#Goblin's Crazy Beast | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr posted its first advertisements in May 2012 and subsequently earned $13M in revenue.

#Goblin's Crazy Beast

linuxealcipher · 6 months

Text

The issue with liking evil doctor characters is I want to study them the same way. I want to tear them open, find what makes them tick and why they are who they are. I wanna also bite into their skin and shake them like a stuffed toy in the maw of a rabid dog.

#goblin speaks #*looks away*#specifically Dottore rn #I wanna tear that man open and learn everything about him #aAARARGGRGGRGGRRGFRT #In my crazy beast era

16 notes · View notes

kittybroker · 3 months

Note

This is my beast Goblin, he recently had to stay in the hospital because he is bad at peeing. I seek to learn his fair market value

Beast goblin real crazy kitty! Now selling at the fair price of only $24.96!

#crazy kitty #valuable kitty #asks

91 notes · View notes

majimasleftasscheek · 1 year

Note

Honestly if it’s ok I would like to hear your thoughts on Kazumi? I’m having brain rot at the idea of Kiryu being a drag queen or gender-fluid and there’s like no one talking about it and I just wanted to know how you’d picture it because your goromi headcanon is just so well thought out- if this is a weird question or a hard one to answer I’m sorry it’s my first time doing this-

no worries, I LOVE talking about good shit like this 👀

SO KAZUMI

I don't particularly see her as genderfluid like I do Goromi but!! I do see her as a drag identity, just not as bold as the former.

Kazumi in a sense is very much how I interpret Goromi - that being she's pretty much the same dude but now in a wig but with a few changes.

she'd for sure have a Kiryu-esque seriousness to dressing up as in treating it like some kind of mission than a more casual thing. she'd have to be reminded like yo this ain't a substory, you can put your lipstick on without the concentration of someone fighting for their life.

in a way being Kazumi is a sort of break for Kiryu. he HAS to chill out and it's rough at first but eventually he's like okay, this is okay, I can just be

she's even more quiet and reserved than Kiryu already is, preferring to be left alone. it's a mix of not exactly knowing how to feel in drag and general internalized embarrassment so she's not up to being social about it. there's certainly an uncharacteristic lack of confidence on her part and needs a bit of encouragement to really feel like she isn't looking ridiculous.

Kiryu seems like, a by the book type of guy, due to his upbringing and general way he carries himself, so putting on drag is very alien to him. like, he can certainly see other people doing it. but himself? wild. that said, he's bold and fairly immune to what people think of him but something about being Kazumi, for a good chunk of time, is very intimate, especially if he's around people he knows.

when she's with people she trusts, that's when she starts having a good time, maybe even being a lil bombastic then immediately covering her mouth when she laughs too loud. but if her present company comforts her, she'll be happy to let slip a more excitable version of herself. it helps knowing that, for the time, she's just someone else and that someone else can do whatever the fuck they want. it's even better that few people would recognize her, let alone even think a guy like Kiryu is Kazumi at first glance.

Kazumi is a bit of a tease, a bit more sensual. not flagrantly obvious but it's there, with the way she sways her hips and looks at you with those beautiful eyes™ that say everything and anything you wanna hear. Kiryu's a very reactive type of guy, doing this and that because of something else. Kazumi however takes the initiative in little ways as a measure of testing her own waters, as to do something Kiryu probably wouldn't unless provoked. Kazumi has no goals, she lives in the moment and wants to enjoy it on her own terms.

dresses in colors very much like her usual suit (red, gray, white). will be super self conscious about her ass hanging out in short dresses and if you come at her with the 'but you don't mind if you're wearing a fundoshi?' and you can literally see the gears turning in her head.

not super great at fighting in heels (compared to Goromi) so she's not pulling crazy moves or running around. she prefers beast mode and the graceful art of blunt force trauma to play keep-away

KAZUMAJI TIME I'm unwell

so the way Kiryu interacts with Goromi is SO important to me and it's equally just as important for my thoughts on Kazumi so you'll see a lot of parallels here.

Majima is MAD horny for Kazumi it's unreal. impressively brainrotted even by goblin standards. partly because it's very exciting to see Kiryu prettied up and partly because he can just see the ✨ gender ✨ radiating off of Kazumi even if it's not as much of a gender thing for her as it is for Majima. he gets that chest tight sort of happy seeing Kiryu try something so important to him.

definitely shows his love via gift giving and physical affection. Kazumi's not big on gifts in general because it's embarrassing so she has to often convince him to just take her out for a good time and that's fine enough. for her, the affection is more important than anything and she'll admit, she likes to be wooed

I have to include Haruka cuz how can I not 🥺 she definitely helps out with makeup and hair. it's not perfect but she's the only person Kazumi will not squirm around for. Kazumi will sit still a little for Majima/Goromi to help out but she's gonna complain about it the whole time.

every minute Majima's not hanging onto Kazumi like she's his trophy wife is another minute he dies inside. he makes it an event to let everyone know he's got the hottest girl in town and it makes Kazumi feel pretty damn good.

Kiryu knows he's hot as hell so that extends to Kazumi as well—small crowds preferably though. despite enjoying a bit of attention, she still prefers plenty of alone time. there is significant anxiety for her to be the center of attention either because someone might recognize her or because things going to shit is just how Kiryu's life tends to go.

she lovesss getting a rise out of Majima, especially if they're in a place he has to behave. since he's her biggest fan, she does like a good bit of ordering him around, often to the point he's actually irritated but that's just part of the game for them, being smug heathens @ each other. I'm a goblin for possessiveness and jealously so throw in a bit of that for flavor 😏

I have a Kazumi x Majima fic where she's very dommy mommy and he's a meek lil worm and I think that's a sign of nature healing.

BIG fluffy Goromi interactions, they're very affectionate together and Goromi's just so giddy to have Kazumi go out with her. she will however bite people's fingers if they so much as wave in Kazumi's direction. the excitement from Goromi does help stave off Kazumi's own insecurities.

being with Goromi does give Kazumi a bit of perspective she otherwise wouldn't really understand as Kiryu. I can see her having one of her typical "wow, people sure do live differently than I do and I've gained more respect for such things" sorta deal lol. basic stuff but significant to those around her.

#kazumi #goromi #kazumaji #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kazuma #majima goro #my art #my hcs

312 notes · View notes

grandeoatmilklatte · 7 months

Text

HL Characters and their Horror Movie Subgenres

+ some horror movies that fit said subgenre!

I'm back with some Horror movie head cannons for our favorite HL characters! A great way to kick of spooky season!

This is a sequel of sorts to my HL Characters and their Horror Movie Tropes post, so feel free to check that one out too if you haven't already! Please know that I love all of these characters, so please don't be offended by any of my assessments if they seem "mean". This is all in good fun and of course just my opinion.

Ominis Gaunt - Revenge Horror:

Who doesn’t love a good Horror movie where the main character gets revenge on anyone who hurt them? A good revenge movie feels cathartic for both the character and the audience, and makes you feel for the character, even when they’re doing unsavory things. While we never see Ominis enact any kind of revenge on anyone, and although this concept could apply to Seb as well, I’m giving this to Omi because he has enough issues in his life that he’s very capable of going crazy and enacting revenge on his family. Some movies that come to mind for Ominis are Carrie, Revenge, and Midsommar - all commonly considered “good for her” movies where the female lead gets revenge on those who harm her (but is Midsommar really a “good for her” movie in the end? That’s a topic for another day.) Bonus: Speaking of his family, although this is definitely not a subgenre, fucked up family horror movies fit Ominis well also - Hereditary, The Hills Have Eyes, and Texas Chainsaw Massacre come to mind.

Sebastian Sallow - Psychological Horror:

There’s an argument to be made that Seb is manipulative throughout the game. Begging the MC to talk to the keepers to help with Anne’s illness, calling the MC ignorant for seeking help from a goblin only to immediately take it back, justifying murder, etc. This gives him the makings of psychological horror. Psychological Horror leaves you tense, confused, and wondering until the very end if you’re being played or not. Some movies that come to mind here are Black Swan, Watcher (Not THE Watcher like the movie about the house), and The Lodge. Bonus: definitely not a real subgenre, but sibling/twin related Horror fits Seb also - such as Goodnight Mommy and The Uninvited, which are also Psychological Horror movies that involve twins/siblings.

Garreth Weasley - Horror Comedy:

As mentioned in my previous post, Garreth is the comic relief friend, so it seems only appropriate that his subgenre is Horror Comedy. He’s the type to crack a joke during a tense moment. Horror Comedies can sometimes be a little bit scary, but also funny and lighthearted. Movies like Shaun of the Dead, Ready or Not, and Cabin in the Woods fall into this subgenre, all varying in their ratio of horror vs comedy. Bonus entry: mad scientist Horror movies like Frankenstein and Reanimator, cause let’s face it, Garreth would totally bring something back from the dead in a lab (accidentally or not).

Leander Prewitt - Found Footage:

No Found Footage movie is complete without some incredibly brave dummy doing something or going somewhere they shouldn’t, and bringing a camera along for the ride. Leander, high off that Gryffindor pride and eager to prove himself would absolutely be all in for this. Coupled with the nervous shaky hands he would absolutely have and refusal to let go of the camera no matter how impractical it gets to keep running with it, and you have your perfect Found Footage film. Movies like Gonjiam Haunted Asylum and Grave Encounters fit Leander perfectly.

Poppy Sweeting - Creature Feature:

This feels pretty obvious, but with her love of beasts, Poppy is of course a Creature Feature. To her, the creature can do no wrong, and the humans deserve whatever they get. Movies like Godzilla, Kong Kong, and Jaws (I said what I said. Jaws is a horror movie) all fit this subgenre.

Imelda Reyes - Slasher Horror:

Imelda is brutal and cutthroat competitive, making her a perfect Slasher film. Whether she’s the Final Girl, or the Slasher herself, she’ll make for a killer good time! The older, campy-er Slashers are definitely more her style. Movies like Slumber Party Massacre and Black Christmas (1978) fit her.

Amit Thakkar - Space Horror:

This might not technically be a subgenre, but let’s be real, what’s scarier than being completely alone in space? Amit would definitely say nothing is scarier. The obvious movie choice here is the Alien franchise. In my last post, I almost made Amit’s character trope be the Final Girl, with Ripley as his character choice but I changed it cause there were too many Final Girls, but Amit would absolutely vibe with Ripley.

Natty Onai - Body Horror:

Natty’s animagus ability of course falls into the subgenre of body horror, specifically any body horror involving someone turning into an animal. Although we always see animagus transformations being seamless, imagine if they weren’t. Imagine having to watch a human transform into an animal slowly and grotesquely. Movies like The Fly and American Werewolf in London are what come to mind for Natty due to their horrific depictions of transforming into an animal.

✨And now, please enjoy some silly bonus entries!✨

MC - Possession Horror:

Why is MC so overpowered? Surely the MC is possessed and this is the work of a demon. No normal person should be this powerful with virtually no explanation, magical or not. Is it ever explained why MC had ancient magic to begin with? No, no it’s not. MC probably messed with a ouija board and got themselves possessed. Movies like The Exorcist and The Exorcism of Emily Rose fit here well cause our MC is in desperate need of an exorcism.

Richard Jackdaw - Paranormal/Ghost Horror:

Duh. Movies include Paranormal Activity and The Others.

Duncan Hobhouse - N/A:

The guy is afraid of a puffskein, for crying out loud. There's no way he's getting a subgenre. His movie would be Hotel Transylvania.

#ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley #leander prewett #imelda reyes #poppy sweeting #natsai onai #amit thakkar #hogwarts legacy headcanons #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy headcannons

82 notes · View notes

bisexualraichu · 6 months

Text

since purgatory is ending here is a messy list of random BOLAS?!?!?! moments I liked since they were my main POV

- THE GAS MASK DEATH CULT!!! It was so iconic and I can imagine them just acting like normal when they go home but once in a while making some unnerving reference to the Gas or something 😭 haha remember that time we were in a cult guys that was crazy... *eyes twitching bc of toxic gas abstinence* they will never look at a gas mask the same way again and neither will I

- It was so sweet how much more they bonded and how they mostly tried to log in together. It was surprising how much Charlie logged in this event even off-stream, but even if it isn't his typical gameplay style you could tell he just enjoyed spending time with BOLAS?!?! :')

- All the Dadza jokes lol Loved it when Phil would log off and they'd just be completely lost and be like WHAT DO WE DO NOW??? DO WE FALL AND DIE??? DO WE GIVE EVERYTHING WE HAVE TO BLUE TEAM??? DO WE INVITE BADBOYHALO OVER?? LMAO

- Also Baghera sometimes playing a bratty kid and being super happy whenever she got Phil's approval 😭😭 and the way how this relates to her lore and how she never had a real childhood WAWAWAWAA

- BAGHERA'S CHAINSAW!!! the stuff of Quackity's nightmares LOOL please giver her a chainsaw at Quesadilla 👉👈

- Girlboss gatekeep gaslighter Jaiden... that day she just kept dying and playing up the damsel in distress card and then got kidnapped by the Blue Team AND THEN kidnapped the Green Team(?)'s goblin by complete accident that was so funny lmaooo

- The entirety of Day 2 from Red POV felt like a sitcom episode lol Like Charlie's POV in particular was insane, when he kidnapped the fucking NPC and then chased Quackity and then they tried gaslighting him in global chat akkasjdkkdkd and all that culminating in their first win after a rocky start, that day was just pure CINEMA

- CARRE THE ARGENTINIAN BEAST !!! even if he didn't log in as much I think him being there for the first days was crucial for Red's morale lol, love the way he would mostly play silently and then unmute to say something unhinged, the "ay papi" clip is a one shot kill for me even when I know it's coming

- The fucking "HOLY SHIT KILL YOURSELF" from Jaiden with Charlie going "LET ME GO!! LET ME GO!!" while everyone else equally died in the bg when they got a disaster in day 1...... that clip is everything to me

- THE FUCKING BARKING AND CHANTING EVERY TIME THEY GOT TOXIC GAS AJSJDJDJAK???!?!?

- Ok the Egg War event in general was so cool. Foolish's castle was the true star of the show and it was great how he and Cellbit worked together to make the perfect fortress. And Cellbit's strategy of not showing the egg's location on-stream made me even more tense as a viewer because I had NO IDEA whether green team was getting close to the egg or not

- Slimeriana reunion! That happened. In the Global Spawn Pool. Yeah. Let us never speak of it again

- That clip of Cellbit oneshotting Tina and her scream being cut off 😭

- The clip of Phil just leaving a serious discussion with Fit and BBH and then seeing Baghera laughing hysterically and her saying "PHILZA GET IN THE VC!! :D" and he gets in and they're just playing loud vaccuum noises while mining sand lmao

- When everyone was discussing the egg statues on VC and Bagi and Cellbit were yelling at each other(in RP) and Bagi called him her brother and Phil went "YOU GUYS ARE SIBLINGS???" and then Cellbit muted her, peak sibling behavior

- Tubbo saying "okay gay murder boy" and Cellbit responding "hows fred btw" and Tubbo logging off LOL I just love every moment of qCellbit and qTubbo being toxic gays towards each other

- oh god how could I forget, CELLBIT BEING DISTRACTED BY ROIER'S MUSCLES DURING THE EGG WAR I HATE THEM😭

- And finally, something I'll really miss from this event: when the server would close and all the CCs would hang out together in VC and talk about the day and play games together :'')

could list more but I'm tired and just going off memory. anyways rip purgatory it was def exhausting but overall i did have a lot of fun(definitely more than the election LOL)

#qsmp #qsmp team bolas

54 notes · View notes

cheshire-silent-cat · 11 months

Text

Move my heart

Hobie x reader (Pt2)

What a crazy story line, I don’t even see Gwen like this but at the same time I do, I think she is very mistrusting especially in the new movie, anyways Hobie still remains my knight. I thought of this part of the story while washing my hair and because I yelled “Eureka!!” I got soap in my eyes and mouth, so take that as a sacrifice worth your likes, follows comments and all that good stuff. For those of you who actually love me, I’m fine Dw and for those who are laughing 🖕 😂. Jk love you guys and enjoy the story, pls let me know if you see any mistakes so I can fix ‘em.

**************************************************

Arriving at the scene, Miguel and Hobie attempted to attack it head on, but were thrown out of the way, Hobie made impact with the solid wall, exhaustion taking over his body and he did not get up “Hobie!!” Gwen screamed, every plan thought of failed, this goblin monster was just too big, in order to keep Hobie safe, you used your web to leave him on a park bench away from the battle, the others devised a plan to manually push the monster into a portal back to HQ, and there they could try to contain the monster, using brute strength they all pushed the monster into the portal but it was resisting, roaring to keep them away, till this moment you had not exactly engaged in the fight instead you had been watching , you spotted a splinter at the root of the monster’s wing, you jumped on it’s back, “hey spider-belle, that is really not safe, get down” miles yelled out, you pull out the wood piece, and the monster lets out a huge sonic roar in pain, you pop down in-front of the monster and in tried moving back, it tried wiggling off but you were persistent, “easy….easy, you’re ok” the monster slowed down to your voice, “now, see I’m not so bad hmm? How do your wings feel” you ask hopping down and it flaps them frantically, then nuzzles it’s nose into your stomach lifting you up and you hug back “you are very welcome” it drops you down very slowly and you end up sitting on your knees with the beast’s huge head on your thighs “we allowed you go on a rampage, we must have frightened you….so much, I’m sorry, but it’s alright now” you kissed the beasts head, the beast stood up straight raising its huge hands to you and you climbed on, it moved you to its head and you both walked into the portal, you promised to visit and the machine sent the beast home.

After several hours, hobie opened his eyes, he had been laying on your thighs and he was completely embarrassed, his hands were wrapped around your waist signifying that he must have pulled you into this position, you were talking to him, he expected, you were cursing him for putting you in such a position so he pretended to still be asleep in order to hear what you had to say to him (in his sleep) but to his surprise you were humming, fiddling with the spikes on his mask, your voice was so sweet and calm he felt like he was floating, and you smelt like award winning flowers, and your waist was so small his face was buried in your open torso and to him your skin was like clouds he had never slept so peacefully, “oh you are awake” you sang and instinctively Hobie jerked up in embarrassment, “uh Yh Yh” he said looking away from you “how did you sleep” you asked trying to meet his gaze “feel like I was smashed against a brick wall” he said his thick accent attempting to soothe your worries “that’s cus you were tough guy, can you stand” you asked getting up from the bench, “don’t worry about me sweetheart I’ll be fine, I don’t believe in pain, that’s a fascist excuse for slacking off” his voiced trailed off as you looked at him with utter disbelief but you still respected him for some reason, “alright c’mon big guy” you place his hand over your shoulder, and Hobie stands up, he thinks of fighting your intentions but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse you and ends up going with it as you support a limping Hobie into a portal to his world .

“Creepy how you know where I live, love” he says, “oh this was a guess” “meaning??” “I was just going to keep portal jumping till I found your world” you both laugh and drop Hobie on his couch, you attempt to take off hobie’s mask but before you could reach it Hobie grabs your hand, and you pull back, resisting the urge to take off your own mask.

“Sorry… I’ll leave, take care of yourself ” you say stepping back to open a portal. “I got a shit ton is of pot and I don’t think I can finish it all by myself” Hobie said his hands waving around as though he was actually making efforts to look cool “pot as in weed?” You asked closing the portal, “love, I’m asking you to stay” he said in a condescending tone, “fine I’ll go start the kettle” you were met with a confused silence “what?? I don’t smoke and this place is freezing, you have your way and I have mine” you say looking away as you pour the already hot water into a cup of grass, as you are doing this Hobie gets up walks auto behind you and places his jumper on your shoulders, scared and blushing out of your mind you turn around to leave, now finding yourself cornered by him, his tall body towering over your small frame, both your eyes gazing at the masks of one another, and in that moment time stood still.

A few minutes later you found yourselves laughing at each others music and politics related jokes, making voice impressions and giggling like kids, you still had your masks on but both of them were raised above their mouth and noses as they smoked and drank the pot, although you were both pretty high, every time you drank your tea, you made a subtly unimpressed facial expression, “so how is it” he gestured to the tea, “it’s an acquired taste” you giggled, “so it’s shit” he asks “what? No” with that he picks the cup out of your hands and try out the tea, “I was right, try this” he says holding a blunt to your lips, “I’m not sure I’ll be good at it” you say attempting to slide away from him, he snakes his hand around your waist to stop you, reluctantly to take the blunt in between your lips.

See this wasn’t your first time smoking pot but you weren’t sure if it would be up to his standards, after a few drags you got up, “I should be on my way home now” you giggled, “nah nah, no portal jumping, under the influence”, “I’ll be fine tough guy-“ he got up pulling you to him and kissing you out of the blue.

The next morning, you woke in hobie’s room, wearing his jumper over your suit, next to you he was still sleeping, with his mask on revealing his nose and mouth, flashes of last night resurfaced in your memory, and you suddenly felt the urge to leave, not just because you didn’t know how much time had passed in your own world but because it had been a while since you had last kissed a person and you were not trying to catch feelings for someone you knew wouldn’t feel the same way. You snuck out of hobie’s room, gently closing the door after you, now turning around to leave, you are met with gwen’s harsh gaze, of course you did not know how to feel, she had been judging you from the moment she met you, not because she didn’t like you, it was because she did not trust you, she was used to being the only girl in the friend group, the only girl around Hobie, and not having another girl around one of her closest friends especially this super skilled, super sexy beloved spider person that is now wearing her friends jumper that she usually wears, sleeping in a home she usually sleeps in. The silence is loud, so loud that the uncomfortable atmosphere manages to wake Hobie up, a shirtless but masked Hobie walks out of his room and at that same time a portal opens and out of it appears Miles and pavitr, “hey gwenny, you’ve met y/n AKA spider belle” he says snaking his arm around your waist in attempt to dim the awkward atmosphere, “hang on, she slept here” Gwen asked sounding a tad bit ruder than usual considering the fact she was talking like you were not in the room, Hobie might be a punk but he is still a respectful gentleman which also means he won’t take shit like that, in an annoyed and defensive tone he responds to Gwen “yeah what of it”.

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie x you #hobie x y/n #hobie my beloved #hobie spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x reader #spider punk x y/n #spider punk x you #gwen x hobie #hobart brown x reader #hobart brown #hobie headcanons

68 notes · View notes

theknightmarket · 2 months

Text

"I've got your back."

In which an apocalypse survivor gets more than first-hand experience. TW: cursing, violence, gore Pages: 19 - Words: 7,500

[Requests: OPEN]

The issue with Monster Gulch was that it was never the same. The coffeehouse might have been infested with cannibalistic goblins but the bank down the street played greenhouse to venomous plants. You couldn’t go three steps forward without falling down a sink hole but take three steps back and you’d be launched miles into the air like you’d triggered a springboard. If it weren’t for lives being at stake, it might have made the entire experience the closest to fun you could get in an apocalypse – but, there were lives at stake, so it only made learning how to survive harder. Especially if you were on a short time scale.

Like, for example, two minutes until you were mauled by the werewolf hot on your heels and used as a toothpick after your flesh got caught in its teeth.

Mark lamented how accurate that example was.

Everything about his situation, he lamented. Their lack of food, their broken shelter, the fact that he had become friends with a sparkly vampire. He lamented that last one the most, even if it didn’t matter when he was being chased along a river. He should’ve stayed in the forest, more chance for him to lose the beast, but the place the group had pitched up at was unfamiliar to him, so following running water was his best bet at finding them again, especially at night.

Why they didn’t just stay at that murderer’s cabin, Mark had no clue – oh, but wait, he did. That sparkly vampire. His biggest problem was his maintained moral compass that told him it was wrong to kill the guy, but it was totally fine to raid his home for supplies and then set off into the distance. And then where did he lead them?! Only to a werewolf’s ‘summer home’ that took the entire day to make it to, so who should greet them at the door but that exact goddamn werewolf. Snarling, drooling, just waiting to pounce, and pounce he did, right onto the sparkly vampire. And because he was such a hero, and Dodger forced him to, he got the werewolf’s attention and drew it away from the others.

The only thought that kept Mark pushing his legs forward was the reminder that Enis owed him, and he had to be alive to collect his debt.

Fright was draining out of him, allowing for a more logical sense to return. The huffing of the monster was gradually fading from his mind, granting him a little peace that he had to refuse for the moment. Dodger had yelled about a tall tree before Mark got too far from her, and that was where he was heading. Whether they made it or not, he wasn’t certain, but it was the only place he could think of that had a chance of keeping him safe, and out of the jaws of a werewolf.

A splash of his boots in water. A rustle of leaves in the wind. A panting of his own breath. A yowl—

What?

Mark slid to a stop in some mud. Not smart, but his confusion overrode his survival instincts. And that noise had been far away, further than he thought the werewolf should have been. Had it lagged behind? He didn’t think he was that fast, but adrenaline did crazy things sometimes. He twisted on his heel though made sure to take trepidatious steps backwards still.

Another yowl. Now out of the haze of a sprint, he could pinpoint the reason.

The thing was in pain.

Along the path of boot marks from where he had come, Mark saw, distantly, a heaving clump of a creature, hunched over something nestled in between twigs and leaves.

His steps flipped direction.

A voice in his brain yelled at him to stop, begged for him to go back and just forget all about the werewolf. He’d done it to that maniac in the cabin, he’d nearly done it to Enis. But it wasn’t sympathy that forced his feet forward. It was pure, dumb, human curiosity. That monster had been huge, at one point, it had been seconds away from tearing him in half with claws sharpened to a knife’s edge. Nothing small could stop its chase. So, what was it? And, more importantly, was it a danger to him?

He made sure to go slowly, having to reel in his interest when he started to pick up speed, but he made it within six feet to get a good look.

The teeth of a bear trap were sunk into the werewolf’s leg, another hung off its shoulder, and a third, more damaged, was thrown to a tree with half of its tail in its jaw. Blood pooled into the dirt and the flash of bone made it obvious it wouldn’t survive the night, if not from shock, then from a bigger fish finding it.

Mark took a step closer.

It wasn’t moving – not that it appeared able to with the trap nearly splitting its leg at the knee – but its eyes spiraled in the sockets. A timid growl echoed from the cave of its throat, and from the difference between this one and its first, he was sure its bark was bigger than its bite.

“Huh.”

They certainly weren’t traps for game. Anything that big would be mutated or deadly to eat anyway. No, these were supposed to catch and kill the monsters that lurked around every corner. Take them down quick, easy, and without forcing the owner to get their own hands dirty. They were defensive. That begged the question, then, what was it defending?

“Throw out your weapons and put your hands behind your back.”

Mark wished that he came to conclusions quicker. It wasn’t a talent he’d honed recently, and it was taking a toll on his survival, it seemed.

Slowly, he removed the machete from his belt, not risking turning around to see who had a knife against his throat. Nothing else mattered besides that aspect of their character because it decided how this encounter would turn out, and in whose favor. Even swallowing with his rising heart race was turning the tide against him.

When he had his weapon out of the sheath and chucked to the ground, he felt his attacker sigh against the nape of his neck. Relief, annoyance, exhaustion? He couldn’t tell.

“That all you got?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

The chill of the sharp edge was removed from his throat, the hand going with it, and Mark thought he could breathe freely until a grip tightened around both of his wrists. Great, a kidnapping. Just what he needed. Enis’ debt was growing by the second.

“We could play cops and robbers, and I could pretend to read you your rights, but how ‘bout we just skip that part and jump straight to—” a rope strangled his blood flow through to his hands, “—what the hell are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

Still facing the dying werewolf, Mark barely noticed the hand that snatched his machete from where it laid but notice it, he did. Cutting the ropes was a no-go, then, though getting that knife was still an option, albeit incredibly dangerous and stupid.

“I’m just trying to get home,” he answered, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

“Hmm, and where’s home?”

He wracked his brain for what Dodger had said. It had been hazy before but, under the threat of a stranger with a weapon-advantage, he was coming up blank.

Poor move on his part.

His feet were kicked out from under him, he fell forward, headed straight for the still-breathing, still-deadly werewolf’s maw. Those glistening teeth got closer and closer, the thing’s paw twitched, one of its last breaths came out as an eager growl. Milliseconds passed and he was inches away from its reach.

Two hands held him like a machine gun, one restraining him at the back of his jacket and the other at his ropes. Eye to eye with the werewolf, he could see the desperation for him to get just that much closer, so it could bite some part of him in revenge.

“An answer,” the voice demanded behind him.

Mark spluttered, feeling the same effect in his heart, but he managed to choke out, “Tree- a tall tree, I don’t know!”

He waited for a reaction. Such a vague response was sure to set you off if only his silence had warranted a threat. It was just a matter of how he was going to be offed – let him drop and the werewolf take a bite out of his face, or use that knife, or even his own machete, to slice his throat.

But you did neither. He was back on his feet after a moment of silent deliberation, his ropes not gone but relaxed somewhat, and his heart rate gradually coming to a healthier pace.

“I know what you’re talking about.”

“You do?”

Mark didn’t know what he was talking about, so he was glad someone did, but that still begged the question of how.

“A lot of people use it as a checkpoint. You won’t wanna stay too long there, gangs tend to gather at dawn.”

A tug at his ropes and he was walking away from the werewolf. A limp gaze followed him as he moved, but the rise and fall of its chest stopped by the time he was a few feet away.

It was dead. And he was alive. Thanks to the person who was now, presumably, kidnapping him.

He didn’t know how to feel about this scenario. On one hand, he was completely defenseless, worse than defenseless, he was bound by his hands and forced to walk backwards into an unfamiliar wilderness by a stranger. On the other hand, he was not werewolf food, and he’d take being a prisoner over dying any day.

So, a plan; he had no clue whose prisoner he was, that was the first item on his list. First, figure out who was dragging him in such an awkward position – second, get out of the rope binding his wrists – third, get to that tall tree.

None of those sounded any easier than the rest.

You would admit that you didn’t exactly know what you were doing. Not out loud, of course, lest your prisoner get any doubts about how dangerous you could be, but you would admit it to yourself. Finding this guy had been a stroke of, well, something. Luck or misfortune, you didn’t know, but it was chance. You hadn’t seen a living person in months, and, if you needed evidence that your social skills had massively deteriorated, your attacking and then disarming of the first person you came across would be a good example.

What were you supposed to do in this situation? You knew where you were taking him, but could you talk to him, or did you have to stay a silent antagonist? You were a survivor. You knew how to start a fire, dress a wound, poach a boar. You didn’t know how to interact with people. It was making your heartbeat faster than being chased by a carnivorous plant.

“Hey,” you started, immediately regretting your choice to pipe up but forcing yourself to continue, “what happened with that werewolf?”

You couldn’t see the guy’s face, but you felt his hands stiffen. Weird sensation but it gave you an idea of what went down.

“It, uh, it jumped my friends and I, and I distracted it to buy them time. Chased me all the way to that trap, hell, through it. I had to go back to see why it stopped, but I’m damn glad it did.”

“Friends?”

The tension in his body rose to match that of the rope within seconds. “Yeah,” was the tepid response you received.

“Did they survive?”

He slowed, ever so slightly, before he caught back up again. He hadn’t thought about that.

“I hope so,” he admitted, then sighed, “I mean, one of them I couldn’t care less about, but I wouldn’t want to have run all this way just to have to dig a grave when I get back.”

You knew it to be tiring work, so you understood the sentiment, nodding slight enough that you weren’t sure he noticed. The conversation waned with your silence, the rustle of leaves filling the gap it left behind. There weren’t many birds left, if there were birds at all, and you missed the song that you used to try and learn when you were bored. You had gotten so close, too, but something was missing, something you never found.

At least you had cicadas. They made some noise, made sure you didn’t go crazy, and helped to warn you of danger when they stopped.

The wind rushing through the trees was louder in their absence.

“Shit,” you whispered. Normally, that would have been to yourself, but now you had another body with you. Another body that you needed to think about. Your eyes followed the path from your hand to his, along the rope that tied his arms behind his back. Your ears clocked the distant rumble along the trail you had been taking, like the warning of an active volcano.

“Shit.”

You couldn’t risk him running into the danger. It would draw attention to you, and you’d lose a rope – but you couldn’t just tell him not to move. You’d bound the guy; you didn’t present yourself as particularly trustworthy.

With a lack of options and the pebbles on the ground bouncing up and down, you pulled the machete from your belt loop and slit the rope in half before shoving him into the brush. You jumped in after him just as the gray fur of deer rounded the corner.

One thing about your new companion was that he knew when to shut up and stay still. All the better for you. You could focus on counting the pairs of hooves you saw go by your little patch of shrubbery to get over the pulsing of your heart and brain.

Four. Eight. Twelve, sixteen. Twenty.

They swept right past you. Five of them gone.

“What—” You slapped a hand over his mouth. You would have applauded your aim, especially under the shadow of shrubbery in the light of a barely rising sun, had you not been preoccupied with not dying, either from the heartache or the slower of the pack that was newly sprinting along the path.

Twenty-four, twenty-eight… thirty-two.

Cautiously, you retracted your hands and placed it on your knife’s handle. Eight deer was a normal count, but stragglers weren’t unheard of. So, you waited. And waited. Sticks and stones dug into your knees, the bend of your toes made the ends go numb. You waited a few more seconds.

It was when the cicadas picked up again, humming in the high pitch of an alarmed sensor, that you stood from your position.

“Think that’s all of them.”

Brushing your hands off on your legs, you turned to pull up the guy who’d almost got you both killed, only to find him already on his feet, rubbing at his wrists and staring at you.

There wasn’t a deer behind you, was there?

A quick glance over your shoulder revealed just the wilderness, the same as the ones you’d dove into. If he had any reservations about it, you were sure he’d have already been dead long before you forced him in.

“Do you want to keep going, or…?” you asked, almost huffing at his quietness. You’d already admitted you weren’t great at the whole socializing thing anymore, but you were above staring at somebody after they spoke to you.

You almost pulled at the rope to get him moving, but it appeared you’d used all of your perception on that stampede. Both his and your own hands were free. You glanced down just to make sure, and the confirmation made you swallow. The good news was that he didn’t have a weapon, but the bad news was that you’d killed plenty of things with your bare hands, and he didn’t look like such a pacifist himself.

Like a manual cart on the tracks, your chests moved in and out in unison, and, when your eyes caught, neither of you risked looking away. You offered the next move to him, and vice versa, which put you in a rough position.

You didn’t know this man. A stranger stood in front of you, heaving and painfully aware of the situation, whose hands were completely free from your rope.

You wished he were a wild animal, rabid and immoral and insentient. Looking into his eyes and seeing humanity made it harder for you to decide what to do. The skills you’d honed through years of trial and error were thrown fifty feet away when you were against something you couldn’t convince yourself didn’t feel. You wouldn’t be putting it out of its misery – him out of his misery. You’d be in the wrong for killing an innocent person as innocent as possible in an apocalypse.

The side that you had to take was obvious. You couldn’t bet on what way he would lean in this moral crisis, and the root of fear, for once, wrapped around your heart and squeezed.

The hum of the cicadas crescendoed.

He nodded, you nodded, and you pulled the both of you back onto the path, the dirt trodden down like a game of whack-a-mole.

Mark felt like he was going to throw up or pass out or both. What was he doing? What stupid spirit of empathy possessed him to follow along with the person who kidnapped him? And all because they said that they knew what he was talking about. A checkpoint. Sure. How was he supposed to know you weren’t just leading him on a wild goose chase while you thought up the best ways to cook him? Oh, but it would be his fault, because he didn’t take the shot when he should have.

His mind stilled, as if he’d thrown a bridge over the flow of his thoughts.

‘The shot’. He didn’t know if he meant running or the worse option – he didn’t know if he was capable of killing you point blank after you’d saved him from a stampede of infected deer. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, now walking by your side instead of towed behind. You looked competent. You’d made it this far, of course, you had to be. But it was weird. Something was off.

You lacked… the thing, that a lot of the other survivors had. Dodger, that hellhound guy, himself, they had all dropping something into the pit of Monster Gulch that they never got back. It was the norm, at this point, to have the hallowed look of veterans in the eye of a scavenger. Even after they had been carved out of the skull of some unfortunate soul, that gleam was seared onto the retina, like a vile brand.

It wasn’t that the signs weren’t there. You’d have to have been trapped in a tower for the last thirty years to be completely free of it. Instead, as Mark tilted his head to get a better look, he saw that it was a scar that had healed over. The flesh had hardened into a streak, but it wasn’t some weeping wound anymore. Whatever happened to you, you were free of it.

“Is there a reason why you’re staring at me?”

Mark snapped to attention, military in his stance for just a second as he realized he was caught, before he reverted to his original stance, minus the apparent gawking.

“No- no, I was just…” he struggled to spit out an excuse. He couldn’t say that he was trying to figure out what, or wasn’t, wrong with you; you might have just changed your mind about the whole killing him thing. In the end, he swallowed and asked the first thing that came to his mind. “Do you have a group?”

You raised an eyebrow, seeming well-aware that it wasn’t the main thing on his mind, but you answered anyway, “Nope.”

That surprised Mark in turn. “Really?”

Shrugging, you kept your eyes on the path forward. “I’ve been with people before but going out alone has been better in the long run.”

“What’s that thing people used to say,” he paused and then snapped his fingers, “’hell is other people’, right?”

Your light chuckle spread throughout the forest, bouncing off the leaves and dirt and wood, reflecting back onto your pair. Mark found that, despite the threat it posed, he didn’t mind. There was probably some psychology behind the way that it made the sides of his own lips quirk up, something about pack mentality, and not just that he preferred your laughter to the cold command you’d sported a mere hour before. In the back of his mind, he was only glad that he remembered a professor’s lecture on Jean-Paul Sartre.

When your chuckles died down, beckoning in the sounds of the forest once more, you hummed in amusement. “I don’t know,” you muttered, “it’s not that I hated working in a group. I think… I think it’s effective if you trust the people who you’re with, you’re not just with them out of necessity, because, if you are, then nothing’s stopping them from just turning on you for their own gain.”

He supposed that made sense. Mark had been with Dodger for a couple years now, and Enis, well, he wouldn’t admit aloud that he was growing on him. He didn’t really have a use, so it couldn’t have been out of necessity, at least. But your comment brought him more questions than answers, and also swapped out that cheery mood for a more somber tone. He didn’t want to add to it, no matter how much he wanted to delve into your backstory, so he kept his mouth shut and continued the steady march forward.

Or, he’d planned to, until you said, “You can ask, if you want to.”

And that was all the go-ahead he needed. Mark had spent so much time hyped up on adrenaline, the need to survive, that just having the ability to slow down let loose a flood of thoughts – all of them questions that he needed answers to.

“Who were you with before?”

“A larger group. Sixteen, seventeen people, maybe? I didn’t know a lot of them personally, but they preferred it that way. You know how businesses used to say they’re like a family when they really just want them to not press charges? It was like that.” As you spoke, Mark noticed your hand shifting to your belt and running over the hilt of your knife. “Except three of them were my actual family. My parents and a cousin, we all ended up in Monster Gulch together, trying to survive on our own, before we found that group. My father jumped at an opportunity to be a part of a community. Said it would take a weight off our shoulders—” a laugh strangled your story, “—so we threw our lot in with them. And it was good, for a couple months. Made a few acquaintances, learned some new skills. One of them taught me how to fish.”

Your speech was slowing down, breaks becoming more frequent and occupied by the sound of the forest. Mark could tell where this was heading, if not from your downcast expression taking hold, then because it was the way it always headed.

Casting a shallow look down the next path, you continued, “My cousin caught something. It wasn’t even anything serious, it was just the flu. But that was enough to put them out of commission, and that was enough to get them kicked out of the group altogether. They said they weren’t gonna help someone who didn’t contribute, so they could find their own food.”

Your grip on your knife tightened.

“My family went with my cousin, of course, we did. Food was scarce enough; they’d get nowhere coughing and wheezing around the animals. We couldn’t leave them. We would stay by their side until they got better, and we’d tough it out.”

But that didn’t happen. Mark knew that didn’t happen. Your grip was so tight he thought you might pull it out and stab the closest thing out of anger. He was surprised you hadn’t done so already, but even with that thought, he couldn’t and didn’t fight the urge to lay a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Squeezing, he hoped you’d get the message.

The slight grin you shot back at him was worth the risk, and more so when you kept speaking.

“A week went by, and they got worse. Pneumonia, I would bet. But they didn’t…” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “they didn’t die from that. They kept fighting because they were a fighter, and a spiteful bastard, and they refused to go down that easy. We were all so proud of them, that we took them out into the forest to forage, tried to find berries for a celebration.”

You took a deep breath.

“Hellhounds ripped them to shreds. All of them.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and minds of their own, they trailed down your cheeks. Mark didn’t think you were aware of it, but he didn’t think you were aware of everything. You stared blankly at the air before you, ignoring the path you walked or the trees you were heading for. He had never been in this position for – distant memories of sentimentality were long chased away by adrenaline flushing his system – so he decided to simply let you talk. You’d been doing a good job of it so far, and he was more than ready to be extra attentive to the surroundings. If it let you get all of it out, he would walk backwards again to cover your backs.

“Those traps you ran into—” You seemed to take a hard left in conversation, but Mark didn’t interrupt you, “—I only had a few, so I spread them around the burial site. I didn’t want anything getting in to dig them up. I was just coming back from checking on them when you ran by, followed by that mangy mutt.”

The little joke you ended on flopped, understandably. The only sound in the in-between was the forest ambience. Maybe it was the effect of the apocalypse, but it felt better that way than pleasantries for the sake of pleasantries. The final squeeze of Mark’s hand was something more comforting than ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, if your slight smile was anything to go by. For a moment, he took his arm back, but he didn’t waste any time in slinging it over your shoulder in a half-hug. A look of faint disappointment was washed away as quick as it came, and he was sure that he much preferred you trying to hide a grin, anyway.

It wasn’t long after that when the tree you’d been looking for came into view passed a section of river. Debris floated down in droves, more bits of wood and plastic than there was water, but that would just make it easier to cross.

“Looking forward to seeing your friends again?” you muttered, focusing on trying to find a better path than just walking straight and hoping.

A grunt and a dull, “if they’re even there,” was your response. You’d asked about his group before, and he’d used the same tone, but now you recognised the affection buried in it. He might’ve been refusing to acknowledge it, but it was there, and it made you laugh to yourself quietly.

“They’re not gonna be dead, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Nope, I’m thinking of something much simpler.” You sent a confused look towards him, one raised eyebrow and a small pout, to which he simply gestured to the river.

Dropping to one knee, you started to roll up the bottoms of your pants. “What, they can’t swim?”

With the scuffle of him following suit, you almost missed his amused scoff. “Worse,” he replied, yanking the fabric to his knee, “he’s afraid of water.”

You laughed. It was cruel, but you laughed, to the point that you almost choked on air and had to beat it out of your chest. “How did he get this far?”

“He stayed holed up in his mansion, that’s how. Scared out of his mind at the first stream we came by.”

“What is he, a vampire?” you joked as you switched to the other pant leg. You expected him to laugh along with you, tell you that he might as well have been, maybe tell you another fear of his.

You didn’t expect him to look at you, caught red-handed, eyes wide and an unstable smile on his lips.

You got up from the ground, slowly.

“He’s not bad, he just – and I can’t believe I’m defending him like this – doesn’t understand how it all works,” he rushed to explain, also standing as though to catch you in case you ran. “First time we met, he got us reading from this dumb book that was supposed to cure a friend of a—” He swallowed, “—wound, but- but it didn’t work, and we did it twice over, the second time backwards, and then we had to leave the place, and he brought a damn kazoo with him!”

Quite frankly, he sounded desperate. The haste to get his words out and the subject matter itself was a combination that made him come off frantic and worried. Like he was begging you to understand. Even in the light glow of a sunrise, you saw the flash of useless hope in his eyes.

But a vampire? A bloodsucker who could attack you at any point for the chance at a drink?

Then again, the man in front of you wasn’t untrustworthy. There was no getting around that you believed him when he said his friend wasn’t bad. And if he’d gotten this far without getting punctured like a balloon, there was no reason why it wouldn’t continue like that.

The only thing you didn’t like about this situation was the fact that you came to this conclusion quicker than you ever had before. You would trust him.

Disappointed in yourself, you sighed. “You care about him.”

His eyes blew even wider than before, before relaxing into some kind of sarcastic offense. “Pfft, yeah, I care about getting back what he owes me for saving his ass from the werewolf.”

You dropped back to one knee momentarily to make sure your pants were stable. Walking around with moist calves was one of your least favorite sensations. “Keep telling yourself that,” came your muttering.

“Maybe I will.”

That made you smile. A little spite was helpful, if not amusing. Boosted morale and showed that he had no reservations about you after your lapse. The thought made you smile even more.

“How’d you get past that river anyway?” The thing about bodies of water was that you couldn’t exactly go around them.

You heard a snort before a trailed off chuckle started getting closer. “Want me to show you?”

Breath hit your neck, cooler than the early morning air, as you were finally satisfied with your pants. You never had to go through rivers anymore, not since you’d built ramshackle bridges over the ones near your camp that were really just logs of wood you’d hacked to a plank. Adventuring like this was sort of exciting, you had to admit. And the company wasn’t half bad either. “You didn’t throw him, did y—”

You took it back. Immediately, you retracted your statement and every other positive thought you’d had about the monster, the heathen, the worst of the worst that you were travelling with. You should have just left him to be eaten by the deer or that werewolf, because then your legs wouldn’t have been swept out from under you, and you wouldn’t have been caught in the arms of a savage madman who was only put on the earth to annoy you.

One of his arms went underneath your knees and the other at your back, lifting you against his chest. You cursed him, your cursed yourself, and you cursed that this didn’t happen earlier, when your vicious blush could be disguised by the darkness. You scrambled to get a hold of something, which ended up being his shoulders, and it bolstered the redness like adding logs to a wildfire.

“I swear to whoever is watching, if you don’t put me down right now—!”

“You asked how he got over, I’m showing you!” His laugh had the heart in your chest thundering wildly against your ribcage, out of anger or something else.

“I would’ve been perfectly fine if you just told me,” you hissed.

“Yeah, but that’s not as fun as this.”

Your grip tightened around his shoulder blades, enough to cause bruising later on. “So, so fun.” Plots to get revenge swept through your mind, but they kept being pushed aside by the feeling of his hands around you.

“I’m glad you agree with me.”

You didn’t register that you were across the river until you noticed the sound of rushing water getting more and more distant. The heartbeat in your ears was gradually dying down, edging towards the pace of the footsteps beneath you. The footsteps that were definitely not yours.

With your mouth open to protest, you paused.

Was… was this really so bad? If he was willing to carry you, then was there really a point to turning it down? You’d need your energy to protect him later. You would be able to return the favor tenfold, in a better situation. Of course, it would be safer, in the long run, obviously. There was definitely a genuine reason to your hesitation to be put down, and it wasn’t just because you enjoyed having his arms around you, because you missed being cared for, because you actually hated being on your own all the time and these past hours with a man, who you basically kidnapped, were the best you’d had in months.

And looking up at him, eyes shining brighter than the backdrop of the orange and reds of the sunrise, the ones that had rivalled the stars you’d travelled by, wasn’t the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.

And you weren’t fighting the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“And that’s how I got him over the river.” You were only aware that you snapped out of it when you were back on the ground, dirt caving around your boots. Trying to bury the slight feeling of disappointment, you started walking forward, estimating in your mind how far away from the tree you were. Less than a mile, it wouldn’t take too long. You could be there in ten minutes if you hoofed it.

There was a pressure around your hand. When you’d been put upright, his hand trailed up from your back, across to your shoulder, and then down to your own. He didn’t let go.

“Smooth,” you mumbled to yourself, not trying to shake him off.

His chest puffed out in pride. “I know.”

No matter how much your cheeks burned before, you were sure the flame upon being caught was nothing compared to it.

And yet you continued like that, walking away from the river and towards the tree poking out of the canopy in the distance. You wondered what would happen when you got there; you’d probably deliver him to his friends, maybe get some food as a reward, and then go on your merry way.

Alone, again.

The pressure tightened around your hand. Even after a couple hours together, he seemed to be able to read your mind.

“If,” he started, immediately taking a breath, “you wanted to, when- when we actually get to my group, you could – if you wanted to, of course, there’s no pressure – maybe come with us, just for a bit.” He caught you watching him as he rushed through his offer. “For a trial run, y’know, a test to see if you’d want to join us, permanently- not permanently, you could leave anytime you want, I just think it’d be better. For you, obviously, I don’t care either way! Well, I do but, y’know.”

He was out of breath when he came to a hasty stop, eyes flitting across your face for any sign of a sliver of a reaction. You cocked your head and met his eyes. He held still at that, breathing deeply and waiting.

“Sure.”

“Good. I’m glad you agree.”

The crunch of twigs and dirt underneath your feet was the only sound for the entire rest of the journey. Hand in hand, you passed toppled trees and abandoned shacks, keeping your eyes and ears open for suggestions of danger. You were so, so close. You couldn’t risk letting your guard down yet. When you were safely in front of the tree, with the open fields around you, you could relax. For now, though, being awake and aware was top priority.

You supposed that was why you noticed the sound of fighting so easily. And not just fighting but yelling and clashing and… something else that sounded an awful lot like a kazoo. No matter what it was, it was coming from the checkpoint, and that spelt danger.

Danger that, with your hands clasped together, a slight nod to the other, you sprinted towards.

Adrenaline built up in your veins. All the walking and waiting was overthrown by the need to fight. When you broke through the tree line, it spiked. There was no time for talking, and yet, as you pulled out your knife and your partner drew his machete, you heard a statement that made you grin ear to ear.

“I’ve got your back.”

He was looking at you with what you could only guess was pride. In return, you nodded.

“I’ve got yours.”

And, with that, you threw yourself into the fray quicker than your mind could prompt you to.

You stabbed the first thing you saw in the head, puncturing through to the eye and popping it out on the end of the blade. Not monsters. Humans. You should have thought about what you were doing, but your own warning echoed in your mind. Gangs tended to gather at dawn. Judging by the sun hovering above the world’s edge through the leaves, you got there right at the wrong moment.

The second thing you caught sight of was dispatched with a slice to the throat. The third, fourth, fifth, all in a similar way that left them empty husks at your feet. Blood splattered across your chest and leaked down to your exposed calves. The vivid squelch as you stepped closer to your next target directed more attention to you, but you didn’t care. You took the brief moment between melee to look around the battlefield that had been created. In only a second, you clocked two more people fighting against the group at the base of the tree, some attackers aiming from the tree line, and, dammit, where was he?

Something flopped to the ground at your heels. Your glanced over your shoulder. There he was. Quick on his feet, hacking at the gang’s arms and chests like chopping down a tree. Dark liquid dripped from the edge of his machete and onto his hands, a manic grin cutting up his face. He looked insane as he drove his fist forward, impaling someone through the vest they wore and then kicking their legs out beneath them.

If it weren’t the apocalypse, you might not have found that incredibly attractive.

Practically absentmindedly, you spun your own knife into the heart of another attacker heading toward you. Twenty more to go.

And go they did. You played around with a couple, mashing their hands when you’d knocked them down. It was cruel, that was obvious to you, but it’d been so long since you’d fought actual people, and you swore you could see familiar faces until they were blocked by the dirt or blood. Probably an adrenaline-induced illusion, but you could dream. Not now, of course, you had to get closer to the tree and those two people, who you assumed were the friends you had been looking for.

A couple of times you were nicked by a blade or an arrow from the sidelines. The ones close enough received a stab to the throat for their efforts, while you stole from the dead to chuck towards the people at the tree line. You were so proud of your aim sometimes.

There was only once that someone got a genuine wound on you. Someone you had just missed the heart of pulled you down to the floor with them, held a knife to your throat and started the motion. Your heart was beating louder and louder in your chest as the single second they took played like slow-motion. Whether the blade would take you first or an early heart attack was your question – but it was swiftly answered. Neither. A machete halved their skull before you had the chance to try and fight back.

As they flopped, dead, onto you, one of your hands came up to shove them off, while the other gripped onto the one extended to you. You were level with the beautiful brown eyes that had saved your life, and you wished desperately that you weren’t fighting because there were so many things you wanted to do in that moment. It only spurred you on to get rid of the stragglers.

The battle itself only lasted ten minutes, but it felt an eternity longer. Nobody was undamaged – you sported a few gashes, your partner, who you joined the second the last gang member hit the ground, was bleeding into his shirt by his shoulder – but that was really the best you could hope for. But you still felt high from the energy flowing through you. You were more adrenaline than thought in the open space in front of that tree.

And when you made eye contact with him again, the remaining consciousness went out of the window. Despite where you were, surrounded by corpses, bones shattered beneath your feet, vultures swirling overhead already, you had an impulse that, a couple hours ago, would have sounded insane. You would have considered the thought itself downright stupid, let alone acting on it. But there was a small voice in the forefront of your mind that, against logic that seemed to dwindle every second that you looked at him, encouraged it.

Oh, fuck it, you could die at any moment.

You twisted your fist into his shirt and pulled. He barely had the chance to stumble forward before your lips collided, all of the adrenaline you’d been fueled by for the past ten minutes creating a spark that travelled along the surface of your skin. It felt like electricity as you tugged him even closer. The primal instincts of a fight batted away any awkwardness of worry you might have otherwise held; right now, you were entirely focused on tasting every inch of him that you could reach. Not that any fears wouldn’t have been banished when you coaxed a low groan out of him, one you swallowed with a smirk. With one of your hands trapped between you, the other was left to grip his hip. You couldn’t account for where his hands went, but you weren’t protesting when they found purchase along your waist and neck, and you certainly had not complaints when he followed through with a dip. Dramatic, maybe, but neither of you cared. It let you get a better angle, after all, and being held again was amazing.

You barely parted long enough to exchange panted breaths.

“I haven’t done that,” you whispered, “in a long time.”

“You’re good at it.”

“Could say the same about you.”

His eyes flickered back down to your lips. “Hmm, think I need some more practice. It makes perfect after all.”

Had you the time, you would have gone in without a second thought, or a first, but a voice broke the, well, certain kind of tension between the two of you.

“So, are you gonna introduce us or…?”

You both turned your heads to see two people, the ones you’d been fighting to get closer to. You were propped back upright as they came closer, one of them politely stepping over the mulch while the other let the bones crunch under their boots. You assumed that those were his friends, his group.

But he didn’t answer.

Instead, an expression of concentration overwhelmed the remaining blush on his face. He looked to be struggling for something, something that took a few seconds for you to realise.

And then he looked at you, the person who he’d travelled over hill and over dale, who he’d risked his life for, who he’d kissed with reckless abandon just seconds ago, who he did not know the name of. And you looked back at him, similar thoughts running through your mind to the man who you did not know the name of, either.

“I think introductions are in order.”

[This doesn't actually have anything to do with the apocalypse AU, I just got really excited that I could make Monster Gulch fics, and ended up going insane for a week to make both this and a whole apocalypse AU. Thanks for reading!]

#theknightmarket #fanfiction #markiplier egos #writing #markiplier egos x reader #one shots #markiplier #x reader #monster gulch #apocalypse #apocalypticfiction #survivor!mark x reader #I'm going insane

13 notes · View notes

littlemisspp · 6 months

Text

A Twist of Fate: Part 1

Summary: Ten years after Anne Sallow turns in her brother for the murder of their uncle, Sebastian miraculously escapes Azkaban. Stunned by the news, Y/N reflects on her time with Sebastian. Only her life has changed a lot since she was fifteen. Now free, Sebastian goes to the one person he'd dreamt about the most: you.

A/N: An angsty set up for a four part story I'm creating.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It was quiet. So quiet, in fact, you could hear the dripping of water droplets fall from the leaky sink. Leander had mentioned numerous times in passing that he’d fix it. Yet, the spout still allowed the smallest of droplets to fall haphazardly into the sink. On a normal day, this would drive you crazy and perhaps even be brought up when Leander returned home from work. But not today. Today was... different.

You sat at the two person dining table in your kitchen. The one that was positioned by the window so you could gaze out over the garden while you enjoyed your afternoon tea. Yet your beverage was growing cold as you sat numbly. Today’s copy of the Daily Prophet laid bare on the tabletop. The front page headline was blinding, as if the words were barking at you, growling for your attention. It must certainly had your full attention.

WANTED: Troubled wizard Sebastian Sallow escaped from Azkaban and wanted for crimes against the wizarding world. If seen, proceed with caution. Sallow is notorious for using deadly curses. Contact your local authorities immediately with any clues on Sallow’s whereabouts.

You reread the headline at least thirty times. The photo below made your heart skip and your stomach float to your throat. The photo was old- as you recognized the youthful look in his eye. He looked startled and scared, just like he did the day he was pulled out of your life ten years prior. You concluded the photo must have been taken the day he went to Azkaban, which made your anxiety climb even more.

Sebastian Sallow was a memory. A brilliant, fleeting moment in your youth. Back in your days at Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow imprinted himself in your heart in a way no one else has. You viewed your time at Hogwarts as the beginning of your life. It was when you finally grew into yourself and discovered who you were. It was no doubt those years were your prime, and you longed for them.

What you mourned the most from your time there was Sebastian. Although you only studied together for one year, you look back on those months fondly. You were his accomplice. You’d let him drag you on any and every adventure he could muster up. And you loved it. It wasn’t long until you were battling goblins, saving beasts, and oh-so-sweetly falling in love with Sebastain Sallow.

He occupied every moment of the day and every dream at night. His demeanor was inviting yet confusing, but you couldn’t help jumping in headfirst.

It was beautiful. Two complex people finally found their missing piece. Your future together was bright- until it wasn’t.

The day you wish you could forget was when it all turned sour. You stood steps away as Sebstain held his wand before him and cast an unforgivable curse on his own uncle, his flesh and blood. You knew Sebatsin had a dark side that clawed at him. You knew he was complicated. But he was brilliant. He was dashing. Charming. How could someone so wonderful be bad?

So, in the name of saving his sister, he killed his uncle. At first he was in shock. The eyes you grew to adore stared hopelessly at his own wand- an extension of himself. He was flabbergasted. Did he just do that? Before you could part your lips to call to him, he was carelessly thrown backwards by his sister. You watched as she vowed to turn him in. You watched her call him a monster. You watched with tears in his eyes as he called out to her, but she, and his uncle's corpse, were already gone.

Sebatsian was taken to Azkaban that very night. The last time you laid eyes on him you were screaming, roughly pulled aside by the Headmaster as Aurors held Sebstain powerless. You cried for him, begged for him, but to no avail. Sebastian was gone.

It took years for you to swallow the pain. You reluctantly went on and finished Hogwarts with your friend, Ominis. You moved to London and settled down with a man Sebstain hated, Leander Prewett. You look down at your ring finger, the diamond encrusted band mocked you. Leander was safe. He was comfortable. But he was no Sebatsian. Even ten years later, aged twenty five, you miss him.

The sound of the front door opening makes you jump, your eyes blinking in surprise as you hurriedly crumple the paper between your fingers and toss it into the rubbish bin. Heavy footsteps make you turn, your red-headed fiancé entering.

“Have a nice day?” He greeted, setting his leather briefcase on the tabletop. You nod, words hard to form as he leans down and kisses your cheek.

Leander worked for the Ministry. You knew that he knew about Sebastian. You watched him curiously as he strolled over to the counter to pour himself a cup of tea. This reminded you that your own was now ice cold.

“How was your day?” You asked, somehow finding your voice.

Leander thought for a moment, as if deciding the best way to answer. “Busy” he replied, “Lots going on”

You only hummed in response, wordlessly turning to gaze out of the window. You felt the table shake slightly as Leander sat in the spare seat across from you. You turned, his eyes already on you. You wondered for a moment if he’d bring up Sebtasian. They always hated each other back at Hogwarts.

“Vera and Ominis’ dinner party is tonight” he started, stirring his cup.

“It is” you agreed.

“Do you still want to go?” Leander asked, his eyebrow raised. You were sure he could sense your melancholy mood.

“I’m not feeling well” you lied, “I’ve had a headache all day, so I think I will pass. You should still go, everyone will want to see you”

Leander nodded, his lips pursed as he thought.

“They will miss you” he offered, sipping his drink coyly.

“I know” you dismissed, “I will be there next time”

“I will give them your regards” Leander concluded.

He was stiff. His demeanor was detached, like yours. Of course, Leander knew about Sebastian’s escape from prison. He cursed aloud when he saw the cover of the newspaper. He was keen on keeping the news from you, but the cat was out of the bag, and he was there to witness your discomfort. The thought of Sebstain having any effect on you drove him mad. He hated Sebastain and now, despite neither of you seeing him in ten years, Sebastian’s effect was still trickling down on you and him. It made his head spin.

You watched Leander finish his drink with a few gulps before rising again. Wordlessly he placed the cup in the sink, the droplets of water still falling from the broken facet.

“I’ll fix this tomorrow” he mumbled before disappearing into the hallway.

Later you were wiping down the dining table before bed. Leander had left hours before, his suit jacket pristine as he held a nice bottle of wine and kissed you goodnight. He told you he’d wish you could come with him. You only smiled in reply.

The truth was, your mind had not settled after reading the Daily Prophet. It was like you were fifteen again. The dormant thoughts you carried with you about Sebastian had revived themselves and were flashing in front of you at every moment.

Where was he? Has he changed a lot? Is he healthy? Has he gone insane?

You had a million and one questions swirling in your mind. The rag you once held was long forgotten as you mindlessly chewed on your fingernail and wondered. It wasn’t until an unsettling crashing sound shook you from your thoughts.

Without thinking, you beelined for the back door in your kitchen, following the sound you heard. Grabbing your wand from your pocket, you held it in front of you and opened the door.

“Lumos” You muttered, watching a gleam of light erupt from the tip of your wand. You moved further into your back garden, the light revealing your flowers and bushes in the night air. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but your body sensed something else. You felt the hair on your neck stand straight up, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Turning around you move your wand to reveal a figure standing in the middle of your garden. His feet were bare and his clothes were dirty and torn. The black and white strips were unmistakably synonymous with the infamous prison. It wasn’t until your eyes rose to his face that you let out an audible gasp.

Standing before you, for the first time in a decade, was Sebastian Sallow.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfiction #harry potter fandom #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow x yn #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy hc #sebastian sallow hc #sebastian sallow angst

38 notes · View notes

blooming-violets · 2 months

Note

Sorry this is gonna be a bit of a rant since it’s something I’ve had strong feelings about since joining the AG/TASM fanfic part of the internet, and you’ve provided me a great opportunity to talk about it.

As a trans person, I am BEGGING fanfic writers to stop writing Marauders stuff. I’ve seen so many people defend it with “separate art from the artist” but like it or not they are still supporting JKR. Separating art from the artist only really works when the artist can’t profit from it. She has done SO MUCH harm to trans people and particularly trans youth in the UK and it’s so fucking disheartening and gives me such an ick when I see TASM writers also write for Marauders because it truly comes across as “I love and support the trans community except when it comes to this because I like it.”.

Even if you ignore the transphobia and holocaust denial (YES IM SERIOUS, she’s denied parts of the holocaust at LEAST twice and she literally did it a second time the other day), the original writing is so fucking problematic. Things just off the top of my head being;

The goblins being stereotypes of Jewish people

The fucking racism with characters like Cho Chang and Kingsley Shacklebolt

The last Fantastic Beasts movie’s plot literally being trying to make WW2 and the holocaust happen

This point needs to be taken with a grain of salt since this was some bullshit Joanne said after the books came out, but werewolves in the universe being meant to represent people with aids. Which is so fucking awful considering one of the two werewolves was attacked by the other as a CHILD

The most ironic part of this is that if Andrew is truly the person he presents himself as, he would probably fucking despise being associated with HP, even if it is just a fancast. But yeah all this to say fuck JKR, fuck Marauders fans but also thank you so much Katie for that last anon answer because I genuinely don’t see that enough in this corner of the internet.

Even Daniel Radcliffe, Harry Potter himself, has spoken out against her and continues to loudly support the LGBTQ+ communities. When your own beloved Harry doesn't even want to stand by your side, you should know you fucked up. Sadly, she does not, and instead leans harder into her bigotry and hatred.

I've always been someone who is very loud and opinionated when I see things that I disagree with, which I know can rub some people the wrong way, but fuck it. I don't like to whisper about my issues on the sidelines, I like to confront the problem head on by being very clear about where I stand and how I feel. I'm not gonna sit around and let someone align me with JKR just because I'm writing a stupid werewolf and Peter Parker fic that exactly 5 people are reading lol. It's not even a popular fic like get out of my asks jfc. Esp when I can tell this person has not read a single sentence of my story and is completely basing their judgements on my header image of AG's face next to a wolf gif.

In this past week I have seen both a Steven Harrington werewolf au and a Daredevil werewolf au cross my dash. Do we think they're getting called out for supporting HP?? No. Because their actors weren't "fan casted" as something years ago. Fan casts don't even mean anything! There was never a movie about them. AG was never casted or played this role. It's literally nothing but a bunch of fans agreeing that they like his look for a fictional character.

Anyway, I'm also ranting back at you haha. You can rant to me anytime. I love a good rant and I agree with you 100%.

Werewolves were not created by JKR. Andrew Garfield has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Don't make make snap judgments about a person's character based on a picture you saw. Support your trans community. Don't be dick.

And, if they actually read my werewolf au, they would see that it's literally about learning to overcome your own hatred and biases of people different from you and learning to love those you were taught to hate. Crazy concept, I know! 🙄😉

#asks

10 notes · View notes

theadventuresofgarlandodra · 9 months

Text

The Adventures of Garl and Odra Manyboots- A Rough Introduction

It seemed the Eswa Adventurer’s Guild was the place to be tonight. The music was playing, the beer was flowing… And at the bar, Sterling Van Broom, a broomstick of a man with a curled handlebar mustache and a haughty expression was discussing some more sinister work with the guild master.

“So, do you have anyone for the job?”

The guild master sighed, rubbing his right temple and cursing the god that brought this man into his guild. He glanced over the adventurers in the room, the happy go lucky halflings singing about their latest heroics, the cheery gnomes playing cards, the delighted elves and humans mingling together after the successful defeat of a red dragon… and then his gaze stopped at the table in the far corner, tucked away just out of sight from anyone casually entering the guild.

“For something like that, you’re gonna want Manyboots and her friend,” the guild master said, pointing towards that table.

Sterling looked at the table, where a person was having an animated conversation with a statue. He couldn’t get a better look, all he could tell was that whoever they were, they were quite… small. “The little one over there? Did you not hear me? I need-”

“I heard you plenty fine,” the guild master snorted, “and I told you who you’d need. No one else here will take something like that, so she’s the best you can do. So either talk with her or get the fuck out of my guild.”

Sterling huffed before he headed for that corner. This close he could hear the grating, shrill voice of this ‘Manyboots’, chattering away to apparently no one save the terrifying statue she was sitting next to, so clearly she was crazy.

“Excuse me, I’m here to-”

“HOLY FUCK, DO YOU MIND!?”

The chair spun around and Sterling was more than a little taken aback by the sight of a hideous goblin sitting there. She had a hood over her enormous head, disproportionate to the size of her body. Even compared to goblin kind in general, she was small, probably would be barely two feet tall while standing. Her massive red eyes glared at Sterling as she shook a dirty finger in his direction. “I’m in the middle of a conversation! You can’t just waltz up here and interrupt!” she said.

“I- um-” Sterling managed to recover from the shock and he straightened himself up. “I’m here to hire you for a job, but if you keep talking back to me like that-”

The goblin cackled before taking a long swig of her beer. Wiping the foam off her mouth, she leaned in, grinning from ear to impressively large ear. “Okay, you’re forgiven. Whatcha need? Robbery? Arson? Murder that looks like suicide, or just flat out murder?”

“W-well,” Sterling cleared his throat, “my father is the great Governor van Broom, but he will not recognize me as one of his heirs as my mother was one of his maids. She died of a broken heart, and I have nothing but a pitiful clock shop to my name. I have been robbed of my birthright, and I seek revenge upon the man that abandoned my mother and…” he trailed off as he realized Manyboots had tuned him out and was back to slurping from a mug that was over half the size of her torso. “Do you mind?!”

“Huh?” Manyboots looked up. “I’m sorry, I was waiting for you to get done with the boring backstory shit.”

Right. Now he was pissed. Sterling raised his hand to slap the smirk off this stupid little beast.

“Listen here, you little-”

In a blur of gray stone Sterling’s wrist was grabbed by… the statue.

That was not a statue.

It looked like a statue, but on second look Sterling could see it blink its glowing green eyes, how it glowered at Sterling as its claws dug into his arm.

Manyboots shrieked with laughter. “Your faaaace! Man, your faaaaaaace!” she said, wiping a tear away from her eye. “Oh man, that never gets old. Garl, let him go.”

Garl cocked his head to the side and Sterling felt cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Even if Garl wasn’t actually a statue, he had a clutch like one.

“Try hitting her again, and you’ll lose more than your birthright, bitch.”

The statue released Sterling and he jumped back, clutching his bruising arm to his chest and trying to say anything, only for meaningless stammering to babble from his lips.

“Right, let’s start from the beginning.” Odra slammed her mug down on the table and stood up on the chair. “I’m Odra Manyboots, and this is Garl the Gargoyle.” She leaned in uncomfortably close, Sterling trying not to gag on the smell of rotten meat on her breath. “Listen, we don’t care why you want us to do this. All we need to know is what needs to get done, when we need to get it done, and how much you’re going to pay us. Got it?”

Sterling cleared his throat. “I get it.” He sat down next to Odra and Garl, keeping an eye on the menacing gargoyle. “There’s a caravan coming into town next week from the west, bearing my father’s insignia. There will be guards, do what you have to in order to deal with them. I don’t care what you do with most of the belongings- burn them, keep them, sell them, but I only ask that you retrieve a necklace and give it to me. It’s silver with a large sapphire at the throat. I’ll pay you one hundred gold now, and another two hundred when the job’s completed.”

Odra twisted her face before turning to Garl. “Sound like a plan?” she asked.

Garl only grunted.

Odra turned back around and gave a thumbs up. “Got it. Now scram, Like I told you earlier, we were in the middle of a conversation, and you were fucking rude to interrupt.” She shooed Sterling away before turning back to her friend, who was back to looking like a nearly normal statue. “Where was I? Oh yeah, you were inside passed out and getting your face doodled on by a bunch of bards. Which you really shouldn’t have gotten so drunk, I’m eighty percent sure a few of them wanted to jump on your stone c-”

Right, time to go. Sterling threw the initial payment on the table and practically bolted out of the door. Odra waited until he was gone before she leaned in close to Garl.

“Sooooo… how much you want to bet that the necklace he’s talking about is worth way, way more than two hundred gold?”

Garl smirked. “Safe bet, since it’s for the governor,” he agreed.

“Goodie. I’ll work on the story about not being able to find it, you’ll back me up with your scary face.”

“And what is my scary face?”

“Your scary face is your face all the time.”

Garl rolled his eyes before grabbing on Odra’s ear and roughly pulling on it.

“OW! Ow, lemme go, I’m sorry! Ouch! You’re gonna make me spill my beer, lemme gooooo!”

Next Chapter

Author's Note: Hello! If you're reading this story and you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging it to share with others. Tips are also appreciated!

#writeblr #fantasy comedy #writers of tumblr #writers #writing community #dnd homebrew #goblins #short stories #the adventures of garl and odra manyboots #fantasy stories #short fantasy stories

52 notes · View notes

iamstartraveller776 · 1 year

Text

A/N: @averbaldumpingground challenged me to write all 20 prompts from this fake dating list. Fandoms and ships are left to my discretion. I’m doing 500-word ficlets for each.

1. “You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.” — Labyrinth, Jareth/(Adult) Sarah (ao3)

UNFORESEEN CONSEQUENCES

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Sarah hissed under her breath. Well, what little breath she could get while in this abominable corset. She would have loved this fairytale dress—all silvery tulle and silk organza with golden embroidery—as a naïve teen, but after tripping on the layered skirts for the fifth time, she was ready to chuck it into the Bog of Eternal Stench.

“I assure you this isn’t my doing, precious,” Jareth returned through his fake, toothy grin. “There are certain unforeseen consequences for—”

“—for winning the labyrinth,” she finished with a scowl.

He’d appeared at the foot of her bed in the middle of the night, nearly giving her a heart attack. She flung the water bottle she kept on the nightstand at his head, screaming that he had no power over her.

He caught it with a flat expression. “Oh, I’m quite aware,” he’d said. “But I’m afraid neither of us have a choice in the matter.”

“What matter?” she demanded.

With a grimace, he laid out the sordid tale. The goblins had discovered romance novels during one of their recent trips Above. Thanks to dark fantasy and the inability to parse reality from fiction, they’d decided that The Girl Who Ate the Peach and Forgot Everything was Jareth’s soulmate, destined to be Queen of the Underground. They’d whipped themselves up into a frenzy, ready to scour the earth to find her. Something, Jareth assured her, that she would not want to happen.

His plan? A fake relationship to appease the beasts until they moved onto some new shiny interest. She countered with the idea that as king, he could command them to give up this insane idea of making the two of them fall madly in love. Jareth nearly doubled over with laughter as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Apparently, there was no deterring goblins when they got a notion in their collective brain cell.

Somehow, she found herself agreeing to completely upend her life for this crazy scheme before she could think better of it.

But now, laced into an archaic gown, hand in hand with her adolescent tormentor as they walked through the great hall, Sarah was having second and third thoughts. Dozens of red goblin eyes followed each step they took toward the dais. There were two thrones there. One she remembered from her run over a decade ago. The other was even more make-shift, constructed with an old wicker chair and pieces of a bicycle frame, all wrapped with a fake ivy garland. The ugly thing looked horribly uncomfortable.

“I really don’t like you,” she whispered.

Jareth hummed in agreement. “I assure you the feeling is quite mutual,” he murmured. “But for all of our sakes, you need to be the very vision of besotted. Now smile, precious. They can sense your contempt.”

She stretched her mouth in a feral grin. She was absolutely going to make him pay for this.

~FIN~

#labyrinth #jareth #sarah williams #jareth x sarah #sareth #labyfic #my fic

53 notes · View notes

oliveroctavius · 9 months

Text

been itching to get back into the 1610 comics, of all things. but first a rundown of what I remember my feelings on them being (having read only up to Peter's first death)

didn't enjoy:

extreme sliding timescale pacing. those first 133 issues of USM don't portray time moving whatsoever. like it's still the same school year and the seasons haven't even changed. in ASM that number of issues spanned at least 4 in-universe years!

pacing again: it's like they're racing to get every notable thing that ever happened to ASM Peter in under the wire.

great job on writing authentic 00s teenagers but boy can they be annoying especially when they aren't aging out of it

SHIELD swooping in at the end of every other arc to send Peter home and clean things up (and/or make things worse). More interesting to me when a Spider-Man has to deal with the consequences of their own actions completely unobserved

Why switch so many plot beats/traits between Gwen and MJ? I don't get it. At some points it feels like they switched names and it doesn't make either character that much more compelling

These Goblin designs are so generic-monster I'd concluded I didn't like a transforming goblin until I saw the Spiderverse re-tool

Venom is much less interesting as a nonsentient synthetic Parker invention instead of a freaky drift compatible alien beast

in general, the efforts to weave the story together more tightly by making everything interrelated is maybe well done, but to me feels artificial and world-shrinking.

gut eyeroll at 2000s edgelord bullshit

why is doc ock magneto powers and also the jackal

really enjoyed:

by the 90s/00s, mainline marvel was also full of edgelord bullshit; things are handled in an intense but usually super interesting because-of-the-intensity way here.

Aunt May characterization. letting her be the POV character in some situations and express complex feelings on raising this crazy kid was just great. Uncle Ben being a fully realized guy was great too. In general the adults are well-realized from the start

the teenagers were written pretty authentically (see above). They hate each other except when they don't and it's great.

I like Kenny Kong! he's an interesting new player

Once they ran out of things to copy from ASM I started liking the original developments more in general

Nonpassage of time aside, events have consequences. Sticking with the same writer + couple of artists for an extended period of time solves like 80% of my modern mainline marvel quibbles. Subtext doesn't get obliterated by writers without the time or will to actually think about past comics!

I know this is a stupid sucker thing to like but the Raimi movies being a thing within USM and Peter hating them is great.

Despite my earlier SHIELD complaint, I think resonates strongly for a modern high school age Peter to feel surveilled and railroaded. He's out of his depth all the time and blisteringly angry about it. Even if I prefer an adult Spidey that IS the teenage experience.

I grew to enjoy SHIELD when it was actively imploding. The shadow government cleaning up after our hero and sending him to bed is boring. A badly managed government agency stooping to ask a 15 year old to help them chase a flaming naked goblin man through Trump tower with full understanding of how stupid and irresponsible that is? Now we're talking.

I LOVED the Norman Osborn characterization in his first "death" arc. perhaps my favorite Norman of all time. just ideal combo of steely control freak and off-the-wall deluded guy

#usm #oliverliveblogs #kind of. these are old thoughts

20 notes · View notes

this-has-returned · 1 year

Text

Dwarf Fortress x Deep Rock Galactic - Part 5

“I want to fight!” Urist protested.

Ulla scratched the back of her neck. “I dunno, lad... You’ve only watched the corporate training videos. It’s a helluva lot more intense once you’re in the tunnels, you know...”

“I’ve seen combat before,” Urist explained. “I’ve spilled blood! I’ve fought goblin hordes! I’ve even helped to take down a great beast ten times my own size, and there were only six other dwarves there with me! We only suffered three casualties!”

“Can you fire a gun?” Thorn asked as they approached. “Machine-carved jadiz, launched to lethal speeds with a nitra-magnite powder mix, ignited with a flint primer. Do you know how to aim and fire such a thing out of a gun, with the ability to kill?”

“The only part I understood was ‘flint’...” Urist admitted.

“For the love of...” muttered Thorn.

“I don’t understand the problem!” Urist spat. “Just give me a fine spear, and I’ll send those glyphids running back to their nests in no time!”

“A spear??” exclaimed Thorn, wide-eyed. “You expect us to hand your sorry arse over to the glyphid hordes with a bloody spear?!”

“Why not?” asked Donner, emerging from medical, freshly-showered and stark-naked. He walked over to one of the wardrobe dispensers to fetch a new outfit.

“’Why not’??” Ulla replied. “Donner, the lad wants to handle *modern* problems with *stone-age* solutions!!”

“Hold on,” the driller said, holding up a hand. “Technically, the spears that Urist has trained with would be been made of steel, at least; he’s mentioned steel before, so his people must have been at that level of technology, or higher.”

Urist nodded, confirming Donner’s assumptions. Ulla rolled her eyes.

“Right,” Thorn said, exasperated. “So what’s the latest thing you know, newbie? Spear? Bow and arrow? Crossbow? Musket? Revolver? Do you know what a clip or magazine is??”

“Well,” stammered Urist, “we had arch—”

“Also,” Donner interrupted, still naked, “he has the muscle memory and combat training of a speardwarf. He claims to have slain great beasts, with help. I say let him have a few rounds of glyphids, with a spear in hand. See what happens. Have someone with a gun nearby, just in case. Rock and Stone, and all that.”

Urist had hope in his eyes, and looked to Thorn and Ulla, like a child asking for approval.

Ulla wanted no part of this, and made a gesture to brush away the conversation as she walked back to the Abyss Bar.

Thorn mulled it over for a few seconds, though. “Feck it all. Sure. Let’s give the crazy bastard a spear, and I’ll join him on his first drop.”

“Wait, truly??” Urist said, filing with excitement. “This isn’t you pissing about, right??”

“Yes, I’m quite serious,” Thorn confirmed. “I’ll buy you ten rounds at the bar, if you manage to do a full drop without my guns. Hell, I’ll buy you five, if you kill any glyphid larger than a swarmer all by yourself, so long as you make it back to the space rig with minimal injury, regardless of how many shots I fire. It’s a deal.”

They and the newcomer shook hands on it. Urist was beside himself with eagerness, while Thorn was deadpan as usual.

“This is a reckless and irresponsible decision, gunner,” said Klaus’s voice over the intercom. “I’m not unlocking that drop pod, just so you can feed some hopeless traveler to the bugs. It would be an egregious waste of resources, for one thing.”

“Yeah,” Ulla added angrily, shouting from the bar. “Also, it would be bad, Thorn. You would feel bad. Sending new people on suicide missions is bad, you understand??”

Thorn crossed their arms. “Obviously we go with a hazard 1 drop. Donner said the Salt Pits should be clear, right? Besides, good ol’ Klaus had no fucking problems whatsoever sending me into a wave of bugs on my first training drop. Alone. You remember that, Klaus?”

The space rig was silent for a moment before Klaus responded: “Well, you lived, didn’t you? I told you that I had faith in your ability.”

“Sure,” said Thorn, “after you said your goodbyes, and killed the comm link. You only backpedaled after seismic calmed down, because everything else was dead, except me.”

Silence, again. Reiner emerged from his capsule room, and jogged over to his locker to retrieve something.

“Ugh, fine,” said Klaus. “There’s a spot in the Salt Pits that practically rates a zero on the hazard scale. If you go now, it should stay that way when you land. Next spike in bug activity is predicted to occur in 45 minutes. It’s a simple morkite run, in what could be the most boring cave system in all of Hoxxes.”

The scout eagerly came up to Urist with a metal spear in hand. “Take this, before you go! This baby is modified from a standard-issue pickaxe, but the spearhead is an authentic one that my great-great-great-grandmother used, way back in an old mountainhome! Real, original, dwarven steel!”

Urist couldn’t believe it. The entire spear was made of metal, and finely-crafted.

“It’s a family hierloom,” Reiner continued, “but it would mean a lot to me if someone like you would slay a glyphid with it. I think my ancestors would have loved to see it in action again, especially in traditionally-trained hands. I’m too used to guns and pickaxes, so it’s been collecting dust this whole time.”

“It’s perfect!” Urist said with awe, gently accepting the spear. He started with some careful movements, testing inertia, before moving up to full-force swings, causing the scout and gunner to take a few steps back. “It’s absolutely wonderful; you have my deepest thanks, Reiner! Truly! Rock and Stone!”

Check out the infopage!

#dwarf fortress #deep rock galactic #strike the earth #rock and stone

44 notes · View notes

theconstitutionisgayculture · 11 months

Note

As a 23 year old African American, the whole orcs are black people confused. My dad was already in lotr so I inherited a lot of stuff he likes. So growing up I always saw orcs as jokes about British or Austrians hooligans.

Ooooh right! My father didn’t implanted a victim complex into my mind. Jesus, I would rather be a orc than the pussisfed black male characters in modern pop culture that is usually there to prompt up the girl boss mcs.

There are different types of black men, but I can’t shake the feeling that lot of white progressives in their 20’s-40’s are trying hide the facts they didn’t know any non whites on equal terms until adulthood.

Maybe I sound crazy, but Jesus I’m a nerd, but I got a fucking backbone.

Nah you're probably onto something. Though personally I think it has more to do with certain people seeing "anti-racism" as their path to having power over other people. They wholly embrace the voracious beast that is cancel culture and, like any beast that feeds on others, they need a constant supply of victims. Of course, it helps when they're all racist themselves, and used to viewing other people as groups instead of individuals. It makes it very easy to see a big nosed goblin and go "Jew!" or a thuggish, brutish orc and go "Black person!".

14 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

itsfellybitch-blog

this place is heaven

olafoel

Mefistofele

nixreginam-blog

moved to wiinterempress

outrageously-ordinary

Scarameowche

nixreginam-blog

moved to wiinterempress