#and in an apocalypse scenario you’re way more likely to run into people like that than perfect angels who always do the right thing

[angeltannis]

Kenny .02 seconds after Larry collapses: Lilly you’re being irrational, we gotta smash this guy’s head in!!

Kenny when Duck is bitten and coughing up blood and turning grey: Fuck you it’s a scratch, he’s fine!!

[theresattrpgforthat]

Have you ever come across a game with a deckbuilding element? I've seen deckbuilding games with some roleplaying adjacent additions (Like the arkham horror card game), but not the other way around.

THEME: Deck-building Games

Hello friend, so I think I have a few that are in the same kind of field as deck-builders, although your mileage may vary. I certainly hope there are also folks who see this and know of some more games to add to this little list!

This Ship Is No Mother, by Thomas || New Madras.

This Ship Is No Mother is a game about people in space, working jobs that are probably going to get them killed. Inspired by movies like Alien and games like Mothership and Dread, this is for fans of tension, creepy-crawlies, and general horror. Mechanically, it's a card-based Forged in the Dark game, first in the series of games currently called the Cardsharp Sonata.

In this game, players start with a full deck of cards and as you play, that deck will run down. When the deck ends, there is a climactic moment of panic as one of the characters is going to do something stupid and get themselves (and maybe everyone else) killed.

I’d say that This Ship Is No Mother is kind of adjacent to a deck-building game. You use a regular deck of playing cards to resolve actions, but the resolution system takes inspiration from Blades in the Dark. Your cards don’t stay in your own personal deck; but you can choose to hold onto certain cards in your hand so that you can play them in dramatically appropriate moments, or spend them to make sure your character succeeds when they need to. The game was originally designed to run Mothership scenarios in a more story-game friendly way, so if you like Forged in the Dark mechanics, you might want to check out this game.

Perfect Draw!, by Double Summon Games.

Perfect Draw! is a tabletop role-playing game based on the Powered By The Apocalypse framework that combines Trading Card Games with collaborative storytelling - allowing you to tell stories similar to card game anime like Yu-Gi-Oh!, Duel Masters, and CardFight! Vanguard.

In Perfect Draw! you can make any deck you imagine using our open-ended card creation system - then, clash ideals with villains and allies alike in tense card game combat. Your deck is an extension of your beliefs and the blade that allows you to change the world. Use your passion, skill, and friendship to get the upper hand on foes and save the people you care about most!

Perfect Draw is a game in which you design your cards as you add them to your hand. Your cards exist as physical objects in your hand as you play, but they also represent special attacks and moves in the fiction of the game. As you play, you’ll gain more cards, but rather than relying on symbols or text to tell you what these cards do, you’ll have to author them yourself, using guidelines and inspiration from the specific character playbooks. You’ll also be rolling dice in the style of PbtA games, thus combining the feeling of a card duelling game and a TTRPG.

If you want to emulate the tropes of card-collecting games while designing your custom moves as you play, you might want to try out Perfect Draw!

Cardsharps, by Pageantry Games.

Armed with a deck of cards, this game helps you to nimbly guide your cast of characters on a merry waltz from mishap to catastrophe. For the tone, think of an old-timey farce, or a Coen Brothers movie, or perhaps your own muddled and terrifying existence.

Another game that uses playing cards, Cardsharps looks like it can fit a number of settings, with the four suits representing your stats. You shuffle your hand whenever you enter a test of some kind, and draw a random one - if you draw the Suit you need, you do it, if you get the same colour but wrong suit you get a mixed success, and if you draw the wrong colour completely, it’s a failure.

The randomness that comes from the shuffle reminds me a little bit of deck-building card games I’ve played in the past, although you’re not really adding anything to your hand. I think the core concept is interesting though, and might be something you could play around with to make a game that suits your tastes.

Orchidelirium, by Æther Corp.

Take on the mantle of a grizzled and hardy orchid hunter in 1865, traversing the depths of uncharted territories in search of rare, elusive, and above all, expensive orchids for your shady employer, J. Carmichael & Associates.

For the Games Master, Orchidelirium provides a simple ruleset, an adventure, and improvisation tools to help build an adventure of discovery at the table.

Orchidelerium is another game that uses playing cards with some cards in your hand being used as resources, while others are pulled from the deck to represent obstacles. I don’t know if it’s exactly a deck-building game because your hand is so small, but it does have a few similarities, namely the fact that different cards have different values, and thus will be used differently depending on the nature of the obstacle. The game itself revolves around orchid-hunters in the late 1800’s, which means that colonial themes are going to be present - a good thing to keep in mind when introducing this game to your play group.

Parselings, by Smunchy Games.

Parselings is a modern Deck building RPG about using collaborative word magic and discovering your place in it. The game takes place in a world like our own, but with one major difference – to some, words have literal power. Parsecytes, swarms of ravenous ink-like parasitic organisms, have emerged into the world causing irreversible changes to society and our ecosystem. 

When a Parsecyte invades a human host, it forms a symbiosis with them, together becoming an entity known as a Parseling. At a glance, Parselings are indiscernible from most other humans except for the labels on their skin and the ink mixed into their blood. When brought together in groups, these individuals become greater than the sum of their parts. The infected hosts can use their tattoos to form phrases and sculpt the world to their desires. This power has come to be known as a Parse.

You will play as one of these beings. Struggling to strike a balance between appeasing the Parsecyte within, and proving you are a complex human being who cannot only be defined by a few careless words. This is both a curse and a blessing, but with the others that share your affliction, the world is your oyster. 

This is the first game I think of when someone asks about deck-building ttrpgs. Each player gets a deck that uses regular playing cards to represent core aspects of your characters. The game isn’t dice-less - you still need some d6’s and d10’s - but those dice will only be rolled by the GM. Card decks aren’t the only interesting mechanic in Parselings - you’ll also construct pieces of your character with words that describe who they are and how they fit into the world around them. I think this might be a neat game to check out if you want to explore questions of identity while mixing in a little bit of the supernatural.

Smunchy Games has two supplements for Parselings: Infer Memorial Station, which works as an introductory adventure, and Nominal City Guide, a setting for groups to pick up and explore.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Zpoc Survival, Retail Style

For some strange reason, a lot of recent zpocs, System Apocalypses, and other world-changing disaster plots seem to catch protagonists at home. Or, at worst, in some kind of vacation cabin or remote getaway. There’s nothing wrong with this, especially if you want to show off how prepared (or not) your hero is in everyday life.

But what are the odds? Seriously, if we’re talking a more-or-less average guy or girl, with a reasonably “ordinary” life prior to Things Going Boom - what are the odds that they’re actually at home when the apocalypse happens? As opposed to at work, caught in rush hour, or even picking up the week’s groceries?

I grant you, if the thought of an apocalypse hitting while I’m at home is bad, the thought of trying to dodge zombies inside Walmart is levels of urk worse. Channeled exits, mazes of shelves and items, people screaming - it’d be worse than Black Friday.

But. It’s a likely scenario. Meaning any serious prepper, or game nerd who’s daydreamed about playing the End of the World before it actually hit, might have at least considered what they’d do if that happened.

So. You’re in a retail store when the World As We Know It changes forever. What do you do?

In the first few moments of this situation you need to do something counterintuitive: ignore that this is an apocalypse.

Survival comes first and foremost. You have to deal with the immediate life-threatening danger. The zombie trying to eat your face ranks higher on the “must deal with” list than a dragon rampaging in the street outside. Treat it like any other natural disaster, and evaluate what you absolutely must do to make it through alive. What course of action gives you the best chance? Fort up where you are? (See, dragon outside.) Or flee the scene? (Trapped inside with zombies.) In prepper’s parlance - are you bugging in, or bugging out?

If you’re running for it, then exactly what kind of retail store you’re in may be less relevant. Remember that any reputable store has to comply with fire safety rules. That means fire extinguishers you can grab as makeshift weapons, yes - but more important, the main doors should be unlocked. If you’re closer to the back of the store and there are Things between you and the usual way out, head for the employee doors. You’ll set off an alarm going out, but that’s the least of your problems.

...Well, aside from the noise drawing more zombies. Plan accordingly.

But what if the major threat is outside, and you plan to bug in? To stay put, whether that be for hours or days or just a few minutes to catch your breath?

Consider the kind of store you’re in. If you’re in a strip mall or square, also consider other nearby stores; they may be better options, and can give you a wider variety of improvised weapons and supplies. Let’s take one particular short comparison: hardware store that Shall Not Be Named, vs. Books-a-Million. (Note, drawing off various stores I’ve personally been in, your local shops may vary.)

I’m looking at these in particular because they both have an advantage for siege/monster situations: you can get up onto an above-head-height level. In Hardware that generally means climbing the shelves or using the lifting machines, but you’ve got it. BAM has a slight advantage for those of us less athletically inclined in that the second level is, in fact, a formal second level, with stairs and all. OTOH that means you have a set place you have to barricade to keep anything else from getting up there. Both places do have breakrooms and bathrooms, so as long as the plumbing holds out and there’s some way to do electricity, sanitation and cooking are going to be easier. That said, there are some differences - here are a few!

Hardware. Pros: Tools, tools, tools; improvised weapons galore. Building materials to fortify the place. Maybe some comfy cushions and other homey stuff, depends. Also if you’re working with other people trapped in the same apocalypse, many customers and employees are likely to have useful making-stuff-work skills.

Cons: The stuff in this place was never meant to be lived-in long-term, the fertilizers and concrete dust and other assorted insults may eat your body alive by way of immune system arrrgh. Recruit a doctor. No, more than one. And look into getting a lot of fresh air.

BAM. Pros: Books. So much to read. How-to manuals will be Really Important if the internet goes down! Also when the fit hits the shan, “bookstore” is likely to be low on anyone’s “to be looted” list. You may pass unnoticed long enough to get the place set up and defensible.

Cons: You’re going to have to get most of your fortifying stuff somewhere else. And the people you’re likely to team up with here will have... a varying skillset.

Of course, the most awesome option would be having access to both of these. But that likely means laying claim to, and holding, a moderately large chunk of town. In the middle of an apocalypse. With everyone else going crazy trying to survive.

...Now that would be a story!

[sariahsue]

Marinette’s Three Rules for Preventing the Apocalypse

Set shortly after the events of Chat Blanc, Marinette uses her knowledge of what happened that day to create three rules to prevent disaster. What happens when she can’t keep them all?

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3]

Chapter Four - Conversations

Marinette didn't sleep at all that night. Nothing was comfortable and her mind was restless, playing over every possible scenario from every angle.

When the sun rose and it was time for school, she wasn't sure if the nausea she felt was from the lack of sleep or from knowing she would have to face Adrien again.

She stayed home, but it didn't make her feel any better. Between dealing with Tikki's cheerful encouragement, Alya's worried texts, and her parents' smothering concern (she must have looked even worse than she felt), it wasn't a very restorative morning. Even the sunlight seemed extra harsh, determined to keep her awake and disoriented until early afternoon, when she finally shoved her head under her pillow. It was stuffy and claustrophobic, but she was finally too tired for it to matter.

A banging sound woke her from a nightmare, breathing hard, pinpricks of tears in the corners of her eyes, fists rubbing into her temples. And reminding herself that Adrien wasn't dead.

A knock above her made her jump, and the concerned face of Chat Noir made her chest squeeze tight.

"Can I come in?" he asked as he pulled the skylight open. "Sorry I woke you, but you looked-"

Marinette grabbed his wrist and pulled him down onto the bed with her, and when he wrapped her in a hug, she finally felt like she could breathe for the first time in days.

"It's okay," he whispered into her hair. But it wasn't. Nothing was as it should be. Everything felt out of place.

She pulled away from him, trying to get some mental distance more than physical distance. (She hated both.)

"Are you okay?" He cupped her face, letting the pad of his thumb run over her cheek. "You weren't at school, but Alya said she didn't know what was going on. I was worried you were still upset about yesterday." Like he'd suddenly realized what he was doing, he dropped his hand from her face. "Sorry," he said. "About everything. I don't want to ruin anything. You're important to me even if you-"

They were kissing before Marinette even realized she'd moved. Something in the way he'd looked at her, the tenderness of his fingers as he touched her face, the overwhelming sense of wrongness when he pulled away had propelled her forward, until her lips brushed his again and again, until her hands found his hair and pulled him closer, until he leaned into her and returned the kiss.

For a few seconds, the broken pieces she was trying so hard to hold together felt like they were in the right places. Everything stilled and settled. Their breathing was quiet, like the brush of her shirt against the front of his suit. Warmth followed wherever he touched her, her neck, her shoulder, down her back and to her hip as he pulled her closer. He pulled away from her mouth long enough to kiss her cheek and murmur her name.

The last time she'd heard Chat Noir call her Marinette… Visions of white flashed behind her eyes.

"You need to leave." Her hands were already on his chest. She pushed lightly and he pulled back.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I– I can't– Please, just go."

"Marinette?" His grip on her waist slipped. His hair had flopped into his eyes, but she resisted the urge to push it out of the way for him. "Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. I'll see you at school tomorrow."

He nodded uncertainly, unconvinced.

"I can't," Marinette finished after he'd left. "I can't stand to hurt you, but I can't figure out how not to."

---

She didn't get until tomorrow to collect her thoughts. There was a scheduled patrol that night. Light rain washed out most of the life of Paris. People stayed inside and windows were shut against the weather. Everything seemed muted, so it was a nice match to how their route went that night.

It had only been 24 hours since Ladybug's confession to Adrien, and he was surely still confused about Marinette's indecisiveness. She didn't think she'd been part of a longer or more awkward silence in her life. She couldn't end it, though. That would mean she would have to take back everything she'd said last night, to preserve her hope of avoiding a disaster.

Chat Noir broke the silence first.

"We need to discuss something," he said when they reached the arched roof of the Musée d'Orsay. The whole thing was made of hundreds of panels of glass. Soft light from inside lit him up from below, casting shadows on his face.

"What?" Ladybug said, though she knew perfectly well what.

"My identity's been compromised. I know, I'm sorry." He held up his hands in apology. "Yesterday's akuma trapped me with one of my classmates and I didn't have a choice."

That wasn't at all what she'd been expecting, which made it all the more a relief.

"So," he continued when she said nothing. "What do we do about it?"

They couldn't be together, and she'd messed up, but maybe there was still a way to salvage this. Ladybug needed more time to think, and she was grateful that he waited patiently for her answer.

"Do you think she'll tell anyone?"

"No, no. She's very trustworthy, but how did you know it was a girl?"

"Oh, uh, I just guessed." Ladybug blushed at her mistake. His eyesight was good, but she hoped he wouldn't notice past the way her damp hair stuck to her face.

"So I guess we don't need to worry about that," she rushed on. "That's good."

"You're not going to make me swear her to secrecy or something?"

"Uh, yes, of course." It's what she would do with anyone else, after all. She'd have to stop being so careless if she didn't want to risk her own identity. "Do that. Talk to her tomorrow, and then we can figure it out from there."

It was a delaying tactic, and a flimsy one, but she was still exhausted from her broken sleep and couldn't think of anything better.

"Great," he said, toeing the glass and looking down at the distorted sculptures below them. "I guess that's really all I needed to say, so I'll see you later."

That wasn't all. But Ladybug was too much of a coward right then to call him back. There was still time later.

---

The next morning, Adrien had a plan. One, wait for Marinette to show up late to school as usual. Two, play it cool until their lunch break (easier said than done). Three, make sure she was okay. That was the most important step. After he knew he hadn't hurt her, they could talk about identities and feelings and figure out what to do. He hoped she'd been only surprised after the akuma attack. It was a lot of take in, but avoiding him at school yesterday wasn't promising, even if she had kissed him afterward. He tried to keep his hopes in check. Making sure she was okay was the first priority. If she was okay, then that would be enough for him.

The methodical plan was shot down as soon as he stepped out of the limo. Marinette was sitting on the front step, early and waiting for him. She hopped up when she saw him, coming to his side before he'd taken half a dozen steps in her direction.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," he said. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Not here." Marinette spun on her heel and marched around the corner of the building. A quick peek told him there wasn't anyone close enough to hear.

"I promise I won't tell anyone," she said. "You don't need to worry about that."

"I wasn't," he said quickly. "But I did want to check on you. What happened, it was a lot."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to freak out. I'm good."

"Good." Less than a minute into the school day and he'd already hit all three steps of his plan. It was a world record for his productivity, but he felt lost. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what she might say about how she felt, but Marinette gripped the hem of her shirt and continued.

"I really like you, but–"

"Really?" If he'd been in costume, he was sure his cat ears would have perked up.

"Yes, but I don't know that it would be safe for us, you know, dating."

"I'd protect you," he said. Now that she'd given him the smallest hope, he wasn't going to let it slip away.

Marinette opened her mouth to argue, closed it, then started again. "Okay, aren't there rules? Aren't you not allowed to date?"

"Not that I know of."

"What about Ladybug? Shouldn't you clear it with her first?"

Hearing her name was like an electric shock. A tangle of live wires that he didn't want to touch right now. "I did, actually." He rubbed the back of his neck, not if he was embarrassed by the admission or just by thinking about his partner. "She said I should ask you out."

Marinette's face fell.

Her objections had been so quick, like she'd had them prepared in advance. Heartache smothered his hope.

"I… I think I need some time to adjust," she said.

Her final excuse had failed. Maybe she did really like him, or maybe she only liked him enough that she didn't want to hurt his feelings by telling him no.

"Is that really it? Or are you just trying to let me down easily?" he asked bitterly.

Marinette considered, then pushed herself up on her toes and kissed his cheek, soft and slow. "I've been in love with you for a long time. But you're right. It's a lot. And there's a lot that could happen."

"You love me?" Embers of his hope started sparking again under the ashes.

She shrugged and turned away, watching the stream of people entering the building. "Have almost since we met." She peeked back at him, a blush rising across her face.

Adrien grabbed her hand, so he wouldn't float away. "I don't mind waiting," he said. "To be with you, I mean. If you need time, you can have it."

"Thank you," she said, voice quiet, and she pulled her hand out of his.

---

Marinette had gotten herself well and truly stuck, and she didn't know what to do.

The only way to protect Adrien (and the rest of the world, but he was much more important) was to stay apart. She didn't want to take back her confession. She didn't think she could stand breaking up with him. But she also knew she couldn't make him wait for her forever while she "adjusted." Adrien was smart. He would know something else was wrong, and she couldn't afford to have him asking questions she couldn't answer.

As soon as the final bell rang, she ducked out of the room, past Alya's inviting wave and Adrien's politely hurt smile. A run was what she needed. The wind in her face and the rhythmic push and pull of her yoyo would give her time to clear her mind.

She didn't expect to be out for over an hour. Or to go past Adrien's house. And she definitely didn't expect him to be waiting at the window, like he'd been hoping all afternoon to see her. But when he called to her, she couldn't help but stop.

"I should have said this earlier, but I'm sorry I can't reciprocate your feelings right now."

"What?" She panicked for a split second before remembering that he was talking to Ladybug, not Marinette. "It's fine."

Adrien stuffed his hands in his pockets but didn't say anything, and there wasn't any way for her to convince him that she really wasn't heartbroken without relying on her terrible acting skills. This was so complicated.

Though this gave her an idea. No one else knew how complicated her situation was. "Could I ask you for some advice? About boy problems?"

Adrien raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"Okay so–" She swung her legs over the edge of his window and sat down on the ledge, her feet dangling above his carpet. "The guy I've liked for a long time confessed his feelings for me, and I still like him, but I'm torn. It's dangerous for us to be together. What do I do?"

"Go out with him," Adrien said without hesitation. His face was blank, but his voice was firm.

"But it's dangerous," she repeated. "What if something happens? There are so many things that can go wrong."

"Why is it okay for me to date, but not you? That's a little hypocritical."

Ladybug kicked her heel against his wall, unsure of how much to say. "It's not. With him though, it's different. Worse."

"Why?"

Pale blue eyes. Bone white hair. A fractured boy.

"Ladybug?" Adrien reached for her arm, concern splashed across his face.

The breath was cold in her lungs. "I don't want to lie to him about being Ladybug," she sidestepped.

Adrien stepped back, considered her reaction, and then shrugged. "So tell him the truth. The classmate who found me out is the same girl I like. It might take a while for him to get used to the idea, but I'm sure he won't hold being the Savior of Paris against you."

The ghostly echo of her second rule, don't let Adrien find out my identity, rattled in the back of her mind. If only it could be that simple. Then they could both be happy.

He turned so he could lean against the window next to her, his face angled away so she couldn't read his expression.

Her voice caught in her throat.

He wasn't as over her as he pretended, and now she'd confessed and given him everything he'd ever wanted to hear too late, only to take it all back by asking him for help with "another boy." All she wanted was for him to be happy, but she couldn't seem to stop hurting him.

"Adrien," she started. She reached for him, hand hovering, still undecided on how best to comfort him.

A shrill alarm sounded from Adrien's phone, and the decision to do nothing was made for her.

"Akuma," Adrien said, pushing away from the wall and pulling out his phone. His back was still to her. "About two blocks from the National Library."

She pulled her hand back in, resting her fist against her heart. "Guess that's my cue to leave."

"Our cue." A flash of bright green light left her blinking as he transformed. "Sorry," Chat Noir said, when he saw her surprise. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

Ladybug shook her head and rolled backward out the window, her partner following closely behind.

---

Tag list: @tbehartoo @mlbigbang

[rallamajoop]

Resident Evil's 2 and 3

It'll surprise no-one that I’ve been poking through some of the other games in the Resident Evil franchise – mostly just by watching through let’s-plays and cutscene compilations on youtube. And with the remake of RE4 finally out, it’s past time I got some thoughts down about them (because, as always, I have many). So let’s talk the previous two remakes in the franchise – RE’s 2 and 3.

Resident Evil 2 (Remake)

I have one big complaint about new!Leon, and that’s that he isn’t pretty enough. Call me shallow if you will, but the original RE4 Leon is iconic because he looks 100% like a guy who got lost on his way to audition for a 90’s boyband (I will grant you his goofy one-liners and ridiculous acrobatics help too), and new!Leon just doesn’t have any of that going for him. FFS, new!Jill looks like a supermodel – why can’t Leon be that pretty? This is not what gender equality looks like!

I want all that out of the way up front, because otherwise? I adore the new Leon! His story in RE2 is basically about him having the most OTT first day as a cop imaginable, trying to prove himself and make the best of an awful situation, and the writing and voice acting have just about nailed it. He’s naïve but not stupid, capable but inexperienced, and his chemistry with Ada is so good I came out of his scenario fervently shipping het, which I do not often do. Ada’s wonderful too: cool, badass, almost unflappable, but not incapable of accepting help (or getting attached to a certain rookie). I loved their dynamic so very much.

Mind you, Leon has excellent chemistry with just about everyone he gets to share the screen with, especially Claire and Marvin (taken from us too soon, alas – I loved Marvin too). But it’s Ada who defines Leon’s main narrative throughline: she swans into his story being so much more important and badass than his poor rookie-self, and barely has he convinced her to trust him before he’s learning he might have helped exactly the wrong person. So far, so cliched – it’s really the execution that makes the difference, and they nailed that too. And I can’t tell you how much I loved that Leon isn’t punished for his final moment of trusting-Ada-when-he-really-shouldn’t-have without spoiling more than I’d prefer to, but trust me – it was great.

What I loved most about the new Leon may really be more about what he doesn’t do: he never acts like Claire or Ada are any less capable of handling themselves because they happen to be female. He’s 100% there to help them in any way he can, because helping people is very explicitly his core motivation for getting into this line of work at all. But even in a scenario that could so easily have slid into sexist cliches about evil femme fatales and the men who have to put them in their place, I never got that vibe here. If you’re playing as Claire on your second run, Leon will even happily babysit Sherry while she goes off to handle the final-bonus-boss alone, and nothing in this rest of the game makes this feel the least bit out of character.

On the subject of gender though, I am judging the game hard for putting Ada in high heels. Now, granted, if anyone could survive the apocalypse in stilettos, it is Ada Motherfucking Wong, but c’mon – the original game gave her flats, and with all the time she spends jumping off high platforms and trudging through the sewers, is it so much to ask she gets a nice pair of boots or something? Save the heels for the alternate costumes, c’mon!

But that's just one half of RE2 ‒ time to talk about Claire.

Claire’s own campaign, alas, did not live up to Leon’s for me, for one big reason: it opens with a terrific hook, then tosses it overboard at the first opportunity.

History may be partly to blame here: apparently the original RE2 was well into development Claire became a Redfield, to tie the game more strongly to the predecessor. But either way, she's explicitly here to find her brother Chris, who's missing after investigating a bio-terror incident (ie. RE1) instigated by the same evil company responsible for the zombie virus now spreading through the city. That’s a great opening hook – so it’s beyond disappointing that we're barely five minutes in before Claire is unceremoniously told I’m sorry but your brother is in another castle, and has to find something else to do for the rest of the game. Claire's relationship to Chris is little more than trivia from then on in.

Instead, Claire’s story revolves around protecting this little girl she just met (Sherry), whose parents just-so-happen to be Umbrella scientists. Sherry’s father William has mutated into the monster that started the whole outbreak, and her mother Annette is now furiously working to find a solution. And sure, protect-the-little-girl worked for Ripley in Aliens, but Ripley also got the validation of proving herself not-crazy, putting her alien-experience to use, and punching an alien queen in the face. If the problem at the colony had turned out to be completely un-xenomorph-related, we’d be within our rights to feel let down.

Worse, Claire has known Sherry for barely five minutes before Sherry's on the wrong side of a hostage situation and Claire's completely willing to hike across a zombie-infested city to save her. There’s precious little time for them to build rapport before protecting Sherry has become Claire's only goal. It’s a pacing issue as much as anything else: had Sherry been introduced earlier, this would probably have worked better for me.

But what really doesn’t work for me about Claire’s campaign is that this feels so much more like Annette’s story than hers. Claire just stumbles in on events already in progress, and could have been just about anyone. Her big victory is in convincing Annette to take some time out from trying to save the city to save her own (now infected) daughter – and as heartless a mother as Annette is, I just don’t buy that Claire’s in any position to make that call. How many other little girls are out there dying tonight, if no-one finds a solution?

Possibly Claire’s story may have worked better in the original RE2, where she does at least find Chris’ diary, and the connections between his investigations and current events are more clearly spelt out. But in the remake, Annette is just so much more interesting to me than Claire (or Sherry) because she’s so much more flawed and compromised – and also the kind of ice queen who’s now ready to empty a shotgun into her monstrous former husband without much remorse.

There's certainly still stuff to like in Claire's campaign ‒ not least that between Claire, Sherry, Ada and Annette, this is a rare game where women account for most of the playable and/or story-centric cast. And Claire’s still a likeable character herself, but with Sherry as her own Ada-equivalent, she just doesn’t give her much to play off of.

But there’s a third story still to talk about in the realm of RE2…

Resident Evil 3 (remake)

Now, this is an odd one. By and large, the RE3 remake seems to have gone down poorly with fans for cutting significant chunks of the original game, and reducing Nemesis from a monster who stalks you relentlessly through semi-open environments to a monster to who mostly just shows up at intervals for yet another big-event-boss-fight. For myself, having only experienced this game via youtube, I felt more let down by character and plot.

What I did love about the game were all the little ways the story intersects with the events of RE2. In that game, Marvin warns you not to make his mistake, hesitating when faced with a zombie that was someone he knew. In RE3, we find out just who that zombie-mistake of Marvin’s was. It’s not just a neat little call-back, it’s heartbreaking in all the right ways.

The broader plot is fairly straightforward: Jill Valentine is trying to make it out of Raccoon City alive, hampered by the fact Umbrella have sent Nemesis to wipe out any surviving STARS members who can testify against them after the events of RE1 (yet more reason why Claire’s search for Chris should have been significant) and variously helped or hampered by members of an Umbrella mercenary squad (most of whom have no idea what their masters are really up to). Jill’s main character arc involves proving herself as capable as any of the men – more so, really – and more than a match for Nemesis.

This flounders for me for a couple of reasons.

For one, this is another RE that opens with a solid hook – Jill suffering a horrific dream about becoming a zombie – that doesn’t really go anywhere. Her PTSD really only exists in two cutscenes; the degree to which the outbreak in Raccoon City must be a scene straight out of her nightmares just doesn’t come across for me. The obvious ways Nemesis ought to be a conveniently-defeatable manifestation of everything that’s haunted her since RE1 felt badly undersold for me too. If Jill isn’t actively being sexily-brutalised by Nemesis, she’s just not scared of him. And when she does wake up mid-game to learn she’s been infected and survived – the exact scenario from the opening – she has no reaction to speak of.

I do appreciate Jill’s steely determination and willingness to put herself in danger to lead Nemesis away from other survivors, but those PTSD-dreams felt like something tacked in as an afterthought. Jill is an unflinching badass right up until we want to throw in a creepily-sexualised scene of some monster shoving its probiscis down her throat. And her final, triumphant, “I’m gonna take down the monster!” declaration is so similar to Claire’s from RE2 that you feel they’re running out of ideas.

Jill’s character design really doesn’t work for me either. This is a professional member of a special ops team: I can live with the game giving her the face of a supermodel, but why stick her with the body of one as well? Sheva got to have real muscle definition way back in 2009, and it sure as fuck didn’t make her any less gorgeous – even Jill’s own look back in RE5 and Revelations said ‘professional’ as loudly as possible. Why can’t we have some of that here? No wonder the mercenary team don’t take her seriously, she looks like an actress, not someone who’s used to dragging a grenade launcher through the mud. (I will grant Capcom credit that at least this Jill isn’t trying to survive the apocalypse in a strapless top – she’s still thrown into the action in her civies with minimal warning, but at least she gets to wear a proper bra this time. Look, it's something.)

Jill’s main partner/foil/presumable love interest in the game is Carlos, who – credit where it’s due – is very pretty in all the ways I wanted Leon to be (though he’s still built in all the ways Jill isn’t, you may note). He’s generally likeable, but character-wise, he’s just too straightforward to be very interesting. He takes the revelation that Jill was right and his employers are scumbags with mild shock, but he’s been so unambiguously on her side from the start that the reveal feels like a bit of a technicality. This is a game devoid of any twists or reveals on par with ‘Ada’s lying about working for the FBI’, or even ‘the monster is Sherry’s father,’ or any interestingly-grey figures like Annette. It has its moments, but it didn’t do much for me.

Maybe the greater problem with Jill’s story for me is that, of the three plotlines running through these two games, her goals are the most straightforward. Leon’s very explicitly driven by his sense of responsibility to the people of Raccoon City: to find answers and hold the perpetrators responsible. Claire’s at least nominally looking for her brother, who was investigating Umbrella. Jill’s really just trying to escape Nemesis and get out of the city. Leaning into her PTSD as a plot point could’ve lent a wealth of thematic weight to that, but in its absence, there’s just not much here that resonates for me.

Resident Evil 2 (Remake): The actual game

I wasn’t planning on actually buying and playing RE2, but I enjoyed Leon’s story enough to want to see it in context (and I was kind of hoping Claire’s might improve when experienced that way) – and then there was another Steam sale going, so I figured what the hell.

RE2 was a genuinely solid experience all up, though in many ways, it could only confirm for me that ‘true’ survival horror games like REs 2 and 7 are much less my thing than more action-oriented titles like 4 and 8. Having to worry so much about resources isn’t engagingly tense for me, it’s just annoying, and the uncertainty about what I can use now vs what I’m desperately going to need later sends my perfectionist streak into overdrive. Compulsively reloading saves every time things go vaguely south just produces an inventory full of healing items that I can't use in case I need them later later (though I probably won’t). Doesn’t help that my patience with fighting the same boss over and over in slightly different forms runs out pretty quickly.

Mr X, beloved as he is by the fans, was for me mostly just a minor annoyance. I have to judge Capcom a little for giving the player a ‘puzzle’ which involved moving three very large bookcases on rollers very slowly in a well-lit room so soon after the chase really begins, because the result quickly devolved into farce. Move one bookcase, whoops, he’s getting a bit close – better do another lap up the stairs and down the ladder again to give myself some space! All it needed was the Benny Hill theme playing in the background.

And playing the game properly mostly just drove home how utterly irrelevant he is to the plot. The idea that he’s been sent by Umbrella brass to wipe out witnesses is alluded to in one document, then never really commented on again, and he seems completely unrelated to all the Birkin-family drama that makes up the main Umbrella-plot. It’s disappointing how easily it feels like he could’ve been excised from the game altogether.

Such nitpicks aside though, I found a lot to like playing Leon’s campaign. The puzzle design and some of the weird internal logic genuinely impressed me in a way I haven’t gotten from any more recent RE title – and I loved the little tongue-in-cheek justifications for some puzzles, like a sewer engineer with a ridiculous chess obsession. Annoying as zombies could be, I have to appreciate the fact these are proper zombies, who will keep getting up again just when you least expect it. Leon’s standard kit of pistol-shotgun-magnum (plus-eventual-flamethrower and rocket-launcher-for-special-occasions) was familiar enough to work for me. Having grenades classed as secondary weapons (such a bugger to equip when you wanted them and so easy to waste by accident when you didn’t) did not work so well, and what red-plus-blue herb combinations actually do was frustratingly opaque, but so it goes.

I did not have such a good experience playing Claire as a B-campaign though, and not all of that was really Claire’s fault. The B-campaign runs you through most of the earlier story beats common to both campaigns on fast forward, covering Marvin and the police station – which makes sense on paper. In practice, I found it meant I had Mr X all up in my grill before I’d had any time to explore, gather resources, expand my inventory slots, and clear out some zombies, and he quickly went from ‘minor annoyance’ to ‘major frustration’. Getting anything done became a real headache. You’re also down one save point in the most central location for reasons unknown. I’ve been broadly aware or RE2’s A/B structure for years before I ever got into the series, but I’d never before osmosed that the B-campaign was playing the game on hard-mode.

The B-campaign also awards you a special bonus weapon – a pistol that takes higher calibre ammo and apparently does more damage. I say ‘apparently’, because I could not for the life of me tell the difference, except that now I was having to juggle another kind of limited ammo in my even-more-limited inventory slots, despite having to really squint to even tell them apart.

Claire’s guns also include a third pistol, which takes standard ammo but in larger clips, and an upgrade to her first gun which takes new ammo completely. There’s also a grenade launcher that fires two kinds of rounds: flame rounds that produce a huge and very satisfying conflagration, and acid rounds which, for me, mostly just seemed to splash lightly over enemies without interrupting their day. While Leon could craft ammo for all his guns, Claire couldn’t craft ammo for her bonus pistol, her upgraded-original pistol, or flame rounds for her grenade launcher. Her campaign is the first time in any RE game I’ve really come to appreciate being given an assault rifle, but that may be just because at least ammo for the thing was distinct and craftable.

By the second major boss battle with William (another perfect duplicate from Leon’s campaign), I was about ready to throw in the towel.

Alas, putting Claire’s story in its full game context did not improve it for me. If anything, revisiting it just drove new issues home. Chief Irons makes a terrific villain, but his section and the whole ‘Umbrella was experimenting on orphans!’ thing feels painfully disconnected from the rest of the game. Files you can pick up reveal that he’s been working for Umbrella all along, but neither Irons nor much else about the orphanage is well-foreshadowed before, nor really mentioned again afterwards.

Why is he after Sherry’s pendant? Presumably he knows it’s the key to a vault in the research facility, but how he knows and what he wants with the contents of the vault are left to your imagination. Me, I’d have cut the pendant angle altogether and suggested he wanted Sherry as a hostage to manipulate her parents, leaning into how that relationship has gone sour – only to have it backfire when monster!William shows up to infect his daughter (already implied, but something that could have been a lot more explicit). But the pendant was a plot point in the original RE2, so I guess we’ve got to shoehorn it in somewhere.

The issues I had with Claire’s story are all the more irritating because all the pieces to build something better are right there. Lean into her search for her brother – let her find those diary entries from the original where he talks explicitly about investigating Umbrella, the G-virus, and his suspicions about Chief Irons. Now Claire’s got all the reason she needs to go looking for the truth before it's buried for good under a zombie wasteland, run afoul of Irons, draw the attention of Mr. X, and meet Sherry on the way. She can and should still save Sherry, but it doesn’t have to be her whole motivation.

None of this takes away from how much I loved Leon’s story, or even his scenes with Claire. Honestly, another minor complaint would be that there weren’t more of those – it seems a real shame their stories don’t intersect in more places. My only other real complaint on Leon’s front here that his story in RE2 left me expecting so much more from him in RE4 than what we ultimately got – his dynamic with Ada especially.

But there, again, we’re getting into territory that so very definitely needs a whole 'nother post.

[m1d-45]

" archons who lose their character, things they held dear falling to dust, their minds swallowed by the alternate and their separate realm of existence- OH WHAT If"

YOU SO REAL FOR THIS

you got pretty much exactly what I was trying to convey, I wanted the archons to lose their minds by praying/being near alternate creator and the children to be more susceptible/the first to fall in this apocalypse scenario

BUT ALSO THE SHIT U MENTIONED AT THE END, it's so good angst and sadness that I love. having people put there complete and utter trust in a lie and be corrupted by this incredibly horrific disgusting thing. that just keeps sucking away at them

but just how I love angst I love happy endings. so what about the reader descending down to teyvat? how would their presence respond to the cold darker place teyvat has turned into

but also if the reader couldn't escape their alternate in their reality, how would they go about surviving in teyvat? what would the alternate!archons do? what if the reader healed the broken spirits of the people? what if reader meets one of the archons and they just know, they know they've been played but that it's you who is their god

ooo just thoughts, let's just say I love this au, it has potential.

-🍄 (most of what I've been writing about isn't really in the Mandela catalogue I think, I'm mostly using it as a basis of my thought process so don't feel bad that you haven't seen it. I think where both pretty even on our understanding of the canonical Mandela catalogue, anyways ily take care)

mushroom welcome back my dear

as always, below the readmore :)

i’m reading this with the alternate!creator being readers alternate bc they’re the creator btw, so i imagine they’ve at least encountered one, even if they don’t remember it.

but alternate!archons meeting reader…

if we take that to mean the alternates of the archons, they both recognize you on sight and are either deathly afraid or insanely angry. you’re the one thing that can topple their empire, so they’re either afraid of you for it or pissed off at you. why would you ruin what they’ve built? can’t you see it’s perfect enough?

if we take that to mean corrupted archons being driven to the alternate!creator by their own twisted faith, then….. ough…

corrupted archons who don’t know why they feel so strongly for you, emotions they forgot they had resurfacing with a vengeance. they’re husks, empty shells of gods, puppets who don’t know anything but their ‘god’. their friends have left them and they don’t do anything without a given order, sitting in mental stasis until they’re called upon.

so you?

when you come in, and they feel, and they need, and they have urges and temptations and suddenly it’s as if they’re seeing color for the first time, the beautiful shade of your eyes drawing them back to a world they barely remember.

i can see it going two ways.

either the alternate’s hold on them forces their hand without their meaning to, and they have to watch as they destroy the one light in their life of shadow. their body is hateful when their mind is not, and they have to watch, stuck, as you run in fear, betrayal in your eyes.

or, they still have a semblance of control. they can hiss in a breath, reaching a hand for you, slowly and shaking as they reach, hand outstretched. the corruption within them hisses and seethes, yanking them back from the light, and the best they can do is repress the pull until you’re far enough away that they can scream.

they’re caught in a web they can’t control, strings pulling at their body and telling them to kill, to remove the brightness, and they don’t know whether to follow. they like you, they like the light you bring and how it feels as if everything will be okay, that they don’t have to worry, that they can close their eyes and rest.

the darkness says that your light is evil, that youre made of poison and full of knives. and it’s the only thing they know, so they listen.

(should they?)

[wrenwinchester]

No cuz like what if Azazel kidnapped Sam as a baby (either the night Mary died or in the following weeks while John was looking for answers) and John and Dean spent the years looking for little Sam and then like Sam grows up to be well versed and understanding of his Psychic powers and how they work and he gets visions of Dean and starts asking Azazel questions. And John tells Dean that Sam is dead, because best case scenario that’s the truth, and he doesn’t want to think about any other scenario. (And if Sam got kidnapped in the weeks after Mary’s death John blames Dean, or at least that’s how Dean feels. Because he couldn’t protect Sammy.)

Azazel doesn’t answer Sam’s questions, and the visions vary in frequency (due to nearness to Dean but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know this guy except for a vague familiarity.) and sometimes he forgets about them but never for more than a day or so, and then somehow Sam and Dean are pitted against each other, John tells Dean to kill this kid, he’s a monster. (John himself is basically incapacitated, and besides the colt is probably the only thing that could kill Sam at this point.) But Dean can’t figure out why this kid looks so damn familiar. And Azazel tells Sam to kill the guy, but it’s the guy he’s been seeing in his visions for as long as he can remember. The guy who’s been saving people, hunting things. Something that felt so foreign and so familiar to Sam. Then Azazel says “Sam. Do as you’re told.” And Dean’s whole demeanor changes, he freezes for a minute as everything hits him. It’s his baby brother, he’s not dead. And things that hadn’t been lining up in everything his father had been telling him over the past 23-24 years (haven’t decided could be 22 I don’t know, maybe Sam’s like 16 and Dean is 20. I don’t really know at this point.) finally seems to snap into place, the picture comes into view and his dad has been lying about their mission, their goal. His only mission had been to protect Sam and he had failed, but now he was supposed to kill him? Something snapped in Dean and he crumples everything is so confusing. And Sam’s psychic powers can feel all of Dean’s emotion and turmoil and he feels so protective of this kid he barely knows and yet probably knows better than himself, and Sam ends up killing Azazel and running to hug Dean, who shies away from him at first scared John was right and he should have taken the shot when he had the chance, but Sam just sits next to him. (He was raised by demons he doesn’t know how to do emotions.) And Dean ends up like profusely apologizing for not protecting him, and John is still incapacitated, but he’s yelling at Dean, who is just holding his little brother close (not so little but it doesn’t matter.) and Sam uses his powers to make John shut the fuck up, but he doesn’t kill him (yet, he might, Dean might. Who knows not me, certainly not Sam.) and they all just sit there, John injured, (possibly bleeding out idk he might just be paralyzed from how he hit a tree or gravestone depending on setting.) until Sam has determined Dean is okay, and Dean has done the same.

Also Sam keeps his powers and Bobby finally gets to meet the little kid Dean has been talking about for however many years (not so little but it doesn’t matter.) and he’s super powerful, but he’s in control of everything and Dean and Sam get to live long happy lives because Sam finds a way to use his demon powers for good and he learns how to heal and he doesn’t start apocalypse take one because he grew up with demons and knows what to expect and Dean doesn’t sell his soul because Sam knows people, and Crowley practically raised Sam from a baby to a toddler and Sam didn’t almost die. (John does die at some point.)

Oh and Sam becomes kings of hell at some point. (After many many years, and Crowley died somehow because of course Sammy supported Crowley’s reign in hell, the man raised him(mostly).) anyway if I don’t stop now there will be another 40 paragraphs. Also highly likely this will become a fic at somepoint.

I believe we are able to share these now, so here's my piece for the horrornatural zine! ^.^

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  an  assortment  of  dialogue  prompts  for  various  apocalypse  /  end  of  the  world  scenarios.  feel  free  to  change  as  you  seem  fit.  )

❛ stay alive. for me. ❜

❛ you won’t survive long out there. i can protect you. ❜

❛ how many bullets do you got left? ❜

❛ i’m gonna make sure this place is secure. ❜

❛ will things ever go back to the way they were? ❜

❛ i know the odds aren’t good, but we’ve got to try. ❜

❛ you should be dead by now. ❜

❛ this isn’t the world you remember. ❜

❛ it’s all gone. it’s really all gone. ❜

❛ shit. why did you hide this? ❜

❛ stay down. don’t let them see you. ❜

❛ you are making it very difficult to keep you alive. ❜

❛ how is it you’re not scared? ❜

❛ when i give the signal, we run. ❜

❛ holy shit, we hit the jackpot! look at all this stuff! ❜

❛ i’d say we make a pretty good team. ❜

❛ if you don’t fight, you die. ❜

❛ remind me to not get on your bad side. ❜

❛ been there. seen that. got the scars to prove it. ❜

❛ unfortunately, we can’t kiss in the rain. it’s acid. ❜

❛ just keep moving. don’t look back. ❜

❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜

❛ still alive, are you? ❜

❛ i’m beyond saving at this point. ❜

❛ an animal that’s tasted human flesh isn’t safe. ❜

❛ there’s nothing you can do to save them. ❜

❛ do you have any idea how many people we lost today?! ❜

❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜

❛ just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new. ❜

❛ my job is to watch your back. ❜

❛ don’t enter the city, it belongs to the dead now. ❜

❛ it must be important, otherwise you wouldn’t have gone back for it. ❜

❛ there’s something about that robot that doesn’t seem right to me. ❜

❛ you still remember how to kill, right? ❜

❛ there should be an opening through the fence. watch your head. ❜

❛ our luck will run out sooner or later. ❜

❛ everything looks so beautiful from up here. ❜

❛ can’t say i’m surprised to find you in a dump like this. ❜

❛ we can sneak past them, even though i know that’s not your style. ❜

❛ i can’t imagine losing someone like that. i’m sorry. ❜

❛ if you were smart, you’d turn back now. ❜

❛ shut up. are you trying to get us killed? ❜

❛ breathe. we’re safe now. ❜

❛ you’re better off without me. i’ll only slow you down. ❜

❛ i brought dinner. it’s not much, but it’s edible. ❜

❛ for what it’s worth, i’ll do what i can to help you not get killed. ❜

❛ you’re gonna be real happy you didn’t kill me. ❜

❛ if it was the other way around, would you have come back for me? ❜

❛ why don’t we just stay here? live out the rest of our lives? ❜

❛ you really shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜

❛ rest. i’ll take the first watch. ❜

❛ i’ve got a weapon for every situation. hunting, profession, cold blooded murder, hot blooded murder... ❜

[personasintro]

Love Lockdown | 03

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬��𝐬; yoongi isn’t going easy on you

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yoongi x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: zombie apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, horror au (?)

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.3k+

banner by: @dee-ehn​

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢

The morning isn't any better.

You learn that as soon as you make it downstairs with Zoya attached to your side, met with cold stares aimed at no one else but you.

Are you even surprised? You weren't expecting them to suddenly be fond of you after one night. As of now, they see you as a burden which isn't too far from reality. You hate being seen like that. You hate having to depend on other people, strangers, that some of them don't want you here and it's more than clear.

It makes you angry and sad at the same time. Do you have another choice? Not really. You certainly won't risk your life any further, not when you're no longer alone. Without them, you would probably be dead by now and you would have no shelter where you could peacefully sleep knowing there is at least someone who is up the whole night to make sure you (all of you) are not dead before the sunrise.

In other scenarios, it might look like any family morning you often used to see in movies as everyone meets in the morning for breakfast. However, there are no scrambled eggs, toasts or whatever that could be appetizing enough to make you salivate.

“Well, I'm going to sleep. G'night folks.” Bruno waves, not really waiting for any response as he makes his way upstairs with Johnny following him right after.

You stare at them questionably. Sleep? Didn't they sleep?

“We take turns guarding the house during night,” Yoongi says, cold eyes already set on you as he breaks you from your thoughts and curiosity caused by the two men. “We let you sleep because it was your first night but tonight you're on guard.”

His voice is rough just like you remember it to be, eyes watching you attentively as you gulp and give him a nod. “Okay, thank you.”

He doesn't say anything else, staring at what you notice is a map in front of him.

You're not sure how you feel about the news. It sounds like a huge responsibility and you've no idea what it entails to be on guard. Well, you did tell Taehyung you will try to do your best. If this is one of those things – not that you have a choice because it seems like you don't – you have to do, then you will learn how to do them.

“There are always two people who are on guard, don't worry. You won't be alone.” Zoya informs you as she motions for you to sit down.

You do, your stomach clenched with nerves but still craving for some more food. Ironically enough, it's right on the opposite side of Yoongi who doesn't pay you any attention as he continues to scan the map.

“Good morning, how was your first night here in our luxurious abode?”

Yoongi looks up to give Taehyung a look, turning his gaze back to the map.

Taehyung scoots down onto the seat next to you, shining you with a bright boxy smile as you give him a slight smile in return.

Despite how comically safe your old apartment felt like, including your own bed, it was out of electricity and water shortly after the whole chaos had begun. Yesterday, on your way here when Taehyung started talking to you in a car, he mentioned this house and how they found it. Sometime in the midst of it he explained they have running water, which immediately made you confused and curious at the same time because no one in the city has running water.

As far as you know, the water network stopped working due to contamination, damage and leakage.

But you remained silent, only because you were too nervous where they were taking you (no matter how Taehyung tried his best to ease your nerves) and Yoongi's sharp eyes just added to your stress. He didn't seem to be happy about Taehyung clearly oversharing any information.

However, Taehyung continued to show his gratitude revealing the old couple had their own cistern which water haul service had to fill up. That would also explain this house being located in the woods, rather than closer to the city. The water is of course limited and you suddenly understand the glares they probably gave you behind your back once you were allowed to take a quick shower.

Yoongi said they're running low on their supplies. Running water must be one of them.

“Good,” you answer simply, “I… I really needed sleep.” you share, stealing a glance at Yoongi who simply ignores you which you're glad for.

You're on the edge in his presence. It's like you're just waiting for him to jump at you or send any jabs your way.

“That's good,” he genuinely gives you a smile as he turns to his food – instant ramen which its smell does make you salivate. “Who's on guard tonight?”

“She is.” Yoongi answers right away, voice cold and distant as Taehyung slightly freezes before he looks at you, giving you one of his encouraging smiles.

Taehyung knew Yoongi wouldn't go easy on you but the fact he already set you to watch over the house on your second night here, is slightly beyond him. He hoped he would at least let you grow accustomed to… well, them.

“Oh, I can be with you if you want.”

Your heart softens at Taehyung's kindness and willingness to help.

There's no time for you to even open your mouth before Yoongi's voice booms in the entire kitchen again, despite it being not even that loud.

“No,”

Taehyung frowns, both of you staring at Yoongi as he slowly looks up from the map.

“I don't trust her.”

You tense again, his words feeling like a punch to your stomach because the coldness towards you is more than obvious. Anyone could see and hear that.

“So? Why can't I be with her tonight?” Taehyung asks confusingly as Yoongi sighs and leans against the stool.

“Because you trust her.” he says yet simply again, almost as if that explains everything.

Zoya stands behind the kitchen counter, behind Yoongi where he doesn't see her and visibly motions to Taehyung not to argue about it any further. It seems like Yoongi has the final word. Always.

“Who's gonna be with her then?” Taehyung asks, his eyes averting from Zoya back to the cold dark-haired man.

“Me.”

You gulp, not helping yourself as you stare at him once again. But he never spares you a glance, simply standing up from his spot as he takes the map with him.

Not even the smell of ramen can make you feel the appetite again. You still force yourself to eat some of it once Zoya places it in front of you, encouraging you to eat.

After all, you have no idea for how long you will stay here.

The room you share with Zoya seems like the safest place in the house. No one comes in, so this way you're off their sight and their glares can't make you squirm in place like a little lamb that's driven into a corner by wolves.

Well, except Zoya who makes sure you're okay once she finds you in bed staring at the plain ceiling that would definitely need a fresh painting. How funny.

No one will ever care enough to do that because – what's the point?

“I was wondering where you were,” she says, chuckling as she crouches down and opens her backpack. “You can join us downstairs, although I understand you prefer to be alone. I'm not blaming you,”

You stay quiet, sighing in response.

What are you supposed to say?

She knows she is right. Anyone would rather be alone if all they are met with is coldness and contempt.

She stands up, walking up to you which makes you turn your gaze away from the ceiling to her as she hands you a–

“It's a toothbrush. I took it from Cherry, don't tell her,” she chuckles, “I had a spare one but I can't find it. She has lots of this stuff. Well, more than any of us.”

The redhead woman that seems to utterly despise you does seem like someone who takes care of her well. She's pretty. You can't lie about that. Maybe if it weren't for her cold exterior that makes her unsympathetic, maybe she could be even prettier.

“I–thank you,” you take it from her, slowly sitting up. “You didn't have to… I mean–if it brings you trouble.”

“It won't,” she assures you with a smile, “She won't know if you don't tell her.” she teases as you chuckle.

“I surely won't.”

You both share a laugh, thanking Zoya one last time for taking care of you even when it comes to things like this.

Even the simplest act such as brushing teeth makes you feel like a human again. Even though, you're reminded by her not to use too much toothpaste because there's only one in the bathroom. Along with water.

Oh, how you missed the simple life from a year ago. Back when there was no pandemic and everything was normal.

You manage to take a nap during the day, preparing yourself both physically and mentally to spend the night in Yoongi's presence. Zoya has assured you there's nothing to worry about. You just make sure to look from the windows and a balcony here and there, see if there are any threats in the form of undeads or anything that actually could be a threat.

You are nervous. You are scared and a coward when it comes to things like this but being in this house does feel safe.

Despite your nap, you feel like you could use a good night's sleep.

You barely slept anyway. Whenever there was the littlest sound or voice outside of your room, you shook yourself out of the nap with your heart beating fast against your ribcage.

It will take a while to get used to this. Unless you will be out of here before you can even get used to anything.

Yoongi barely pays you any attention as he lays on the couch, leg propped lazily. He looks like he's used to this. He most certainly is. He wears the same black cargo pants with a matching black short-sleeved shirt, and you think it mirrors his persona accurately. It just adds more to his coldness.

Along with attractiveness you're too stubborn and shy to admit even to yourself.

You stand next to the fireplace, where a set of candles is lit up and warms your face. You stare at the single picture of the old couple in a dark brown frame, what seems like them in a sunflower field. They hug themselves, smiling widely which makes you smile sadly.

At least they got to live most of their life under normal circumstances. Who knows if they still live. It always makes you wonder whenever you see or think of someone. It mostly happens when you can't sleep or you're just swallowed in your own thoughts.

It has been happening ever since the lights got turned off and the entire world was swallowed in darkness.

Does the guy who worked in your favorite bakery live? Did he make it out alive?

Does your first boyfriend whom you mutually broke up with because you grew apart live?

Is your sister still alive?

Is your dad alive?

What about your cousins?

“Overthinking never helps.”

You jump at the gruffy voice behind you, noticing Yoongi in his same position with the only difference that he is now looking at you from across the room.

“So what? Am I supposed not to think?” you ask dumbfoundedly, growing annoyed at him. Does he realize how absurd that sounds? You can't control your thoughts all the time.

“You could make yourself useful and prove taking you in wasn't a waste of our time.”

Waste of their food and water is what he wants to say.

“What am I supposed to do?” you ask, challenging him as you don't let him intimidate you no more.

Of course, you still have a huge respect when it comes to him. With a snap of his fingers he could kick you out of this house and you are done for.

However, Yoongi seems to be amused by the sudden voice you have found. Even if the smirk is bitter and cold like his entire personality is.

“Perhaps you could start by watching through the window instead of being ten seconds from crying.”

You gasp, noticing how wet your eyes feel. Fuck! Your overthinking always makes you want to cry. Huffing a breath, you don't let him have the satisfaction of seeing you wiping your eyes, you walk towards one of the tall windows that is covered by a curtain. You wipe it as soon as you're turned with your back to him, glancing into the darkness.

“How are we supposed to see anything when it's so dark outside?” You voice your thoughts, frowning when you can't see even a meter away from the house.

All you see are the tops of the tall trees but that's only thanks to the moon and its moonlight.

“We are safe here. The house is locked but if undead come near, you will notice them.”

You can't imagine how when it's pitch black outside but well, he probably knows what he is talking about.

“What happens if there are more of them and they're right next to the house?”

“It's usually enough for us to grab our things and go,”

Is it really that easy as it sounds? Grab their things and go?

“There are usually a couple of them but they don't come in massive groups. At least not in this location but you never know.” he explains, his words scaring you a little if you imagine hundreds of undead surrounding this house. Actually, just the thought of a dozen of them makes you scared shitless.

“How many of them have you killed?”

Yoongi pauses, his eyes momentarily dropping to you. “I lost the count.”

He stares back at the ceiling, his hand under his head as he goes back to ignoring you.

You take the silence to think again. Without a doubt, you do admire Yoongi for how brave he seems to be. He definitely has to have good skills to make it out alive this whole time. That could be said about you but on your part it was more luck than anything else.

Sighing, you drop your head against the window, the sight of darkness and not knowing what's between the trees, deep in the forest makes you anxious. Gulping, you realize how dry your throat feels like.

“They smell people, right?” you ask in affirmation, feeling like an idiot you ask such a question after four months of the world being in this state.

Yoongi chuckles bitterly at your lack of knowledge which embarrasses you to the core, but you don't let it be known as you face him with a raised brow. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't even spare you a glance.

“Light and sound attracts them,” he informs you, “Light not as much but sound and smell of living flesh for sure.”

You shiver at his answer, backing away from the window as you take a deep breath.

A rustle sound comes from the couch as Yoongi stands up, his boots hitting the wooden floor as he starts walking out of the room and you panic.

“Wait–where are you going?” You're embarrassed how quickly you react, fear more than clear in your tone as Yoongi stops and frowns at you over his shoulder.

“I'm gonna check the balcony. It has the best view.”

Glancing between him and the windows, you suddenly feel unsafe to be left alone even though he told you the house is locked. They don't really have a chance to get inside, unless they come in a massive group and would eventually be able to break down the windows. Although, you are not sure if it's possible. You have never seen it and you don't want to.

“Can I–can I come with you?” you ask quickly, cringing at yourself as Yoongi sighs and looks at you again.

He sees you biting onto your lower lip anxiously, causing him to roll his eyes at your weakness. “Just be quiet. Everyone's sleeping.” he mutters under his breath.

That's all it takes for you to follow him.

There is not a chance of you stealing something and making a run for it. Not in the middle of the night and you wouldn't really have a chance to hide any food you might have taken. Plus, you don't know where they keep the medicine – something everyone is willing to kill for and they were lucky enough to find some a month ago.

Still, he doesn't trust you and it's better if he doesn't let you out of his sight.

But you're oblivious to his thoughts and assumptions about you.

It's hard to be quiet when the stairs creak under your boots with each step you take. You really want to smack Yoongi every time he annoyingly sighs when your boots and the wood makes a sound. It's not your fault! The wood creaks under his weight as well but somehow, he manages to go quietly and almost soundless.

He walks up to a door that's in the middle, the one that has to be facing the back of the house. He slowly opens the door with you following him. It's too dark to make out any details of the room but your eyes widen when you realize there is someone sleeping in the bed.

This room is bigger than the one you and Zoya share and judging by some pictures hanging on the wall, it has to be the master bedroom. Suddenly, you're reminded of the old couple that used to live here and your heart clenches with sadness.

Too distracted once again, you bumped into Yoongi's back rather uncomfortably and you have to admit the collision with your forehead and his back is not very pleasing.

Yoongi takes a deep breath, causing you to sheepishly apologize.

“Sorry.” you whisper.

He doesn't say anything, quietly making his way towards the balcony. The curtain is draped over there as well but he locates the knob and turns the lock with an audible click. He opens the balcony door and the immediate cold breeze brushes past your face.

As he steps onto the balcony, you follow him but not before stealing a glance at the person lying in the bed. It's Cherry.

There is no denying it's a female and considering Zoya is in your shared room, it has to be her.

You join Yoongi on the balcony, shivering at how chilly June night is. Surely, the temperature runs low in this location since you are surrounded by trees.

There is absolutely nothing.

Just darkness but Yoongi was right.

The view is best from here and despite the darkness, you can make out things more clearly from up here.

The night is soundless, just a casual rustle of the trees once the breeze gets slightly more intense but other than that, it seems like a calm night.

It's weird.

If it weren't for the apocalypse, you would think of this view and place as peaceful.

“Have you stumbled upon any undead here?” you whisper, your voice suddenly sounding too loud in your ears but you know you're keeping your voice down.

“Yes.” Yoongi answers your question, dark eyes looking around completely focused on the forest in front of you.

“How many?”

Yoongi takes a deep breath before answering. “Two or three.”

“And how many days have you been in this house?”

“Two weeks.”

“Fuck.” you say mindlessly, not even hiding the desperation in your voice.

He turns around, getting out of the balcony and you eagerly follow him. Embarrassingly slowing down when you notice he's been waiting for you to get out of there before he closes the balcony door quietly, not to wake Cherry up.

You get out of the room quietly, slowly making your way back to the living room where the tall windows wait for you. Yoongi goes back to his previous position lying down.

You sit down on the stool, easily growing bored as you keep walking towards the windows to check outside, no matter how scared you are each time you touch the curtain.

Not having an idea of how many times this is that you've walked to the window to check outside, you lazily lean your head against the frame, eyes lazily drooping as you finally start to feel the exhaustion.

Yoongi keeps checking the kitchen and the windows in front of the house but still comes back to the couch to lay back. You're embarrassed how anxious you get each time he stands up and walks out of the room.

He's back on the couch, mindlessly twisting a pen between his long slim fingers.

You're not going to lie. You did take the time to watch him whenever he was focused on something else. You don't know whether he knew about your curious gaze or not, but he never commented on it.

He's an average height but still hovers over everyone with his demeanor. He has such a soft skin for such a rough mouth. It's pale and clear, in other words Yoongi doesn't look real in rare times of mindlessly staring at the ceiling letting his features relax. But still, he always has a prominent frown present on his face, even though sometimes it's very subtle.

You wonder if he ever smiles genuinely these days.

Is there even something to smile about?

You certainly don't have a reason to smile, so you can't blame him if he doesn't do it.

Staring into nothing, you audibly sigh (both bored and exhausted) wondering how many hours until you can go to bed and sleep. Perhaps your next sleep will be better and more peaceful. However, sleep is long forgotten, especially when your eyes catch something – a movement – that is so slight you barely see it but if you focus your vision, you're able to notice it.

Naturally, your heart starts to pick up its pace, hands slightly shaking as you focus your eyes even more.

Come on, it's just a tree. You're tired and you're seeing things.

You know it's your own fear trying to persuade you of such a thing, mouth slowly opening when you realize.

It's one of the undeads.

It's close.

You back away, fearing to take your eyes away from it so it disappears and you won't be able to pinpoint where it is.

“Yoongi,” you shakily say his name, still staring at the slowly approaching monster. “It's–it's undead.”

Yoongi jumps out of his spot, immediately on his feet as he walks over to you, chest brushing against your side but you're too scared and frozen to even notice how close he is.

How you can smell the interesting combination of men's showergel and him.

Yoongi tries to follow your line of vision, staring into the darkness with a deep frown until he finally makes out the motion and turns around, walking to the coffee table where he takes a knife from. The sharp and big one that's been sitting there ever since you came here, waiting to be used.

But you hoped it wouldn't have to be.

Just as he's about to leave, you're quick as you suddenly grab him by his wrist, stopping him from going any further.

You're met with a glare as you stare right back at him.

“Where are you going?”

“Going to kill it,” he deadpans, “Move.”

“No, don't go.” you plead him, wondering what if something bad is going to happen.

He really wants to get out, into the darkness and kill it?

You're fearing for him.

“Move,” he growls at you. “Or would you rather kill it, dove?”

You stop, slowly letting go off his wrists as you shake your head. Dove?

“That's what I thought.”

And he's walking to the backdoor which is situated in the kitchen, clicking the lock open. He is out before you can blink and you gasp, running towards the backdoor, palms pressed against the cold glass as you don't let your eyes fall from Yoongi's back.

Yoongi approaches the undead as if it's a normal human being, suddenly moving too quickly and before you can realize what is happening, the knife is already stabbed into its brain and it falls down, dead completely.

He pulls out the knife, standing quietly while he looks around for a moment before he walks back into the house.

You take a step back, letting him come inside as he closes the door and clicks the lock shut.

“Do you know how you make it completely dead?” he suddenly asks, walking towards the kitchen counter as he pulls out a random cloth, wiping the blood the undead left behind on the knife.

“How?” you ask, voice shaky as you still stare at him completely shocked how easy he made that look. Meanwhile you were ready to shit your pants just by watching it.

“You destroy the brain,”

That makes sense. The two times you've seen people kill them, which happens to be only Yoongi so far, it has always been sticking the knife into its brain. Destroying it.

And then he looks up at you, expressionless and emotionless as always as he wipes off his knife.

“Next one is yours.”

You've no idea if he does it to scare you or make something known to you – your hands shake by the time you join him in the living room.

Praying no more undeads will come to this house.

It's only your luck that it had to appear on your first guarding with Yoongi out of all people.

You're lucky when the sun comes up and no other surprise visits in the form of growling and bloody monsters happen.

Yoongi's eyes follow you once you finally have the green light to go to sleep.

You know it's just a matter of time before he makes you do your job here.

[maddiviner]

How would one perhaps cast a glamourbomb?

Note: This article describes some stuff people did in the past. It’s not safe or wise to do that kind of thing nowadays, if it ever truly was. I don’t recommend engaging in these activities, but wanted to answer this anyways. The word itself made me nostalgic, but conflicted? Yeah.

Glamourbombs, at least as I know the term, aren’t spells in the traditional sense. They are (were, more like) magical performance pieces. They touch the “mundane” world with some sort of occult interjection. This was (perhaps thankfully) most common in places where the veil between “mundane” and “weird” was already thin: libraries, universities after midnight, anime conventions, places like that. While I don’t doubt people still do this today, the trend was at its peak around the turn of the century.

At the time, I was in middle school. As the Millennium (holy f**king s**t! its Y2K!) approached, the apocalypticism wasn’t just limited to the Christian kids. Those of us who weren’t Christian or just came from more secular families still saw things like hysteria about Y2K glitches and especially climate change. A lot of that was pretty scary to us, especially considering some of our more fundamentalist-minded neighbors were saying the world was going to end and “Jesus was coming back.”

It wasn’t so much that we believed them. We just knew, even as kids, that the scientists weren’t lying about the climate data. We also knew that people were acting really irrationally, whatever their reasons. This fit in well with the notion that some big change was coming. Maybe it wasn’t the Christian apocalypse, but could it be something? Plenty of adults seemed to think so, too.

Online, and in our own (burgeoning) occult spaces, we had our own spin on things. Allegedly, by glamourbombing, we were helping, in some small way, to enchant this increasingly hostile mundane world. Because, as teens and tweens growing up on White Wolf, Captain Planet and Square Enix, we clearly knew what was best for reality!

We had every right to (at least try to) impose it on the rest of the world at every chance. Right? Right?

We’d all read at least two books on witchcraft from Barnes and Noble, too.

In some scenarios of glamourbombing, the point was just to make people going about their day pause for a few seconds, think “Hmm? Cool!” and go on about their lives, hopefully in a better mood. These were usually simple things like flyers seeking a “LOST UNICORN,” a notice that you’re entering a “PIXIE-FREE ZONE,” silly things like that. You still see stuff like this today and (if it’s well-designed) it makes people smile and nothing more.

Other glamourbombs had more complexity. They (sometimes) included a bit of magical technique - an active hypersigil, for example.

When pen drives grew in popularity, they became common tools for glamourbombing, with people filling the drives with “magical” material and leaving them (usually conspicuously) somewhere, like a library.

These hypersigils might take the form of experimental music MP3s, animated loops, even actual .EXE files (supposedly). I don’t know whether anyone was bold or foolish enough to click on something like that, of course.

I was barely in my teens, and definitely still sorting things out when it came both to my personal beliefs and perspective on wider community issues like this. Even then, though, I knew not to click any weird .EXE files.

The larger problem, in case you couldn’t tell?

A lot of this straight-up ignores issues like bystander consent from a magical perspective and, y’know, the problems that can arise from leaving weird/unexpected things in public places.

Also? In case you’re not keeping track, I’m talking about the 2000s here. Early 2000s. As in directly after 9/11. Not exactly a wonderful time to be running around acting weird in public and dumping strange packages. Not a safe or wise thing to be doing. Some people got a tag on that early on and quit such shenanigans.

In the summer of 2003, I attended a summer program for “gifted” 🙄 kids where I took the course focused on Greek mythology. The motley pack of metaphysically-inclined nerds I met there thought glamourbombing was tragically cool, of course. We had all kinds of ideas about “Lost Pegasus” flyers and other Greek mythology-themed things. Thankfully nothing that would’ve been too harmful. We ended up being too shy and busy with schoolwork to actually do any of it.

Sadly, later on, there were some attempts by groups (some of which I’d call cult-like) to recruit using this kind of thing. I won’t name anything that’d put me on anyone’s radar (hopefully), but I remember reading about some of it.

One particularly unpleasant and notorious use of this technique occurred on the west coast in the late 2000s when a cult set up an “art installation” in public featuring a live rat in a maze and some other random detritus. The rat didn’t freeze to death despite cold temperatures, thankfully.

Incidents like that (which was, of course, reported as a bomb scare) probably helped to put a stop to the glamourbombing trend. After all, if you’re (supposedly) after some kind of mind-liberating mass reenchantment of reality, well, nothing could be worse than the whole bomb squad showing up, right?

As the digital age crept on, I think people started to reevaluate attention’s role as a commodity. It’s really easy to get attention if you want it, as things like the “rat in a maze” exhibit (which made the papers) show.

You can’t control what kind of attention you’ll get, though, and you can’t say for certain that what you’re doing won’t have unintended consequences for other people. With that in mind, something like glamourbombing doesn’t seem very responsible, especially right now.

I guess the concept isn’t irredeemable. As recently as 2018, I was posting on Facebook looking for someone to help me slay the green dragon that sometimes lands in the field near the Taco Bell by the highway.

Little pranks and jokes like that can brighten everyone’s mood sometimes. There’s certain contexts, though (my Facebook feed, for example) where it might be appropriate, and others where it wouldn’t.

And the full-on concept of a glamourbomb, designed to “spread magic in the mundane'' with an active sigil of some sort, etc? Hard pass. Doesn’t seem ethical to me nowadays.

And, of course, it’s generally a bad idea to do anything that might be mistaken for a bomb threat.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi, I recently saw a game that used cribbage scoring for resolution, I know I've dabbled with craps as resolution, and hands of blackjack/poker have been a common diceless alternative for years, but are you aware of any other interesting uses for "classic" games as part of a ttrpg's core mechanics?

THEME: Classic Games - Remixed

Hello there! I’m assuming that the cribbage game you are talking about is Hey Boss, by Zaftikat, which is inspired by Nimona! Let’s see what else we can find. It was easy to find poker hands as methods of resolution, but I did find a few that use a different game!

Headcanon, by radiantfracture.

All the apocalypses blur together, but this one could be special. 

In which our heroes play collaborative poker for their fates and the fate of the multiverse. …No pressure.

In Headcanon, the two(ish) of you – friends, enemies, allies, lovers, all of the above – play out the final episode of the Eternal Show, a nearly infinite low-budget horror-speculative-fiction-suspense-medical-drama-police-procedural-apocalyptic TV series.

In this low-prep ttrpg, players create collaborative poker hands to determine their characters’ actions and the success or failure of the scene.

If you want some two-player fun with poker hands and some inspiration, you might want to check out Headcanon. You’ll start by deciding what’s canon - where is the story set? Who are the factions at play? What does the end of the world look like? You’ll use cards from the deck to help you narrow down some of the options, as well as create characters for each of you. You’ll then play establishing hands that flesh out some details about the beginning of the episode - what happened to your characters, and how they’re feeling about it. Then recap a bit and try to determine what brought your characters to this moment. You’ll play through 5 acts using a shared hand in order to create a narrative, with actions available depending on the number of the card you played, ending in a final scene where you get to decide how it all goes down.

If you paid for the TTRPGs for Reproductive Rights Bundle a year or two ago, you already own this game. If you want a game that gives you and a friend the chance to make the season finale you’ve always wanted, you might want to check out this game!

Howdy, Stranger, by NumberNine.

This is a wild west RPG that uses blackjack as a resolution mechanic. The first thing this gives you is a new way to resolve actions - the Dealer and the player each play a hand of blackjack. The Dealer always hits on a 16 or lower; on a 17, they stand. If you win the hand, you did it! If you lose, you run into complications. If you get blackjack, not only do you win, but the dealer adds a twist that makes you even more awesome.

The game also has a little bit of structure around character creation and combat, using card values to assign numbers to three skills, and more cards to determine how long you last in a gun fight. Finally, it gives you a starting scenario, with a mysterious death and a number of rumours for the players to follow up on. If your game group already has a comfortable style of play, you could plop this in and take it for a spin - if you’re a new group or new to GM-ing, I’d recommend something else with a little more guidance.

Rowan Queen Blues, by Vyrdine.

Rowan Queen Blues is a game for the 2022 Cover Game Jam, under the theme of Rituals & Folklore. Three players work together as The Rowan Queen, a single authority [though not necessarily a single person] attempting to lead her people to safety against the oncoming threat of the Darkness.

What I like about this game is that it gives you digital tarot cards to play with if you don’t have your own deck. The game also comes with the basic rules of cribbage, in case you’re unfamiliar with it. This is a game of three-player cribbage, using prompts from the tarot deck to help spark the creativity as you play. What exactly the darkness is (and who the Queen is) looks to be up to you.

DROWWORD, by Ursidice.

The Drow – sometimes known as Trow or Dtrow – are mischievous sprites with pale skin and dark hair that inhabit the Orkney Islands. At night, when the moonlight paints the earth, they emerge from their drowie knowes to sneak into nearby towns, causing mischief and stealing items to take home to their burrows. They love music and are particularly beguiled by songs and stories, drawing the power for their tricksy magick from written and spoken words. As they run through the darkened streets and across the wild cliffs, they draw letters from their sporrans to cast spells on those who would spot them or stand in their way.

DROWWORD is a mini RPG that uses Scrabble tiles instead of dice, where you play as naughty dark elves trying to steal as many shiny trinkets as possible!

The basic method of resolution in this game relies on drawing letter tiles and counting how many you need to get 10 points. The less you need to draw, the better - but if you draw too many, you can always try to negate it by spelling a word! This replicates the drows’ use of magic as an attempt to save themselves from failure. It’s a simple little game with plenty of opportunity for mischief!

hook, line, & cyb3r, by satah.

a go fish-powered cyberpunk-flavoured game of blade-wielding bounty hunters, originally developed for the fishblade 2023 game jam

a zero prep, GMless, pick-up-&-play one shot of dastardly neon-tinged montages, leaning on mechanics you've known like your entire life & a vast array of generative tables to slide you effortlessly into playing out the chaotic professional lives of shadowrunners, bounty hunters, or some other type of high tech dystopic gig economy adjacent freelance criminals for hire.

You'll still need some d6's to play this game, but the basic rules use the mechanics of Go Fish. The suits of cards represent four different kinds of intel, which you'll need to gather to build a scenario. Using the cards and some roll tables, you don't need a GM, because the story is partially generated! If you want to play a roleplaying game with friends but nobody has a lot of time or mental energy to learn a new ruleset, I recommend hook, line, & cyb3r.

Go Directly To Jail, by Typhos Games.

Go Directly to Jail is a game of prison break. Two agents have each been asked by a different crime syndicate to rescue one of their members from the Elmira Correctional Facility in New York State. This maximum security prison houses some of the worst mobsters in the entire world, and you've been tasked with breaking one of them out.

Two players will take turns moving around the board, and will alternate acting as their character and as the narrator. Both players are trying to get in and get out as quickly as possible, but don't get in each other's way!

This game uses the pieces of Monopoly, but not necessarily all of the rules. The board becomes a prison, out of which both of you are trying to escape. You use Monopoly money to represent assets, that you can use to overcome Obstacles rather than attempting to roll for it. It doesn’t matter what version of Monopoly you use - although I think it would be very fun to re-skin the setting based off of the Monopoly board you use!

[vigsilantes]

movie night (adrian chase x reader)

Pairing: Adrian Chase x Reader (one shot) Summary: You and Adrian have a movie night and watch Shaun of the Dead. (I have a hc that Adrian loves watching horror movies, specifically zombie movies, and discussing the logistics of the kills in it lol) Word Count: 536 Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Swearing, Comfort, Idiots in Love, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Post-Canon, Zombie Movie, Reader-Insert, Post-Canon, Post Season 1 Warnings: swearing, gore, blood, zombies

>>>(read on ao3)<<<

After a long shift at your café job, and Adrian just coming home from Fennel Fields, you two were exhausted, and you both didn’t feel like going out to patrol tonight, so you decided to have a movie night. Looking through your gigantic, shared collection of DVDs, Adrian suggested Shaun of the Dead, which is one of his favorite movies. Whenever you two watch it, or any zombie movie, he goes into so much detail about the zombies, and the kills, and you love it. He knows how some of these kills should look like, and he loves talking about the logistics of it. And he loves seeing if he would survive given the circumstances of each zombie flick.

“Oooh like right there, the blood should’ve splattered differently, and there would definitely be more blood too! But that kill was insane!” he smiled, getting antsy on the couch, you could tell how much he loved this movie. You both had an immense amount of film knowledge, but this was where Adrian shined. Normally while watching movies, people get quite annoyed with you and Adrian sharing facts or talking while watching. The 11th Street Kids always throw popcorn at you guys or heckle you when you ramble too long during a movie. But together, you two love to discuss what’s happening, and hearing what the other has to say. “These zombies are mad slow walkers though, which gives them all at least some kind of chance. In that one movie we watched, those ones ran, which would just make it even more impossible to survive.”

“Yeah, man, in a regular zombie apocalypse, I think we’d have some chance of survival,” you started, Adrian looked over at you, “you know we have some experience defending ourselves,” he giggled, “but if they ran, it’s game over for me… You know I’m not the fastest runner,” you chuckled. “You on the other hand, might have some odds in your favor, you are such a fast runner, babe,”  

“You’re fast!” Adrian instantly came to your defense. “Remember when we outran the cops that time? You were super fucking fast, I think you’d have a chance,” he nudged you.

“Eh… if they’re like the ones in that movie though, I’d be a goner,” you joked, “you’re on your own, Ade,” you tapped his thigh.

“Nooo!” He screeched. “I could carry you whenever we needed to run, or give you a piggyback ride,” he suggested, fully serious. “Ooh or I could tie you to my back like I did with Goff a while ago,” you started laughing.

“Wouldn’t I slow you down?” you said in between laughs.

“Nah, like you said, babe, I’m fast,” he gloated. “I don’t wanna live through an apocalypse without you," he said as he rubbed your hand. “It’d be superrrr boring, and like who would I even talk to?”

“That’s true, I am pretty fun to converse with,” you smiled, and he nodded in agreement. The night continued like this, watching the movie, making up fake apocalypse scenarios, and seeing how or if you would survive. In every fake scenario, no matter how insane it was, Adrian always made up some crazy, irrational way to save you.

[twstedstoryshop]

Hello can i have a headcannon of Cater,vil and leona in zombie apocalypse au and the reader is a doctor thanks!

Apocalypse scenarios honestly make me so sad, but it's definitely an interesting exercise to imagine the boys in. I don't think I'd have the heart to see any of them die or suffer too much though... Of course, tw for apocalypse scenario and zombie talk. -Shopkeep

Zombie Apocalypse AU with Cater, Vil, Leona and A Doctor MC

Hoooooo boy, okay. I don’t know how this man will cope with the idea of the world ending to the undead. Cater clings a lot to the personas he uses so when the chips are down, there’s no crowd to put on a face for, what’s the use of masks for anymore?

I think Cater would still use his great acting skills though to either keep a cold face on during serious situations or appear harmless to anyone who’d try to hurt him and his crew.

I would imagine during these trying times, the boys keep to their usual groups. Like, Cater would still be with Trey, Riddle, Ace, Deuce, and of course, you! He clings and protects his group with his LIFE.

He is a lot more protective of them and dreads the idea of losing any of them or you. Where he once pushed others away, now he can’t afford to lose any single life that’s connected to him.

Cater acts a bit cheery with them and cracks some jokes here and there to keep their minds off things. He does this especially with the younger ones like Ace and Deuce.

However whenever he is in the presence of you, I think Cater would shed everything to reveal his weary and fully in despair side. Though you may not be a doctor of the psychological kind, you have a good head on your shoulders and you try to be a shoulder for him to cry on.

It’s a lot of venting, a lot of close contact as Cater leans on you and you offer him tender hugs, and hearing some bleak talk. But can you really blame him in a situation like this?

Of course, this is not a one way street. Cater is very much looking out for you whenever Heartslabyul is out in the open, trekking from one area to the next, or gathering supplies. He’s the first to jump in to protect you. Not only as a dear companion, but you’re a vital member that can save the others’ lives if they aren’t bitten.

But have faith in the Heartslabyul gang. With all of them together, I’m sure you’ll find your patch of safety and wait for this nightmare to come to an end.

Vil I think would have the capability and charisma as a leader to gather a small following and create a stable community in order to support each other. However, he is very much critical in watching every member of his group. If one acts suspicious or is too selfish in their thinking, Vil is quick to mercilessly snuff them out.

As scary as he can be, Vil has to do this in order to keep his group stable and sufficient. Better to have strong-minded individuals who can look out for each other rather than weak links.

Vil has his more trusted circle of confidants being Rook, Epel, and you, the healer. He often asks the three of you for your council on crucial decisions.

Sometimes he often comes to you for help on ways to help him sleep better instead of being awake at ungodly hours. “I’d prescribe you sleep medicine, but it’s slim pickings. We can always do the tried and true method of literally knocking you out.” A bit of grim humor never hurt no one.

He chuckles. “Please, don’t ruin my face further. I already look dreadful with the circles under my eyes and how translucent my skin has gotten. I look like a ghost.” “I’d take ghosts over zombies any day. Plus you make for a very beautiful ghost.” “Hmph, flattery can only do so much for you, doctor.”

Vil puts on a strong front, but you and his other trusted people know how tired and stressed he can get. You all try hard to lift the burden off his shoulders when you can and keep things running smoothly. Vil works so incredibly hard to keep his people safe so it’s the least you can do to make sure Vil’s community is perfect.

Very much the guy that’d prefer to work alone and truly believes in survival of the fittest. If you can’t pull your weight in surviving in the apocalypse, you might as well be zombie chow. He has a very small group consisting of him, Ruggie, Jack, and you.

But… He has a very secret and special member of his ragtag team only you and the other boys knows of. It’s little Cheka he protects tooth and claw for. He cannot trust anyone else outside of his group to know of Cheka.

He fears deeply that if any rival group hears about Cheka, someone will use Cheka as leverage against him and he would go feral over that.

Leona can get pretty demanding and tough on you, Ruggie and Jack while you are out looking for supplies and trying to survive. But he’ll definitely ensure all of your safety with his survival skills. He’s rough, but if you really squint, you can see that he cares for his group through his actions

Often the first to keep getting injured when fending off zombies or other selfish survivors. Has never been bitten though, thankfully. You’re always tending to him first and it truly feels like you’re tending to a wounded beast sometimes. He looks so tired, physically and mentally.

You know he hasn’t been sleeping well either. You’ve seen him stay up at ungodly hours, rubbing gently on Cheka’s back while the kid mumbles in his sleep. You can only imagine why it’s only him and Cheka now. The distant gaze he has in his dull green eyes say a lot.

You quietly slip your hand in his after bandaging his bloodied palm. You grasp his calloused hand firmly, a silent comfort, and you were surprised that he held your hand back tightly. His hold trembled slightly, but the grip alone showed that he wasn’t going to let you or anyone go anytime soon…

[7-wonders]

The Trouble With Wanting

Summary: Though life has changed for you, for the rest of the world, everything remains the same.

Word Count: 1.3K

Author's Note: Hello yes it's the beginning of Act II of Mad Love. Buckle up. Special shoutout to @mrslangdonn for being so pumped for this and making an actual meme. Really hope I didn't let you down with this.

Mad Love Act I here!

In the grand scheme of things, life has been oddly normal lately. Since being kidnapped by witches, saved by your Antichrist husband, admitting that you actually do love said Antichrist husband, and realizing that you’re potentially the only thing that can stop the end of times, the world continued turning and the days marched on. Michael did what he normally did during the days (you don’t really know what it is he does, to be honest. Probably just talking to rich people all day), and you did too. Life continued as it had been, even though it felt like your world had been changed numerous times lately. Honestly, you had expected things to be a lot more dramatic.

But no, life was almost boring now. Mallory had gone back to New Orleans to handle being the Supreme and running her coven, so besides the texts and phone calls with her to try and figure out how to convince Michael that ending the world wasn’t the right course of action to take, the vigilante talk was almost non-existent in your day-to-day life. That was also because neither of you had any idea how to actually put this plan into action. There had been ideas, of course, but none that held any weight. That may be because the best idea either of you had had was a Powerpoint that showed all of the reasons why ending the world was a bad idea, but in your opinion that was still an idea that was on the table.

Also, you assumed that professors wouldn’t take “preoccupied by your husband’s plans for world domination” as a proper excuse for you not completing your work or showing up to class. At the very least, with how turbulent your life had been, you had expected far less homework than what you’re staring at right now.

You’re sitting in your room, doing some reading for class. Surprisingly, the reading isn’t that boring. It’s certainly not fun to do, which is probably why you hear the music right away; your attention absolutely is not all that focused tonight. It catches you entirely off-guard, considering that there’s no speakers in your room and you definitely did not have any music playing from your phone. You listen for a moment, trying to place the melody.

“Is this Frankie Valli?” you question, standing up from your bed and trying to find the source. Opening up your door to see if this is an isolated incident, you find that the music is drifting throughout the house. ‘Drifting’ is probably the wrong word, since it literally sounds like there’s speakers playing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” that are installed in every room and hallway.

“Hi,” you say, finally coming across Michael in the living room. He’s standing there nonchalantly, which you automatically know means that he’s involved in this.

“Hi,” Michael says right back.

“Uh, what’s with the music?”

“Well, I was on my phone earlier, and I came across an article.”

Smiling, you step towards him. “You did?”

He nods. “I did, and it was extremely informative. Did you know that married couples typically have a reception after they officially get married? Apparently, they share a first dance at the reception.”

“And you believe everything you read on the internet?”

“Sometimes, if there’s some truth to what I’m reading.” You stare at him, biting back a laugh. “We’re married.”

“We are married.”

“We didn’t have a first dance when we got married.”

“No, we did not.”

Finally, Michael sighs, tired of you playing dumb. “(Y/N), may I have this dance?”

You grab Michael’s outstretched hand, letting him pull you towards him. One hand goes onto your waist, the other intertwined with yours. He begins to lead you in a simple waltz, and you’re thankful that he knows how to dance because you sure don’t. “I didn’t know you knew this song,” you comment when you realize he’s humming.

“I enjoy the classics.”

“There’s this scene from a movie, where one of the main characters--”

“You’re talking about 10 Things I Hate About You, right?” You raise an eyebrow in questioning, and he chuckles. “Madelyn loved ‘90s rom coms, and sometimes I was bored enough that I would watch them with her.”

“I’m a little impressed.”

Michael spins you around. “You should be.”

The romanticism of the whole situation is almost overwhelming. It doesn’t matter that you’re in your living room instead of a reception hall, wearing sweatpants instead of a wedding dress. You’re here with Michael, and just that is romance enough for you. You could stand here like this, with him, forever if he asked you to do so.

“What if we had an actual wedding?” Michael asks.

“We did have an actual wedding.”

“I mean one where you actually have a say in it.”

“Well that’s sweet of you, Michael, but you still haven’t taken me on a proper date.”

“My apologies.” He dips you, kissing you before bringing you back up. “How’s Paris for a first date? Maybe Greece?”

You gasp. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Wherever you want, whenever you want, however you want.” He punctuates each scenario with a kiss, making your body melt into him. The song ends, the house falling into silence before the music begins to repeat. But neither of you are paying attention to that any more, not when he’s staring at you in a way that makes heat pool in the bottom of your stomach.

“Michael,” you whisper, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

He reciprocates, trailing kisses down your jaw and onto your throat as his hands move up and down your sides. All too soon, he pulls away, making you groan in disappointment. “We shouldn’t, you know…”

“I know,” you lean your head against his chest with a sigh.

Of course. The main issue that’s been prevalent on both yours and Michael’s minds for weeks now: you’re married and you love each other, but sex is...not going to happen for the time being. You both absolutely, 100% want to, but, as with most things in your life, Satan seems to be the major roadblock. You just never thought that your father-in-law (who you’ve still never met) would end up cockblocking you.

Just because Michael made sure that you wouldn’t be under Satan’s influence, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t stop trying. If anything, he’s going to try even more now that both of you had openly defied his will. And what was the one thing that Satan wanted besides the end of the world? For Michael to have an heir. And you didn’t trust any sort of contraception when it came to the supernatural powers that you had been married into. Michael completely agreed with that, especially since he knew first-hand just how easily material things (like condoms and all of the various forms of birth control) could be manipulated. So for now, until you could figure out a way to safely get it on, sex was off the table. Unfortunately.

“I’m going to go finish my reading, then.” Slowly, because neither of you particularly want to, you disentangle yourself from him.

“And I’m going to...take a shower. A cold shower.” You laugh at him, but you’re really in the same position that he is.

“Have a good night,” you say, bounding up the stairs before you can stop yourself.

“You too.” Michael also goes up the stairs, and you shut your door before you have to say something to him again. You still keep separate bedrooms, partly because you really enjoy your space and partly because you know that, given the opportunity to be laying in a bed with Michael when you’re both horny, you would totally let him fuck you.

Sliding your back down the door, you groan as you hold your head in your hands. Saving the world from the apocalypse is definitely difficult. Having to stop yourself from having sex with your incredibly hot husband? Well, that feels impossible.

//

Tag List (starting from scratch because I need a new tag list so message me if you want to be tagged!): @michaellangdon @trelaney @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @blakescoven @we-did-it-joe @thatonehumanbeing05 @michaellangdonstanaccount

[runtedfiction]

nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

[marvelmusing]

Making Time

Mobius M Mobius x Reader

Part 2

My Masterlist

“1985, huh?” You say, looking up from the briefing Mobius has just handed you.

“Yeah, maybe we’ll spot a delorian?” He jokes, making a Back to the Future reference. You smile at him, remembering when you’d first mentioned the movie. You hadn’t been at the TVA long, to your knowledge.

You’re sat in one of the cafes, explaining something about the timeline to Casey, and you make an offhand reference to the movie. To which, Casey looks even more confused. You glance at Mobius, who’s been sat next to you, watching your teaching with a smile. You offer them both a small smile, at yet another reminder that you’re from somewhere very different from the rest of them.

“Neither of you have seen it have you?” Mobius shakes his head.

“Not a lot of chances for watching movies when dealing with the timeline. Should we get the chance, I’d love to.” It’s a few days later when you give him the chance.

“Honey, I’m home.” You hear Mobius call out, which brings a smile to your face. Whilst you had your own apartment, you much preferred staying with Mobius, like you did when you first arrived at the TVA. You hear him set down a pile of papers in the kitchen, before making his way into the lounge where you’re sat waiting for him. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“What’s all this?”

“Back to the Future. I went through my file, and managed to find a version that I watched that was uninterrupted. Then I isolated it, and copied it onto one of those cassette reel things, so that it’ll play on your mini projector.” You pause, before adding, “I probably put too much effort into this but, I thought we could have what my time considers a movie night?”

“A movie night?” Your face falls slightly, feeling embarrassed by your suggestion.

“We don’t have to-“ you start. He shrugs off his jacket and settles down next to you.

“Did I not tell you I wanted to watch it, should I get the chance?”

“Well, yeah.” He gestures to the projector.

“Let’s get this show on a roll.” You grin at him, before quickly pressing play on the projector. Mobius leans an arm on the couch and pulls you to his side. “You finally have clearance to access to your file, and you use it to watch Back to the Future?”

“What else was I supposed to do with it?” You joke.

You and Mobius head to the cubicle where you left Loki this morning. You spot him wapping against the desk with a magazine.

“Training going well?” You ask him. He leans back in his chair, attempting to look casual.

“Yeah.”

“Is that my jet ski magazine?” Mobius asks him. “Put it down. Gear up. There's been an attack. Let's go.” He hands Loki the jacket he’s been carrying. You set the briefing down on the desk, and follow Mobius. Loki trails behind you. “Put it on.” Loki shrugs the jacket on, adjusting the collar before posing.

“Nice.” You tell him with a smile.

“Good. Yeah, smart.” Mobius says distractedly. You soon reach the Timedoors, where a small group of hunters have gathered to wait. B-15 opens up the briefing.

“C-20 and her team went dark shortly after they jumped into the 1985 branch. All signs point to another ambush. We've grabbed enough temporal aura to know it's our Loki Variant. But which kind of Loki, remains unknown.”

“They're the lesser kind, to be clear.” Loki specifies. B-15 sighs,

“Let me see the back of that jacket.” Loki does a small turn, showing the group the back of his jacket, where the bright orange letters reading VARIANT stand out. Everyone is the group shares a small smile. You’re glad you don’t have to wear one of those anymore.

“Very subtle. Well done.”

“I don't want anybody out there to forget what you are.”

“Oh, your only hope of capturing a murderer?”

“No. A cosmic mistake.”

“That's enough.” Mobius interrupts.

“Lovely.” You hear Loki murmur.

“Here's the deal.” Mobius begins. “When we get out on the branch, we're not just looking for a Time Criminal. We're looking for a Loki. A variation of this guy. A type we should all be very familiar with, because the TVA has pruned a lotta these guys, almost more than any other Variant.” He skims through a few of the Loki Variants that the TVA have caught before. “And no two are alike. Slight differences in appearances, or not so slight. Different powers, although, powers generally include: shapeshifting, illusion projection, and my favourite-”

“Duplication casting.” Loki interrupts

“Illusion projection.”

“No, they're two completely different powers.”

“How?” You ask him.

“Illusion-projection involves depicting a detailed image from outside oneself, which is perceptible in the external world, whereas duplication-casting entails recreating an exact facsimile of one's own body in its present circumstance, which acts as a true holographic mirror of its molecular structure. But you already knew that.” He explains. You catch a glimpse of Mobius’s smirk before he says,

“Okay, take a breath. Noted. We're gonna break into two teams, including myself and Professor Loki.”

“Why?” A hunter stood beside you asks.

“Because whoever this Variant is, we haven't been able to find him. So let's bring in an expert.” Loki looks around at the group before adding a quiet,

“That's me.”

As the hunters prepare themselves, you hear Loki ask, “Do I get a weapon?” You laugh lightly,

“No chance.”

“Well, I'll have my magic back. Is no one concerned about that?”

“Of what?” Mobius asks.

“Me betraying you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know that we’ll just catch you again.” You tell him.

“And how's betraying us gonna get you any closer to the Time-Keepers?” Mobius adds. Loki leans forward, his attention fixed on Mobius.

“An audience with the Time-Keepers is on the table?”

“Keep that focus.” Mobius tells him. The three of you follow the hunters through the Timedoor, and out into 1985 Wisconsin. Your group makes their way through the crowd of the Renaissance fair before entering a large tent. It’s dark inside, with only a few lanterns to light your path. You watch as B-15 bends down to grasp examine a helmet left abandoned on the floor.

“So he's taking hostages now?” She says, turning to Mobius.

“The Variant's never taken a hostage before.”

“Maybe he's upping his game.”

“Or he pruned her.” One of the hunters remarks, you frown at his callousness towards his colleague.

“A Loki couldn't have gotten the jump on C-20.”

“I think you underestimate, actually...” Loki begins.

“Fan out and search for her. And hurry up, we're at three units until red line.” B-15 orders. Mobius sets a hand on your arm, and the two of you head to the exit.

“Come on.” He says to Loki.

“Wait. If you leave this tent, you'll end up like them.” Mobius stops beside Loki.

“What do you see?”

“I see a scheme, and in that scheme, I see myself.” Loki begins to ramble about an old Asgardian saying.

“Two units. He is wasting our time.” B-15 interrupts.

“Okay. Come on, Loki, make a long story short.” Mobius encourages.

“We need to look for C-20.”

“That's exactly what the Variant wants you to do. It's a trap. He's waiting for you outside this tent.”

“Should I secure the reset charges?”

“No. He wants me. I'm the key to his plan. He knows that I'm stronger. And he rightly believes that together we can overthrow and rule the TVA. But that's not what I want. I have a new purpose. I'm a servant of the Sacred Timeline. And knowing what I now know about his tactics, I can deliver you the Variant, but I need assurances.” He says, looking to Mobius. You glance up at Mobius, frowning slightly. Surely he isn’t believing what Loki’s saying? His eyes catch yours and there’s a small twinkle in them. You hide your smile. Loki circles around Mobius.

“Yeah?” Mobius offers.

“Assurances that I won't be completely disintegrated the moment the job has been done.”

“Right.” Loki leans forward, before whispering,

“We'll need to speak to the Time-Keepers at once. They're in graver danger than we realized.”

“He's lying. Just playing games. There's no one out there.” Mobius calls out to the group.

“Reset the timeline.” B-15 orders.

“You had me for a second. My ears are sharp too.” He points at Loki’s chest. You follow Mobius out of the tent.

“Well that went well.” You remark, hearing Mobius sigh. He runs his hand over his face.

You’re tucking into your lunch when you spot Mobius. He picks out a drink and a salad before making his way over to you. You give him a small smile,

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“How did it go with Renslayer?” He sighs, leaning his head back, before getting comfortable in his seat.

“Well, our Loki hasn’t been deleted yet.”

“That’s good then?” You offer. He sighs,

“Yeah. Though he’s getting more and more talkative.”

“You did say he loves to talk. Where is he now?”

“I’ve left him with the archives, hopefully he’ll be reading for the next few days. Or at least long enough for me to finish lunch.” He begins to eat his salad. Just then, Loki scampers in looking like a manic puppy.

“I found something.” Mobius shakes his head, keeping his attention on his lunch,

“No, I said don’t bother me until you've read all the files.”

“I have.”

“Every file?”

“Yes.”

“Pertaining to the Variant?”

“The answer isn't in the files, it's on the timeline. He's hiding in apocalypses.”

“Which apocalypse?” You ask.

“Any time in history? There's, like, a million of 'em.” Mobius adds.

“Ragnarok. Are you familiar?”

“Yes. The destruction of Asgard and most of its people. I'm sorry.” Loki pauses looking down.

“Yes, very sad.” He immediately perks up again. “Anyway, it got me thinking. Nexus events happen when someone does something they're not supposed to do, right?”

“Well, it's a little more complicated, but, yeah.”

“Great. And then that thing they're not supposed to do, cascades into a whole range of other things that aren't supposed to happen.”

“And so on and so forth, until eventually, a new timeline branches. Yes?”

“Chaotic alterations of a predetermined outcome.”

“Exactly. So, let's just say...” He picks up the salad bowl from in front of Mobius.

“Mm-hm. What are you doing?”

“...your salad is Asgard in this scenario.” Loki continues.

“It's not Asgard, that's my lunch.” Mobius complains, the pouting clear in his voice. You lean forward, a hand on your chin to hide the smile at Mobius’s reaction.

“It's a metaphor. Just hang in there.”

“I want that salad.”

“And I could go down to Asgard before Ragnarok causes its complete destruction and I could do anything I wanted. I could, let's say, push the Hulk off the Rainbow Bridge.” He picks up a salt shaker and puts a large sprinkling of salt across Mobius’s salad.

“There he goes.” You say, feeling rather invested in this metaphor.

“The salt's Hulk?” Mobius asks, clearly not as enthusiastic as you.

“And I could also... Set fire to the palace.” He picks up a pepper pot and shakes the pepper across the salad.

“No, just stop. Don't set fire to the palace.”

“Okay? I can do whatever I want to do, and it would never matter. It wouldn't go against the dictates of the timeline because...” He sets down the shakers after nearly emptying them both. He heads to the table behind you. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, God!” Mobius sighs.

“You!” Recognising the voice you look up to see Casey looking very confused.

“Nice to see you. I just need this for a second. Thanks.” Loki picks up Casey’s carton of juice, before sitting back down at your table. “Because the apocalypse is coming. Ragnarok, Surtur will destroy Asgard no matter what I do.”

“No, don't do...” Mobius sighs as Loki empties the carton over the remains of the salad.

“There's the apocalypse.” You say with a sigh, offering Mobius your bag of chips.

“That's the apocalypse?” He asks, taking a handful of chips from you with a smile.

“Ragnarok obliterates the salt. Ragnarok. There it is.” Loki gestures to the ruined salad with a proud smile.

“What am I lookin' at?”

“Okay, it was a clumsy metaphor. But you see what I mean. It doesn't matter. It could be any apocalypse. It could be a tidal wave. It could be a meteor. It could be a volcano, a supernova. If everything and everyone around you is destined for imminent destruction, then nothing that I say or do will matter, because the timeline's not gonna branch. Hence, the Variant could be hiding in the apocalypse and do whatever he wants, and we wouldn't know!”

“Not bad.” You offer.

“Take me to a real apocalypse, to Ragnarok, I'll show you.” Mobius chuckles,

“Yeah. So you can run away back to your homeland? No.”

“No, I'm not going home. We can go anywhere.”

“I'm not taking you for a stroll along the promenade, much less an apocalypse.”

“Oh, Mobius, come on! What could possibly go wrong? We gotta properly test this theory.”

“Well, here's a fun theory. You lure me out into the field, and stab me in the back. And that's a theory I don't wanna test.”

“I'd never stab anyone in the back. That's such a boring form of betrayal.” He most definitely would stab someone in the back.

“Loki, I've studied almost every moment of your entire life. You've literally stabbed people in the back, like 50 times.”

“Well, I'd never do it again, because it got old.” You both laugh at this. Mobius looks at you, and you shrug.

“Might as well try it?” You offer. Mobius nods,

“Okay.”

“Okay, look, you don't trust me, you can trust one thing. I love to be right.” Loki adds. That certainly isn’t a lie.

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