most delicate turns of cover and page. He scoured the old tongues, some living, some dead, some entirely detached from human script, and took as much solace as he could from the facts laid there.

His contract was one of perpetual function. So long as he drank his dose of blood, he would go on forever. So long as his dead skin was grazed by moonlight, he would shed any injury or temporary death. So long as he was the thing he was, no act of man would have the power to unmake him.  

All these were still maintained. He was safe. As anyone else at his level or higher would be. The more grandiose warlocks and dealmakers who’d glutted themselves on fearsome add-ons available to other forms of revenant had simply moved on and were going about their business elsewhere, under new names. Of course. Of course.

“Of course,” he murmured to the yellowed pages. “They all just happened to do so within the last century. On a whim.”

It could be, couldn’t it? Technology and the microscopic examinations of increasingly thorough systems surrounding properties and owners thereof would make it necessary to move on from old roosts sooner or later.

“Without taking any measures to preserve their estates.”

But then what of the villages? The ones full of living peasantry gleefully peeling the properties down to floorboards. The dead spaces where only silence and specific warding flora bloomed. What sense was there to those, if not the fact that something had been and gone and torn the masters of the land out by their bloody roots?

Something.

That was the prospect that worried him most. Something coming to call, something culling the undead and undying, something roaming across borders of land and water to pick them off year by year, decade by decade. Something that may have been active since the boyar in the mountains disappeared. Something which was not human and so did not fall within the parameters of their sundry pacts’ protection.

Gordon grimaced. It would come down to a technicality, wouldn’t it? Be they gods or demons or Folk in-between, there was always some damned loophole built in to ensure a trade was never quite as advertised. Gordon had studied and sworn and dealt with a god wearing the aspect of one of those horrors that passed for divinities in the Mediterranean. One of tripled faces, of lunar light, of words stitched with power. After so many centuries, he had dared to become complacent enough to think he had gotten away with an impenetrable exchange.

But now came this worrisome century and a quarter in which all those dead who lived off the living were dropping out of sight. He might have dared to make an inquiry to Powers beyond mortal matter if he weren’t likewise concerned that this culling was the work of said Powers themselves. Terminating contracts, as it were. Even if this weren’t the case, what more did he have left to barter with for protection from…

From what?

He didn’t know. Still. The result left him twisting unhappily between throes of frustration at his ignorance and grimmer dread of knowledge that might come in the shape of the long-avoided coffin come to collect.

As always, the cure for his own despondency was to share it with others. Hence the casino. The brief high that had almost transfigured into relief.

And then had come the texts from ‘N.’

Even with the phone safely demolished and abandoned, its final bleak gift stayed branded behind his eyes, searing through his thoughts awake or asleep. The first came at ten past midnight:

R. Need help. My arm’s going black. The knife, it

A lull of minutes followed this. The next message came through at 12:15 AM:

It’s real. He’s here and he’s real. Quinn Morse was a cover. I can’t find any of his pictures in the album now. He replaced everything with their markers. All of them.

Another beat. 12:22 AM:

Pick up, damn it! This isn’t a joke! He’s got all the doors and windows cut off and the police won’t be here in time! I already tried to put him down, but he just keeps going. I can’t drink him. I can’t even hold him. He knew he knew the whole time he

Beat. 12:30 AM:

Pick up you bastard

12:31 AM:

Please, R, he’s outside. He’s got my arm. What’s left of my arm. The door’s breaking and h

The next message came at 12:41 AM. A video. Hitting play, the clearest thing throughout the few endless minutes was the background. Miss Northcott’s plush bedroom stood out in crisp relief compared to the two figures in the foreground. One was a vaguely female haze that Gordon recognized as what was left of Kate Northcott. She flickered in and out of the camera’s concept of her reality. One moment she was spectral fog made of hunger and venom. In the next, she was something far more tangible and suffering for it.

Each flicker revealed a new stage of decomposition twitching in a bloodied sundress. Only one arm was left to flail with as the right was missing, swinging only a necrotic stump at the shoulder. The rest of the body was following suit between spasms. Sometimes a glottal noise that could pass for a voice broke through the static. What had been crystal was now a shrill and dwindling rasp. Dimly, Gordon thought it was strange the noise was not wetter—his cuisine almost always gurgled when enduring the kind of wound he saw staining her breast.

A crimson slit, quickly drying to maroon, had opened where her heart would be. Her remaining hand alternated between scrabbling at the wound and trying to wave off the shape throwing its shadow over her from outside the borders of the screen. As she tried to kick herself back along the floor, the reason for her scuttling along the imported rug was made clear: a bullet hole had gone through one knee. The knee itself was now almost obliterated with decay while the calf and thigh on either side were going hideously spongy. Much like the rest of her.

The last noise she made was as close to a scream with dust for a throat could manage—

“Quin—,”

—before a flash of silver-white swept down. It flew in a shining arc from the upper corner of the screen and through the hazy shriveled stem that had been a neck. A moment later there was no haze left. Only the corpse of the thing known as Kate Northcott collapsing in two pieces. The bulk of it flopped to the floor with a gruesome rattle. Her head, the lush tresses now so much grizzled and flimsy white, tumbled away until it struck the nightstand. When it stilled, the sockets revealed that the eyes had dried away to nothing.

Then Quinn Morse stepped into frame.

If Miss Northcott was mist, her killer was a ghost. The impression of a man smeared just out of true. Really, it was the impression of a character; some escapee from a folk legend or a graphic novel. Such was the outline Gordon could make out in the blur of him. He was a strange medley of huntsman and mourner. Sheathed in black, Gordon could pick out suggestions of both the late Victorian and the fantasy of the American adventurer in his attire. Or perhaps he was assuming too much by the hints beneath the hanging duster and the broad brim of a hat dark as charcoal. The only things not some shade of ink were the white fall of hair growing from under the hat in wild drapes and the twin infernos of the eyes floating in the shadowed void where a face should be. Not red, but a sickening grey that might have matched Gordon’s own but for how they burned.

He thought of cats. He thought of foxes. He thought of carrion birds.

He thought of coins not unlike the pair Quinn Morse held up in his gloved fingers. Gold pinched in old leather. They shined just as bright as the long blade gripped in the opposite hand, its helping of blood dripping.

Gordon watched with the camera as Quinn Morse first held the coins up to be seen, then popped one apiece into each of the eye sockets. Finally, a bundle of familiar blossoms and sprigs appeared from the dark mass of the coat. This was tucked neatly into the head’s sagging maw as if arranging a bouquet. Quinn Morse stepped out of sight. The video ended.

A final text message appeared the instant the show finished:

My God, my God! Look not so fierce upon me! Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile! Ugly Hell, gape not! Come not Lucifer! I’ll burn my books!—O Mephistopheles!

He had wanted to laugh. To roll his eyes. To make himself tap out a reply in mocking returned verse. To inform Mr. Morse that he was lacking for proper material to parrot, especially in assuming his gods and devils brushed anywhere near something so young and gaudy as the Abrahamic.

He could. He would.

But somewhere in these plans he had found himself crumpling the phone to shrapnel and racing home to start clearing out his necessities for a trip to distant quarters. He kept more than one residence as a rule whenever he wasn’t taking one of his gourmand tours. A fact Miss Northcott may have known, but not well enough to have learned his other addresses. Or names.

Gordon Williams was thrown away that night.

Mason Darvell greeted the morning.

[ronsharry]

1. What is your favourite HP ship and why?

2. If you like fanfic, which HP one is your favourite?

3. Out of all the potential paternal figures for Harry, which one is our favourite and why?

(4. Do you have any ronarry fluff fics? All I can find are abandoned or not ronarry fics)

ohhh i love these questions!! tysm for asking :))

1. i’ve shipped many ships in many eras and the one i always go back to is ronarry!! they’re so special to me and i know it’s like a popular trope that people find annoying but i really love the bestfriend to lovers trope it’s so sweet :)) and not to mention that they are both in my top 3 😭

2. i definitely read fanfic (i have an ao3 acc 6amflwrr) I’ve been reading it for years 😭😭 ahh this is such a hard one but out of the hundreds of fanfics i’ve read there’s a few that i always think of or go back to:

‘honey honey by aeoneskova’ — marlene lives and takes harry from the dursleys!! harry is in muggle primary school in this and it’s soo realistic !! really sad too harry literally fainted in p.e bc he was so starved ITS SO SAD

‘Hermione Grangers Hogwarts Cranmer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi’ — i suprisingly loved one sm i went through a phase of hardcore shipping drarry and i met this gem through it!! idk if i ship them anymore but im not like against them either idk anyway this one harry doesn’t know he’s a wizard until they recruit him 💀 and sirius is alive also <3

‘An Hour of Wolves by solvskrift’ — one of the first fics i ever read so that’s probably a reason but this one’s dark and it shows harry’s ptsd really well and also check tags for this one!!

3. oooo i love this question sm i love all dynamics between harry and parental figures bc they’re so interesting but my favourite is sirius and harry by far!! they get each other so well, sirius would do absolutely anything for him and he is the only adult harry fully trusted like harry loved him sm :(( they had their flaws and while i don’t think sirius was the healthiest (something that i don’t blame him for at all i think he did amazingly given the circumstances) he definitely was the best choice and i think that makes it even sadder actually 😭

4. oh i definitely have fics!!! here are some of my favs:

‘perspective by malapropism’ — In which Ron realizes that maybe, just maybe, you aren't supposed to feel this way about your best mate. But only after a dance at the Yule Ball, months of being busy with other things, Cedric Diggory's death, the return of Voldemort, and a quiet knock at his door. (i love this one sm and gof and ootp!rarry is my fav <33)

‘Foolish hearts by iwantacoolassname & orbithastnt’ — this is set in hbp and sirius lives !!!!! the only thing is that it’s ongoing but i don’t think it’s been discontinued :)

‘sacrifice by sim54’ — i love this one sm

‘Somber Skies and Bruised Bodies by ManyGayUmbrellas’ — i love this one too it’s so sad but happy ending!! more of a character study but yeah it’s good :)

‘i’ll hold you when things go wrong by cloudlesslysky’ — Ron has always struggled with insecurity and jealousy since he was a child. However, Ron has grown up. And while he loves his mother, if she's making him choose between her and Harry...Well, Ron knows where he stands. (this is probably my favourite even tho it’s not actually ronarry but they are very close and it’s definitely worth the read and uncle harry & rose AHH)

‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell by IamShadow21’ — one of my favourites too!! this one got me into ronarry in the first place :)

‘merry christmas, war is over by dykesiriusblack’ — wolfstar&ronarry and i loved this one sm!! definitely recommend:))

[chaoticgoblinwife]

AHHHH

I've yet to see anyone talk about the wretched mirrors represented by Snow and Peeta, and I love it so much. Like two boys who fall in love with the beloved songbird of district 12 and how that relationship was shaped by them themselves.

Peeta who wants his songbird to be free, he wants to love Katniss, but only in a way Katniss will accept love from him. Only in a way in which she will be happy and free to be who she is with the people she loves, because that's the songbird he fell in love with. Peeta who when asked to run away with Katniss into the woods, says yes- but we have to take everyone you love with us. He knows that he'll forgo comfort, that life will be hard, but it's worth it because he has enough love to be happy with it. Peeta, who in a cruel and unforgiving world, always chose love and trust no matter how many times it hurt him.

Contrast that with Snow who wants HIS songbird under HIS control, caged in his living room, to put on a show when asked. He wants to 'love' Lucy Gray in a way that keeps her under his thumb and fundamentally changes who she is- because she's district and that will never be good enough. Snow never fell in love with a free songbird, he heard the song of a trapped one and wanted to live in it forever. Snow can't run with Lucy Gray, because he can't give up himself for anyone. He cares more about HIM, his comfort, his ease of life, his new sense of importance, means far more than a songbird that slips its cage. Its a cruel, unforgiving world, and Coriolanus Snow decides to embrace it.

Like the difference between the two is fundamentally how they deal with the coldness of the world around them, whether responding with constant and unyielding warmth and compassion versus letting the coldness set in and take over until its all that remains.

And don't even get me started on them coming from similar lives of struggle and proceeding to move past it in diametrically opposed ways and how that ties into the conscious choices they make to be the people they are, like Snow constantly jockeying for a chance to fit in with his richer peers and trying so hard to keep up the illusion of status versus Peeta who knows that his family only gets to eat what's old or slightly defective and still fucking something up so badly -ON PURPOSE- so that he can give it to a classmate he knows is starving, knowing that he will be beaten for it and it will probably affect his own family's food because not only can they not sell that bread, they cannot eat it either.

Snow who decides that he will never love again because love is the death of power, and Peeta who multiple times in the series *loves Katniss so fucking hard it nearly kills him* (purposefully teaming up with the careers, the berries, being hijacked, being on the capitol team).

I'm sure there are so many more wonderful things I'm missing but I've typed to the point my arthritis is kicking in and my wrist hurts, so in conclusion, AHHHHHHHHH JESUS FUCK I LOVE THESE BOOKS AND SUZANNE COLLINS GOD SHE'S FUCKING BRILLIANT!

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

I think my most controversial Warrior Cats opinion is that I actually really like the Cinderpelt-heart reincarnation plot. Or at least I would really love a version of it without all teh ableist implications. StarClan realizing that teh “no kits for medicine cats” rule is hurtful, and also that disabled cats are often pushed into roles they don’t want and aren’t suited for, and they reincarnate Cinderpelt for those reasons, not because a disabled life isn’t a full one. Cinderheart feeling pressure from teh clan, maybe even her family or even Lionblaze, to be a medicine cat when she finds out. It has potential idk.

I liked it at first, because... Admittedly, I read Po3 before I read TNP and before I finished TPB.

So Cinderpelt was this mysterious, not quite known character to me. I went and read TNP and thought "hmm. I wish it had been more 'this is happening because your life is going to be cut short now due to the move to the lake and that isn't fair because you were supposed to live a long time so go become your niece, really sorry about the badgers, xoxo PS sorry about your mom slowly starving to death in the forest'"

Instead it hinges on her having had "not a full life", which.... When I went EVEN FURTHER back and finished TPB.... She did. She loved Medicine. It was HER choice. The Erin's forgot, made a weird retcon that has become her entire character: "I loved my teacher and didn't tell him", and had Lionblaze be the... Reward for that?

I liked it, it was just done for a stupid reason. Another one of those "we wrote this plot point to make sure a character does xyz" instead of just... Writing it. Snowkit's death is the most egregious example of these writers pretending they have no control over these fictional cats.

I have some controversial opinions of my own.

The Lake territory is cool but also sucks. We need to either leave the Lake or start redoing things about it. It has no landmarks to hang out at or have what I call 'set pieces' whatsoever, and more importantly no threats (thunderpaths, snake rocks, gorge, the tree with a huge Owl, Carrionplace) and I'm pretty sure the writers feel this way too since we leave the Lake once an arc. I wouldn't mind moving territories again, to a more dangerous but still natural place.

Breezepelt should be a permanent Queen. I know it would mean seeing less of him (which I dislike) but him being a gentle parent and helping others raise their kits would be a PERFECT wrap up to his arc. As much as I desperately want Breezestar I think he would fit more as a perma-queen.

A trip to the distant future or past would be both good and bad. A whole new cast would be kinda cool but let's be honest, these writers suck. What is needed is a whole new writing team of people who actually LIKE the books.

I never really liked canon!Riverstar that much, we really didn't know anything about him because DOTC is less Dawn of The Clans and more "pwease like our power trip fantasy oc who knocks up a girl his son's age 🥺". I genuinely cannot remember anything River Ripple even does. He just... Isn't there. Maybe more prevalent in the last 2 books but I never got past the first 3 chapters of book 5 and never opened book 6 aside from looking at its last scene and rolling my eyes. Petal's death was where I drew the line, the narrative bending over backwards to make Clear Sky a poor sad baby crossed it.

• I've come around thanks to Bonefall but I genuinely hated Star Flower as a kid. The way she was described was uncomfortable, annoying and made it feel like the writers were trying to force you to think she's this gorgeous, perfect cat, it made her boring, bland, and anything with her in it a slog to get through because of the way Thunder spoke about her, going on and on about her beautiful she was, getting worse when Moth Flight's Vision described her with purple eyes to go with her star-shaped pupils... Also, I was really attached to Petal, who died suddenly when Star Flower entered the picture, and I was on the assumption Clear Sky and Petal were going to get together, while I didn't like Clear Sky, I just wanted my favorite to stay alive unlike every other female character. Starf also suddenly becoming a helples damsel in distress added to the annoyance so badly that I actually never finished DOTC, and it made me take a break from the series altogether. I really wanted her to be playing the long game. A sincere thank you to Bonefall for helping me reread who this character is, and while the way our 'Camera' describes hee is still annoying, I can at least look past that and see the roots of this character.

I love Leafpool, and Hollyleaf. Met a lot of Leafpool fans who seem to think Hollyleaf is this monster when she very much reads as someone who cannot handle their religious and emotional abuse based trauma and lashed out at the wrong person. What she did to Leafpool was awful but she was basically an irrational teenager. Just like apprentice does not always equal child, warrior does not always equal "grown ass adult who should get over it". Her own existence went against every single thing she believed in and was told by her own mentor to never ever question.

As sweet as the scene with Dandelionkit and Juniperkit in Starclan was... There was really 0 point in giving Squilf 2 dead kids, other than "the writers hate her". The only thing I can see a point for it is for a long-shot setup to Squirrelstar for some lives seeing as you just know they absolutely forgot about Squish's friends.

• I think Ivypool has somewhat of a right to be upset with Dovewing. HEAR ME OUT. She is allowed to be upset, NOT take it out on Dovewing. She also needs to learn that she helped drive her sister out, but the writers are allergic to that kind of thing in favour of "make character a background conservative. If female = mom. If mom = soft until politcal debate scenario." She is allowed to be sad and upset that her only sister is gone, she just needs to acknowledge she messed up, as well as lots of Thunderclan cats messed up.

It's time to kill Brightheart, Brackenfur, Thornclaw and Cloudtail. Enough is enough, start retiring cats who were full warriors when TNP started. Tawnypelt should be in the Elders den and Oakfur should be rotting in hell for what he let happen to Berrynose. On that same note, I hope Russetfur went on trial for that and her attempt on Firestar's life. I like her but good GOD, that was egregious, and looks even more pathetic when Yellowfang's Secret reveals she herself wasn't Clanborn.

Tigerheart's Shadow is a good book (aside from that one 'territory' bit, you know the one) and this series could go FAR if they embraced the mysterious mystical elements they set up, people are far too harsh on the experimental things.

Moonkitti makes good points sometimes but I need younger fans to stop taking everything she says as gospel and start thinking for themselves; case in point the recent Mapleshade drama that REEKS of "if I was Orpheus I wouldn't have turned around". The writers call the Moonstone the Moonpool every time we revisit the forest, do you really think they remembered The Bridge? Did YOU remember the bridge or did Moonkitti point it out? Also, with how cosmically doomed from the start the story was, the water probably would have overtaken the bridge and STILL swept them away. For every one good take Moonkitti has they seem to have more than a few bad ones.

My silly one. FERNSONG SHOULD HAVE BEEN NAMED AFTER HONEYFERN AND BEEN A HONEYFERN CLONE APPEARANCE WISE. No problem with him being named for Ferncloud but could they PLEASE acknowledge that Cinderheart is Honeyfern's sister too? Poppyfrost named her baby boy after Molekit and Lilyheart named her daughter Honeykit despite never having met Honeyfern, and those don't feel like coincidences.

I dislike the Tribe as its concept, but I like some of the characters that came from it, know what I mean? I like OG Stoneteller (though I always pictured him very differently. I saw him as gray tabby with white paws!) I think he is an interesting character, and Outcast was a huge letdown with having him be wrong. It would be a nice change in story if the Clan cats had tried to push their way, only for it to NOT work, for there to be a different way to do things, or a trick the Tribe used in the past that they "could give another crack at", and for the Clan cats to learn that their way of life is not a golden standard. Could you imagine Hollypaw learning this? I also really like Brook. I dismantled her and I know she is a play on the stupid "Indian princess" trope. I love how sweet she is, though I hate how it was painted against the Tribe. I plan to keep that wisdom and kindness, while also making The Tribes just as good a place to live.

I don't think Tawnystar would've been a good idea, as good as a name like that sounds. She, like Bramble, is too old, and the writers can't stand killing off Arc 2 characters in favour of killing off Arc 3 and 4, we would have been stuck with her and the writing for leaders atm SUCKS. Tawnypelt also just... Isn't that great. While I like her, I don't think she would be a good leader. Same goes for Mothstar, though I feel like they could have it done better if they do have it happen by making her not want the 9 lives. After the absolute Christian slog ASC has been about "non believers" it would be cool to see her prove that wrong and put this shitty arc's hinge point in the ground once and for all.

I'm tired of Med Cat protags. We've had one since TNP barring Dawn of The Clans when arguably it would have been the most beneficial from Pebble Heart or Dappled Pelt. Leafpool was cool because she was the first, Jayfeather was kinda cool still because of blindness and being part of the Prophecy, and while his POV in OOTS was a necessary evil, we did not need Alderheart. There is no reason to have Alderheart be the POV when Sparkpelt has the objectively more interesting setup and Alderheart's "anxiety" works better when we can't see through his eyes, as the authors don't know what actual anxiety is. Shadowsight and Frostpaw are alright, through Frostpaw's pov suffers around Nightheart and she does suffer from Camera POV Syndrome at times... Not helped by her being a Female Warriors Character with all the lovely things that come with it. Shadowsight was cool until the writers completely fumbled the bag and made him rude, argumentative, and dropped his epilepsy for no reason. All this is NOT helped by the new retcon that you're just "born different" with some kind of inherit special connection to Starclan, like it wasn't some kind of learned thing, hence Cinderpelt struggling with it as a lot of the time she was on her own!

Let Daisy retire and let Sorrelstripe take over the nursery. These new characters are in desperate need of personality, let Sorrelstripe be a feisty, confident midwife who won't let Queens be bullied into things.

[cgogs]

I’m rereading and crying over Oxeye Daisy again, and I was wondering what made you choose the flowers for each chapter title? Azure Bluet, Poppy, and Orchid feel like deliberate choices, but I cant seem to figure it out

Anyway, thanks again for this fic! I recently read the epilogue and cried my eyes out even more over it, so I’m still in the process of freaking out over this tic

Each flower can be an ingredient in minecrafts suspicious soup, which is referenced in the fic itself through the soup that george and dream eat! The oxeye daisy soup recipe makes you regenerate hearts ingame. This was my primary reason for naming each chapter but it was always a fun little surprise learnjng that their respective flower languages fit each chapter as well

Chapter 1 is the title chapter, oxeye daisy. Aside from being a reference to the soup and their relationship in general the flower itself symbolizes patience. Which. Well. <:) is georges virtue in this fic

Chapter 2 is titled azure bluet, which inflicts the blindness status effecg ingame and also symbolizes commitment. The second chapter is all about the two stumbling blindly in the dark, unsure where their relationship stands anymore after all thats happened, especially after they crossed the line at the end of the previous chapter.

Chapter 3 is titled poppy, and it gives you the night vision status effect, which i thought was a clever nod to how thru this chapter they get a little better at identifying what they want from each other and where they stand, and how dream opens up to george about his motivations and george sees straight through him. Poppies symbolize death and consolation, and a lot of this chapters theme has to do with the death of how they used to he and the looming threat over dreams head from the bounty.

Chapter 4 is titled orchid, and in the minecraft soup it gives you the saturation status effect, which makes each food you eat last longer, making you have to eat less. This is a bit of a double meaning to me, and dream as well. It could either mean my belly is full and i am content or it means i am nearly starving and making every bit of food i have count. The flower itself symbolizes precious moments and memories, on account of its delicate nature and how it could wilt any moment, just a matter of time

[anxiousgaypanicking]

sure why not?

okok.

so roman being arthur. logan being sally. patton being ollie. virgil being margaret. janus being uncle jack. let me explain.

there was never any doubt roman would be arthur. he's an inherently selfish character - its his entire personality! he took care of his disabled brother, but ultimately abandoned him on a train alone when he switched their passports. (the only real issue here is that percy was older than arthur, which is how arthur got away with using his passport, but we can say remus and roman are irish twins since thomas/the fandom celebrates their "birthdays" on different days anyway lmao). holds childish resentment for sally for doing something that truly she had no choice but to do (bitter exes, much?) but still comes to him for help anyway, only to abandon her when she can't leave immediately. when he eventually escapes, he's still given the choice to go back and forget, and live his life in oblivion

logan as sally is something i truly was back and forth on. both patton and logan would be great as sally for different reasons, but i decided i liked patton as ollie more. sally is great with chemicals, but also has a baby. she sleeps with the general for favors, while also supplying him and the constables drugs that they threaten her over. while taking care of her baby is what her gameplay generally centers around, shes a very self-sufficient character, and very smart, getting herself out of negative encounters with the general on separate occasions!

patton as ollie, whos mind has been so fucked by drugs that he hallucinates his supposed dead daughter. but margaret isnt his daughter, and is instead uncle jacks daughter, whom he got killed out of spite after uncle jack was making comments about the war. after this, he felt so guilty that he took a ton of drugs to make him forget it. he hates uncle jack with a passion, but is inevitably the one to expose uncle jacks last show where he implores everyone to go off their joy (a pill that makes them happy)

virgil as margaret - uncle jacks dead daughter. she's ollie's voice of reason, even though she's mainly a hallucination. ollie got her killed - not intending to, but it being done anyway - and so she sort of haunts his mind until he eventually overcomes this grief, remembers what he's done, and plays uncle jacks last show

and janus as uncle jack. he's a tv personality who interacts with sent-in questions, gives advice for living in the town, talks about joy, and in his last show - after margaret has been killed - exposes the town for starving to death because the joy keeps them from even realizing theyre hungry. he goes from a charming, charismatic face to someone distraught by reality. he also argued against surrendering during the war, which is what eventually led to his daughter - who he was hiding, after the town demanded that everyone's children be sent on a train over to germany - being found and killed

anyway yeah idk i love the story of we happy few sm and think the sanders sides characters fit so neatly into it <3

victoria byng was another character i thought either janus or patton could be. she's the one who initially made joy, and after no one was taking it, spiked the water supply with it so people would get addicted to joy even if they didn't want to. eventually she's forced off her own joy by ollie and realizes that the town is in ruins because of joy and so eventually destroys it all which people hate her for because what gives her the right, though they do eventually realize they were all going to die if they stay on it

[musings-of-a-lit-student]

Prisoner of War: Part 5

Disclaimer: I don’t own Maus or any of Spiegelman’s work. I have attached the photos from the work itself, but do not claim to own the scanned version either. I highly recommend purchasing the book to support the original author. My thoughts do not represent the author's work and are merely my own interpretations.

Warning: MAUS is a graphic novel based on the author’s father’s experiences during the holocaust and includes anecdotes and scenes including violence, blood which may be considered triggering. 

Introduction: The work MAUS by Art Spiegelman is a novel that tells the story of Vladek Spiegelman and his experiences during the holocaust using an allegory and parallel storylines to depict the Vladek's past and Artie's present as he hears the story from his father. This work includes an autobiographical and biographical element due to the inclusion of two main characters - Vladek and Artie. Spiegelman makes the decision to introduce himself as a character in the work as a mouthpiece for himself.

Main Characters: Artie: The author Vladek: Artie's father Anja: Artie's mother Mala: Vladek's second wife Françoise: Artie's wife

Navigation ->Prisoner of War Masterlist -> Previous Part

MAUS by Art Spiegelman

Points of Interest:

Starting the war

There's always been a lot of conflict regarding the instigators of wars, and Spiegelman starts this out by having his germans blame the jews. The lack of accountability is astonishing in hindsight, and we are reminded of all the conflicts that hadn't been cleared up then. The leadership often misled their soldiers, and this is a clear depiction of their mindset. The politics of a war cannot be discounted and Spiegelman includes that line in to make a point.

Focus Circle

A creepy nazi cat stares into our souls with the most menacing imagery of the novel. The sharpened teeth emphasise the predatory nature of these animals, and the cats are not to be taken for granted. Their beady little eyes, and the skull adorning each hat, makes them literal harbingers of death, and creates a threatening image that will follow the audience through this scene.

Hand

A derailing conversation about the softness of the hands, suggest that there is a lot more they've gone through. Vladek was around Artie's age while struggling, and lived a similarly privileged life. His frailty after undergoing the war and the holocaust is understandable, and the choice to have a close up of his hands is significant. The labour put in by a person is seen by the marks on their hand, be it callouses, or cuts, and Vladek suffered resulting in his weary hands in the present.

Parallels

The two panels below on the left of the first page are close to each other like a flip book. A direct progression from the hand held above, and the accusatory finger pointed at Vladek. We see the shadowed mice, representing their vulnerability and the towering height of the cats. There is no symbolic reasoning I can find for such a sudden parallel drawn, but its obvious that there is a sense of intimidation in the mice.

Silhouette

There is a visual focus on pigsty by silhouetting the characters. The type of menial labour expected and performed was harsh, and unfair timelines were placed to further subjugate and weaken the jews. Having been starved, we understand that Vladek's obsession with cleanliness comes from a position from desperation and a subconscious belief that everything must be spick and span in order to receive basic human rights. His trauma has followed him into the present, as we watch him scold Artie, and we can observe how Spiegelman points out how his eccentric behaviours are a result of the experiences of his youth. Here we see the events of the past and their corresponding consequences in the present immediately, and Spiegelman does this to explain parts of his behaviour.

Complaints about Mala

An odd repetition we see throughout this novel is Vladek's constant complaints about Mala, the woman who cooks, cleans and puts up with a lot his grumbling. Artie shows us no reason to believe that she is a what Vladek suggests, and he is indifferent to most of Vladek's complaints making the audience avoid acknowledging them as well. Questions are raised about her housekeeping abilities, and for now we wonder how reliable both our narrators are, given the facts we see.

Next Part

[sunsoakedhighhopes]

Captain America #5, Case #1: Captain America and the Ringmaster of Death

Steve and Bucky go to the circus on their day off, where they happen to run into General Blaine

Bucky plays a game of chance, and we learn that Bucky's lucky number is the number 7.

Unfortunately for our dynamic duo, their day off (? Idk, they're both still in uniform?) is about to get ruined (as it usually does) because the ringmaster of this circus just so happens to be a nazi sympathizer, with intentions to murder the nazis' biggest foes. This is the usual assortment of high ranking military officials, FBI Agent Betty Ross, and of course, Captain America himself, and Bucky.

The ringmaster chooses who's going to be his next victim by spinning his Wheel of Death (TM), because all comic book villains have to have some convoluted way of committing their crimes.

Once again, our villain uses a member of a vulnerable population to do his bidding, against his will.

The murder method of choice in this instance is to let the tiger out of its cage (Yes/YES/The tiger is out), which then promptly kills General Blaine and, I guess, tries to eat him.

Since the vast majority of these cases are written to be like murder mysteries, and there's always 1-2 (or more) murders per case, I feel like the American Army has to be on the verge of running out of high ranking officers. Either that, or they're promoting people to general after, like, a week. The life expectancy of a general stationed near Camp Lehigh must be about the same as the life expectancy of a captain on the Death Star.

Steve magical girl transforms into Captain America, and then kills the tiger with his *bare hands*.

Steve, that tiger was probably mistreated, underfed and starving. Ahem. Anyway.

Then we get another installment of my favorite Captain America trope: Steve getting in trouble for doing Captain America things when he's supposed to be on duty.

While peeling potatoes, Agent Ross stops by, and Steve uses *himself* as his own secret identity to bolster his argument. Never change, Steve.

Betty goes to warn the defense commissioner that he may be next, but the warning comes too late, as he's already in the process of being murdered, this time via the snake charmer and a venomous snake.

Steve also turns up at the defense commissioner's, opting to ditch potato peeling duty, but, obviously, doesn't get there in time. And Betty gets kidnapped by the circus performers.

The ringmaster is not thrilled that Captain America decided to get involved again, so he decides to spin his magical wheel of death, and what do you know, it lands on Captain America.

Me thinks Betty Ross might be developing a bit of a crush.

As expected, Steve turns up and finds Betty dangling from the top of the circus tent. And then he and Bucky swoop in on a trapeze(!) and rescue her.

And finally, the villain is defeated, Steve disappears into the night, and Agent Betty Ross laments that she didn't even get to thank him.