#i see the truth and a lot of the fuckers in this fandom don’t but wtv it’s fine

[crossbackpoke-check]

what are ur thoughts on the winners room trope?

ooooo okay surface level analysis: i like winner’s room fics :)

etwas tieferes: i think it’s cool that it’s (afaik) unique to hockey fandom and i enjoy the way it integrates a lot of unspoken rules in hockey with desire/makes them a physical/tangible reality… also the narrative potentials/world-building it opens up can be fun because there’s not really a set of rules for the “winner’s room” trope. are there in-universe rules? who gets chosen? who’s exempt? who gets to pick? where’s it going down? is it the entire room or one guy? what if your (ex)boyfriend is on another team? does somebody need to be taught a lesson or do you need to remind someone who got traded you still love them? also, most important, winner’s room gives you the chance to put two random-ass guys you saw interact for 0.002 seconds and went “hmmm. interesting” about into a Situation and i love that

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

oh and of course, i have to tell all of you what happens because you don’t have the mental capacity or media literacy to watch the scenes and understand what’s actually happening.

HEY MATTY DEFENDERS I GOT ANOTHER CREEPY ASS THING TO TELL YOU:

when matty’s talking with debbie in 4x11 and they’re discussing the CHILD PORN that was all over facebook of debbie’s tits, you know what he says??? “i think you looked pretty”. HUH?? EXCUSE ME???

then a few seconds later he’s like “yeah well, you’re the kid she’s the adult. she should’ve known better”. THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE BECAUSE WHAATTT… that’s wild.

[gloriousburden]

I am shaking your hand thank you so much for having nuanced takes about Loki instead of subjecting all of his fascinating choices to woobification. I'm so tired of the woobification, this fucker DID BAD SHIT!! OF HIS OWN FREE WILL!!

Anyway your existence is a blessing and makes me feel both not alone and Not Crazy for apparently a not popular opinion among the Fandom so thank you 🙏🙏🙏

AHHHHHHHH OMG 🥹🤝 THANK YOU 💜 I just try to look at Loki as accurately as possible without any of my own personal biases getting in the way, and without any fanon getting in the way. I hate woobification!!! DIE WOOBIFICATION DIE!!! Loki can be morally grey it’s ok guys he gets to be a little sick and twisted sometimes

Yeah Loki definitely went through a lot of sketchy shit with Thanos, but I also believe that Thanos didn’t “make” him “evil” or any bullshit like that. I see it as: Thanos took advantage of what was already there. His hurt, anger, and desire for vengeance was already there. So combine that with the scepter, and… you get Loki in the Avengers! The perfect pawn to take advantage of. But Loki has genuinely changed since Thor 1. He no longer was fighting for Odin’s approval, and in his own words, he grew in his exile. That’s not just due to the shit with Thanos, though I’m sure it played a part in it. He had some sort of loyalty towards Thanos. A loyalty that came from fear, and a lack of any other purpose as he was cast out.

I think there is some truth to certain aspects to Loki in the Avengers, since the Scepter does heighten what is already there. He’s in a deluded and very vulnerable state, but I don’t think that EVERYTHING was a lie, illusion, or a facade.

No one has to agree with me obviously these are just my own opinions on it. I feel like I also fuck up a bit by not stressing the fact that I see the torture/fucked up stuff with Thanos/the black order as canon and I’m not trying to deny any of that by saying the mind control stuff is bullshit.

[fyreflys]

🍬?

For the Writer’s Truth or Dare Ask Game

Sorry it took forever to answer this one- got kind of stumped and then forgot about this entirely OOPS

🍬⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

Okay. Here’s the thing. I’ve thought about this for a LONG while. & I’ve come to the conclusion that…I don’t think I have any? I’m one of those people who will like just about every character unless they’re universally bad (or they do something that really pisses me the fuck off for no reason), it’s kind of hard for me to hate/love a character that I’m not intended to. I’m unoriginal, I tend to agree with the majority.

Okay but with that aside- (this is where I get pummeled) I don’t think…I don’t think I hate Gale Hawthorne as much as other people do. Like. I get it, he did some bad shit & he’s a tiny bit morally corrupt & stuff, but also like. I get it. I understand why he’s like that. I understand why he did what he did. Not that I agree or that I like it, but…idk. I just don’t have this burning hatred for the man like a lot of people in the fandom seem to have, ykwim? That’s as unpopular as my opinions probably get LOL

ALSO I JUST REMEMBERED THIS AS I WAS COMING BACK TO THIS ASK- idk if this counts, but I have an UNGODLY (& unreasonable) hatred for Bibble. Look at this fuck head. LOOK at him. I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him. I don’t think I’ve even seen this barbie movie— or have any real reason to not like him beyond my knowledge that all of Barbie’s side pets seem to universally be ridiculously stupid and annoying as all hell— but I HATE HIM. Idk why my brain has chosen this but it’s chosen to push all my hatred for everything in this world towards this one character and I HATE HIM SO MUCH. An ungodly amount of hatred. He fuels me with unbridled rage each time I see him or hear his fucking voice. He is my arch nemesis. I wish this was a bit and I was kidding but I’m 100% serious. Something like him must have greatly wronged me in a past life, I have no other explanation for this. As far as I know the Barbie fandom seems to be fine with this abomination. (I could be wrong, idk) also to be clear, I am not a huge Barbie fan, the only reason I know this fucker exists is bc of an irl friend who is a major Barbie fan. And also to be fair, I hate a lot of the animals/pets in just about all the Barbie movies I have been forced to watch. But Bibble…fucking Bibble…

[non-illustrary]

Can someone explain to me wtf is wrong with this fandom!?

I’m upset and pissed off with some of the community right now and most of us know why. What will it take for everyone to finally stop getting one people’s nerves because “It’s the right thing to do!?”. I have heard and witnessed falling outs due to pity squabbles due to lack of communication and assumptions. Harassment. ARE YOU ALL FOR REAL

there is a thing called “ personal space and respect”, a lot that some have forgotten about apparently.

I’m AT MY FUCKING LIMIT

I rejoined this fandom to finally enjoy something after a long year of bullshit, just to come back and seeing that some of you all are the reason someone’s joys is utterly shattered because some of you ignorant fuckers won’t actually look and see the truth for yourselves and just automatically resort to aggression. OOHHHOHOHO! Buddy you need help!

I’m tired, so fucking tired and burnout and I apologize if this bothers my mutuals.

IM FUCKING DONE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

HARASSMENT IS NEVER GIVING YOU WHAT YOU WANT IT SLOWLY DESTROYS SOMEONE FROM THE INSIDE OUT. You don’t like someone? KEEP IT TO YOUR FUCKING SELF AND LET THAT PERSON KNOW YOU ARE NOT COMFTORABLE SEEING THEM ANYMORE AND GO YOUR MERRY WAY ITS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD.

Sigh, I’m tired and so fucking done

[dw-sb-eb-apologist]

I mean I have the same username here and the bird app but I doubt the fuckers look here-

But I’m so fucking tired of fans harassing, bullying, and quite frankly abusing (emotionally and verbally) other fans. I know I was part of it for a while and I have so many fucking regrets about getting involved and have since made amends with some of the people I harmed, although I asked for nothing in return, not even forgiveness.

Fandom is family for a lot of us and to see these people blatantly harm other fans is disgusting. As someone who is experienced their harassment but also took part in it, I can assure you that they will continue to harm others. I made my amends with those who deserved my apology. I will not make amends with the people who told MY FRIENDS that I was emotionally abusive, manipulative, and straight up dangerous. I don’t post here often, and when I do it’s often just reblogging, but I hope you understand that I am not the person they made me out to be. Neither were the two people who I harmed quite a bit.

We didn’t deserve their harassment. And neither does any one who is currently experiencing it and anyone who will experience it in the future.

I have the receipts. I’m still holding onto them because one day I will have the courage to speak my truth to more than just people who WANT to hear it.

This might not be my last post on this subject. Maybe I’ll make the names next time.

[dumbwumbo]

I think we should bring back bullying because some of you need to be humbled. I can’t believe how out of touch some of you fuckers are. Like sure he’s not real but that doesn’t diminish the way anybody can feel about him. You just don’t care about it the same way other people do and that’s fine but to sit here and not realize how important a character can be to someone is insanely ignorant, especially coming out some of your mouths. Like imagine you’re 6 seasons deep in a show and you have a favorite character. You’ve come to love them through out the last five seasons and you just enjoy their character. And then season 6 comes around and suddenly they start make decisions they would have never before. They start treating other characters in a way that makes no sense for this character. And just like that you’re looking at a whole new person. You would be upset. You can’t pretend you wouldn’t. So don’t speak like you’re above anyone because you’re not.

And I know that this might be crazy to some but people do see fanfic writers like they’re celebrities. A lot of these readers seem to view writers like they’re influencers and they believe that whatever the author says is the truth. Like if it’s someones first time reading something about a character and it’s coming from a fic where they’re ooc (and no one tells them that) then someone might assume that’s how they always are. And listen I’m not saying that it’s the author’s fault because you should always look at outside sources be fore coming to conclusions but the impact fanfic has on people is real. Now imagine how quickly this mis characterization spreads and now everyone coming in sees this person as this caricature. And sadly the people who really love this person have to listen to others who know nothing try to tell them they know so much about this character and they are talking out their ass. It is infuriating to watch. Like guys please you really don’t care about his character you just think he’s hot. How is his personality is so vastly different from fic to fic like there is no way we are thinking about the same person. And he has personality like come on there is plenty of source material for this man what are we doing. Just write ocs at this point because you’re practically doing it already.

I’m so sorry that this is a long ramble. I just had to put my thoughts out here. I still have so much I want say like how over run by smut this fandom is but that should be saved for later. I know this isn’t really about the same thing happening in the community but it stems from some posts I’ve seen just calling it fiction. And this is something I wanted to get off my chest.

[rax-writes]

More

Fandom:  MCU Pairing:  Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings:  Sexual intercourse with a female-identifying person with a vagina + a bit of sugar daddy Zemo vibes at the end Notes:  Y’all... don’t judge me. I have a power kink, and Marvel did me dirty by randomly deciding that Zemo is fifthly rich royalty. And my girl @henrysmorgan​ did me even dirtier by actively encouraging my attraction to this fucker. So, blame Marvel, and blame her. // This is kind of really fucking long, and I didn’t edit it much, because I wanted to get it posted before episode 4, in case that episode flips the script. So, potentially some editing issues, and slightly rushed writing. Hopefully it’s alright, but please let me know if I screwed up anywhere. // Lots and lots of TFAWS ep. 3 spoilers

When Bucky texted you to ask that you meet him in some dusty, old, abandoned-looking car garage, you certainly didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that an old friend needed your help, so you intended to be there.

It had been a few months since you’d last seen him, and even longer since you’d participated in any sort of mission, but you suspected that was what you were walking into. Being exposed to the Mind Stone had granted you the power of telepathy, which meant that SHIELD was quite keen on persuading you to work for them. They trained you in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and you went on miscellaneous missions a handful of times. They put in a lot of effort to convince you that it was your moral obligation as an “enhanced individual” to help them with these missions, but you ultimately decided that that simply wasn’t the kind of life you wanted. Instead, after the Blip, you began working a desk job for SHIELD, which is when you crossed paths with Bucky, helping him with paperwork associated with his pardon, and the two of you formed a friendship. But SHIELD kept trying to coerce you to get back into the field, constantly badgering you about it and making it clear that you weren’t wanted if all you were doing was paperwork.

The truth is, you weren’t cut out to be a superhero, and you had no desire to be. It didn’t help that your entire country had been reduced to rubble several years prior, leaving you with a bottomless pit of homelessness in your heart. So, you left SHIELD, and started a life in Berlin, where you were content to live out your days as the owner of a small bakery, residing in the small apartment above your shop.

That is, until Bucky Barnes dragged you into a particularly sticky situation, with a certain Baron Helmut Zemo.

You knew that helping Bucky and Sam would throw a colossal wrench in the life you’d created for yourself in Berlin, but after they explained the situation with the super soldiers, coupled with Bucky’s puppy dog eyes, you found yourself refraining from storming out of the building the second you saw Helmut fucking Zemo.

“We need you to keep an eye on him. You don’t have to tap into his mind 24/7, we just want a heads up if he’s going to screw us over,” Bucky explained.

"Look, we really need him. We’re obviously scraping the bottom of the barrel here, otherwise he'd still be in that cell. And neither of us want to be packing a criminal around like a rich bitch's chihuahua, so we need you here to make sure we're not gonna get bit," Sam explained.

"Fine. But you both owe me," you relented, and they both took sighs of relief. You glanced at Zemo, locking eyes with him for several tense moments. He gave you a polite smile, giving off the impression that he had nothing to hide – which he didn't, as his thoughts showed his intentions were pure at the moment. "We're good for now. He just genuinely wants the opportunity to take down these new super soldiers."

Sam and Bucky nodded, visibly releasing tension from their shoulders as they moved to head out, now reassured that Zemo was truly on their side. Meanwhile, Zemo eyed you with curiosity and awe, murmuring, "Fascinating."

The four of you walked on the landing strip toward a private jet, owned by Zemo.

"So all this time you've been rich?"

"I was a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country," Zemo explained, before glancing at you with a small smile. "But you knew that already."

"Wait, how did she know that?" Sam asked, then turned to you. "How did you know that?"

"I am Sokovian myself. I was certainly not royalty, but I lived there for my entire life, until it was destroyed," you explained, stopping outside the jet as Zemo greeted the elderly butler, Oeznik, in your native language. It made you smile to yourself; it had been years since you'd heard it spoken. Zemo shot you a grin when he noticed, and when you took a peek into his mind, you saw that he understood exactly how you felt.

As the butler handed Zemo a flute of champagne after you all boarded the jet, the Baron smiled politely as Oeznik stated, “Apologies if that's a little warm. The fridge is out, but I will see if there is some good food in the galley.”

Zemo glanced as you sat across from him, then in Sokovian, Zemo told Oeznik, "Another flute for the lady, please. And if the food does not pass the smell test, give it to the gentlemen."

"It's good to have you back, sir!"

As the man retreated to the cockpit, also in Sokovian, you noted, "You are a mischievous man, even more so than in your infamously criminal ways."

"You will find that there is more to me than meets the eye, angel," he responded coolly, the Sokovian language rolling off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond, admittedly enjoying speaking Sokovian, Sam grew tired of everyone speaking a language he couldn't understand.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?"

After a tense exchange between Bucky and Zemo, followed by a discussion about Marvin Gaye, Zemo finally got to the point: Madripoor. You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead in your palm in exasperation.

“You couldn’t have invited me on a mission to Cancun? Or Paris? Why must it be Madripoor?” you asked Bucky, who shot you a tight-lipped, pitying smile, silently apologizing for what he was dragging you into.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s,” Bucky explained.

“And upon seeing it, you would see that times there haven’t changed one bit since then,” you added.

“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone,” Zemo said.

You frowned as you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s thoughts as he went silent. Fear. Anxiety. Disdain. Apprehension. You reached across to rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He shot you a small smile, then looked out the window.

Upon landing in Madripoor, one of Zemo’s contacts met you on the landing strip with a new wardrobe for you, Bucky, and Sam, and Zemo explained that each outfit was per his instruction, carefully chosen to fit the role each of you would be playing in Madripoor. One by one, you took the covered clothes hanger to the bathroom of the jet and changed. Bucky was first, stepping out in some sort of leather number, looking eerily similar to the Winter Soldier you’d seen in photos. Sam was next, donning a three-piece suit of burgundy and gold. He looked sharp, although he was immediately complaining about how ostentatious it was. And finally, you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, unzipping the covering on the hanger and revealing your “carefully chosen” outfit.

“Ich werde dir im Schlaf die Eier abreißen, Zemo!”

Bucky choked on his water and Zemo chuckled under his breath, while Sam looked between the two in confusion.

“I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed,” he observed, eyeing Zemo suspiciously.

“She informed me that she intends to remove my testicles in my sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps because he’s chosen to parade me around Madripoor like a cheap whore,” you said angrily, stepping out of the bathroom with your hands on your hips, glaring at Zemo.

“That dress is by Armani Prive, and your shoes are Louboutins – far from ‘cheap.’ And you do not look like a whore, the dress is merely more revealing than what you are used to,” Zemo argued, standing and walking over to survey your outfit. He seemed to be enjoying what he saw, judging from the way his eyes raked up and down your body, but you didn’t dare check his thoughts to confirm or deny it.

If you were honest with yourself, he was right. It was a very nice dress; plum purple, matching the color of Zemo’s turtleneck, with long, fitted sleeves, all of it made of the softest silk you had ever touched. It was fitted at the top but flowy from the hips down, with a low balconette-style neckline, showing more of your chest than you were accustomed to, although you pulled it off quite nicely. It ended just above your knees, which was fine, as you sometimes wore skirts of that length. Overall, the luxury of it and the low-cut neckline ensured that you were out of your comfort zone, but you looked stunning – and expensive, despite your spite-fueled initial claim.

“I thought the color would look nice on you, and I was right. And I knew that the flow of the fabric at the bottom would allow for this,” Zemo said, his hand gingerly trailing from your waist to your thigh, where he pulled up the hem of your dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Glock strapped into your thigh holster. He smirked as his suspicion was confirmed. He knew you’d find a way to arm yourself, regardless of what you wore.

In hindsight, the way Zemo touched your side and lifted your skirt was all far more intimate than you should have allowed, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you, or how his close proximity made your body temperature rise, as he gazed down at you with those intense brown eyes.

Christ, you needed to get laid. Soon. Before you further entertained the idea of jumping the bones of a highly wanted criminal.

“Touch me like that again, and I will kill you where you stand,” you informed him sternly, and Zemo immediately took a step backwards, looking apologetic. From the corner of your eye, you saw both Sam and Bucky visibly relax, tension leaving their shoulders. You had read their thoughts briefly, and they were both wondering why the hell you were so calm about getting cozy with Zemo. The absolute last thing you wanted was for them to know that you were, in fact, inexplicably drawn to being that close to the Baron.

As the four of you walked along a bridge in Madripoor, Sam was quick to resume his complaining.

“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname,” Sam grumbled, then looked at the phone Zemo handed him. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” you inquired, glancing down at your clothing to see if you could guess who you were meant to be portraying. An heiress or socialite, perhaps.

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered simply, the faintest smile on his lips.

You barked out a crude laugh, “Oh, I think not.”

“There is no one involved with Madripoor who looks like you. And it is rare that there are newcomers to the island, especially not in the place we’re going. Pretending you are someone random would raise concerns about the intentions of your presence; you would be perceived as a potential threat, which would jeopardize our mission. It is far easier to simply pretend we are engaged, I assure you.”

You hesitated a moment, before arguing, “No one will believe that we are engaged.”

Zemo pulled something from the inside pocket of his jacket, took your left hand, and slipped it onto your ring finger. It was a solitaire diamond ring; not large enough to be gaudy, but enough to catch anyone’s eye.

“They will if you play your part well,” he told you, then addressed the rest of your party when he added, “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”

The four of you reached a sleek black car, and climbed in, you in the back between Sam and Bucky. The ride to Low Town was tense and silent, as each of you mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When you arrived, Zemo offered you his hand as you exited the car, and the pointed look in his eyes told you that it was time to begin playing your part. You took his hand, and as you began walking into the heart of Low Town, he laced his fingers with yours. As the crowd drew near, Zemo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, gloved fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. After reading his mind, you realized that it was both for the sake of protecting you, and showing possessiveness to make it believable that you were his girl – and because he simply enjoyed having your body close, although you suspected that he’d rather you have not known that.

Despite the fact that you had been on a few missions for SHIELD, you were not exactly incapable of fear; you did not possess nerves of steel. All of the missions you’d been on were low-profile, and you were mostly just there for the sake of gathering information from those reluctant to share it. Sure, you’d been in danger before, you’d had to fight your way out of several sticky situations, but this… this was different. You were in the crime capital of the world, a lawless place filled to the brim with crooks, thieves, and murderers. More than likely, any given person around could slit your throat and never bat an eye or give you a second thought. Swallowing your own pride in the face of fear prompted you to return Zemo’s gesture, wrapping your arm around his waist and sticking close to him, which earned a smile from the man.

When you arrived at your destination, Zemo approached the bar and leaned against it confidently on one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

“Hello, gentleman,” the bartender greeted, before his eyes fell on you. “Who’s your new lady friend, Baron?”

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered, then turned to you and ran his finger along your jawline, as you looked at him in adoration. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“Very,” the bartender acknowledged, then turned to Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo responded.

The bartender made ‘Smiling Tiger’ his usual drink, which apparently consisted of… something he cut out of a snake, and dropped in a shot glass with a bit of liquor. You shared a look with Bucky before he turned away to survey the room, and when you read his thoughts, you found that you both desperately wanted to laugh out loud at Sam’s ‘short end of the stick’ situation, but didn’t want to risk everyone’s lives for the sake of a chuckle. You returned your attention to Zemo, opting to sell the whole “fiancée” thing a bit more by turning into him and tracing patterns on his chest as you gazed at him affectionately, while the bartender handed you and Zemo each a shot glass of your own – sans snake organs, thankfully. You both downed yours, while Sam understandably struggled a bit more with his, but still managed it.

A random man approached Zemo then, and as Zemo turned to face him, he protectively moved you behind him a bit.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo countered, gesturing toward Bucky, who looked menacing as he pretended to be the Winter Soldier. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

After a weary look in Bucky’s direction, the man walked away, and Zemo turned back around to face the bar, this time keeping you in between him in the bar, in case someone were to come up behind him – which they did a few moments later.

“Winter Soldier… attack,” Zemo commanded in Russian, as a different man came up and laid a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. With a pained look in his eye that quickly shifted to cold determination, Bucky grabbed the man’s hand with his vibranium arm, twisting it as he removed it from Zemo’s shoulder. Zemo took a step away from the bar to allow you room to turn and observe as Bucky beat the absolute shit out of various challengers. Zemo wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he noted, “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

The unmistakable sound of numerous guns cocking drew your attention away from the altercation, and Zemo gently pushed you behind him as he surveyed the room to note all the weapons drawn. Sam grabbed Bucky’s bionic arm to stop him, but Zemo whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”

“Well done, soldier,” Zemo then said to Bucky in Russian, signaling for the ‘Winter Soldier’ to stop.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interjected, and Bucky released his grip on the random man’s throat.

“Thank you,” Zemo responded, walking off to find Selby, grabbing your hand to guide you, but not before you spared a sorrowful glance at Bucky as your friends followed closely behind.

As Zemo took a seat on a couch across from Selby, you sat close to him, crossing your legs gracefully as you leaned into him, your arm wrapped around his as he clasped his hands in his lap authoritatively. You watched his exchange with Selby in silence, as did Sam – and Bucky, of course, considering he was pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison,” Selby told Zemo, then smiled as she looked you up and down, before her eyes found the diamond ring. “And not engaged – to a woman far out of your league, I might add.”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered calmly, then looked over at you, staring into your eyes with warmth and adoration, and you smiled lovingly at him. “My beautiful fiancée was a guard at the prison. We fell in love over the years, and she helped me escape. Anyway, I’m sure you have already figured out what I’m here for.”

The conversation went relatively smoothly after that, until Sam’s goddamn phone rang and screwed the entire operation. In the blink of an eye, Selby was shot dead, you had shot two of the guards with the gun strapped to your thigh, and Sam and Bucky had each knocked out one, before Zemo suggested sneaking out of the bar as best you could, without any weapons. You secured your gun back in its holster, not missing the way Zemo watched as you hiked your dress up to do so, before making a break for it with the three of them.

Once you were on the streets of Madripoor, bounty hunters began to come out of the woodwork, and when they began shooting at you, Zemo abruptly grabbed your hand and ran down a nearby alleyway. As you were running, the heel of your stiletto caught on a grate, and you’d have fallen flat on your face if Zemo hadn’t caught you.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he supported you, before standing you back onto your feet. You nodded, and he glanced over your shoulder as he noticed a few men looking down the alley. “Forgive me.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about, but then Zemo abruptly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, pinned you against the wall behind you, and kissed you.

The men at the end of the alleyway muttered something about “freaks who do it in public,” then their footsteps faded as they walked off, clearly thinking the two of you were some overly horny couple, not two of the people with an insane bounty on their heads. But you were barely paying them any attention, a bit preoccupied with the fact that Zemo was fucking kissing you, and much to your chagrin, you really fucking liked it.

Once there were no more voices and no more footsteps, Zemo broke the kiss and sat you down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before you heard more gunshots, and you broke into a run in the direction Bucky and Sam had gone, desperate to find your friends, and no time to process what the hell just happened.

As soon as you caught up with them, the two bounty hunters nearby were shot dead, and the four of you turned to see Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows.

An hour later, you found yourself in her swanky home in High Town, in a change of clothes, since the brick wall Zemo had held you up against ripped the back of your silk dress. You lied to Sam and Bucky, saying that it happened because you fell while running in your heels, and thankfully, they believed you. Sharon commanded the four of you to lay low and enjoy the party, which Sam and Bucky left her living room to go do, entrusting you with ‘Zemo watch.’

It seemed as though he was merely nursing his brandy in lieu of abandoning it for the party prior to finishing it off, but his eyes were on you most of the time. You didn't necessarily believe he could be plotting to overpower you and run off, but there is always that possibility, so you delved into his mind to check.

Expecting to find thoughts of strategy about how to defeat the super soldiers or travel plans, or even plots to escape you, Bucky, and Sam, you were astounded to find nothing but thoughts of you.

The way it felt to kiss you in that alleyway, and how he had monetarily debated just staying there, having his way with you against the brick wall before Sam and Bucky could locate you. The dress from the bar, and how it rested on your thighs, revealing just enough to have his mouth watering without being revealing to the point of immodesty. The way your necklace currently rested against your bare collarbone, and how desperately he craved to litter the area with love bites. The delicate skin of your throat, thinking of how it would look with his hand wrapped around it, just enough to cut off a bit of air but not enough harm you. How alluring your voice is, and how much he'd like to know what it would sound like to hear you scream his name. The softness and warmness of your skin when he had his arm around you in the bar, and when he held your hand as you fled the scene, and he wondered how soft and warm you were elsewhere.

"Your thoughts are filthy."

He bristled immediately, sitting straighter in his seat and eyes going slightly wide, either forgetting you can read minds or not realizing you'd be doing it right then. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure, before he took one long, last drink of his brandy and set the glass on the table in front of him. He turned his whole body to the side to face you, as you sat on the opposite end of the couch, wearing a small, somewhat mischievous smile.

"I suppose there is no sense in denying it, is there?"

"What game are you playing, Zemo?" you snapped. He was rattling you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was. For the entirety of the time you'd been around him, this wanted criminal had been flustering you, and goddammit it, you wanted to know if it was accidental, or for nefarious purposes. He could be using it as a tactic to throw you off your game, so that he could get away when it was just the two of you – like right now.

"There is no game, Liebling," he stated softly and sincerely, sensing your discomfort. Slowly, he scooted closer to you on the couch, so that the arm he had laid across the back of it was now behind you, as he stared intently into your eyes. "Merely the natural response of a man who has been widowed and then locked in a prison cell, and therefore has not known the touch of a woman in many years, sitting next to a woman of absolute ethereal beauty."

You said nothing, merely stared at him, sizing him up to see if he was toying with you or telling the truth. Zemo sensed your lack of belief in his words.

"If you doubt my true intentions, you are welcome to delve as deep into my mind as you'd like to find the truth."

In all honesty, you'd have done that already if you weren't trying to avoid being even more flustered by his thoughts about you – but you couldn't tell him that. So, you did as he bade you, and searched his mind to find any shred of malevolence towards you, but you came out empty-handed. Zemo genuinely just wanted you, craved you, like a starved man sitting in front of an endless buffet. He watched you carefully as you came to this conclusion, and although you said nothing further, he knew that you had found what you needed to know.

"Just say the word, and I will never approach the topic again, as well as attempt to quiet my thoughts about you. But if there is any part of you... deep inside you," Zemo paused, eyes grazing you up and down purposefully, before continuing, "that has any interest in being with me... I will do anything to bring that to fruition."

The ball was in your court now. You could tell him to get bent and never speak to you like this again… or you could get your rocks off, and maybe even get something more in return.

"Such as?"

"Name it, Schätzchen. Anything you want. A car, a mansion, jewels – say it and it's yours, if you will be mine," Zemo proposed earnestly, licking his lips quickly as he looked at you, visibly thrilled that he was getting somewhere with you.

You weren't the type to accept gifts from men you barely know, but… this was Zemo. A man who had done a great many terrible things, which soothed your guilty conscience. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.

"A car," you blurted out, then explained, "Mine broke down a week ago, and it's beyond repair, so… a car."

"Tell me the make and model of your preference and I'll have it delivered to your home within a week's time," Zemo said calmly, then brushed a lock of hair away from your face, before allowing his fingers to trail delicately along your cheek and jawline. "Is that all, Kätzchen?"

"No. One more thing," you replied, then looked at him sternly. "You must agree to never speak of this to Bucky or Sam."

"You have my word," he assured you, smiling in amusement.

"Then I'm yours."

Zemo's smile faded slowly, and he merely stared at you for a split second, before cupping your face in his hands and pulled you into a searing kiss, full of ferocity and sheer desperation. It shouldn't have been this easy, to kiss a man who's done such terrible things – yet here you were, melting into his embrace, allowing him to pull you into his lap and straddle him, your hands resting on his shoulders and gripping the black fabric of his turtleneck. His hands laid flat against your back as he kissed you in this new position, slowly gliding down, down your sides and to your hips. He kissed you in a way that was feverish and fast and hungry, as his fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly against him as if he were fearful that this was all a dream and you'd disappear at any moment. Upon taking a peek into his mind, you realized that was actually exactly what he was thinking. Additionally, he mentally spoke to you directly, somehow knowing you were reading his thoughts at that moment.

"Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, and know that you have absolute freedom to end this at any given moment."

You pulled away slightly to nod in confirmation that you received his message, before resuming the kiss. Mind hazy and instincts taking over, you found yourself tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, earning a low groan from Zemo. One of his hands darted upwards to grab a fistful of your hair, right against your scalp at the base of your neck, and he pulled on it harshly, causing you to let out a wonton moan. He then laid that hand flat against the back of your neck, holding your lips firmly against his as he kissed you with even more fervor, and the other vacated its position on your hip to slide slowly up your torso, until he began palming your beast through your shirt. You moaned softly against his lips, but not as loudly as a moment ago.

Zemo wanted more, needed more; he longed to hear you loud and desperate. So he delved that hand at your neck back into your hair, gripping it tightly once more, and used it to pull your head backwards a bit, so that he could have better access to your neck. The action itself, and the tightness of his grip, earned an embarrassingly loud moan to escape your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin. He moved his hand to the middle of your back, supporting you as you leaned back a bit to grant him better access. As he littered your neck and décolletage with kisses, you felt him pull the neckline of your blouse down a little, then felt the sharp pain of a bite on your chest, above your breast. When you looked at him with narrowed eyes, he wore a cocky little grin.

"You should not be surprised, Liebling. I know you saw that I've been wanting to do that all day when you read my mind," he noted. "Wear a high neckline tomorrow, it will be fine."

Before you could respond, Zemo pulled you flush against his chest with that hand behind your back, and into another heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and without thinking, you ground your hips down on the bulge resting against your core beneath your skirt. He groaned, both hands flying to your hips to push them down again, guiding them as you repeated the action. It only took a minute or two of this before Zemo had enough, abruptly grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the couch beside him. He then loomed over you, one hand propping himself up and the other applying slight pressure to your throat, gazing at you with admiration in those searing eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. You looked right back at him, pupils undoubtedly dilated as well, eyes half-lidded, panting a little, and hair a bit of a mess.

"You are an absolute vision," Zemo praised softly, to which you smiled, then he released his grip on your neck to lean down and kiss you again. That only lasted a moment, before he broke the kiss to pull your blouse up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra joined it shortly after, then he moved to your skirt, fussing with the zipper for a moment, but it seemed to be caught on something, as it wouldn't budge. Before you could interject and state that you'd get the zipper yourself, Zemo ripped the seam apart with his hands, before tearing the article from your body and tossing it like he had with the blouse. A gasp escaped you, but you had no time to think much about his actions, before he was pulling off your panties and bra as well, dropping them somewhere beside the couch.

He was then looming over you again, kissing you breathless as he rested on one elbow while the other hand toyed with your nipple, his knee coming up to rest between your legs as he laid between your body and the back of the couch. You tangled your fingers in Zemo's hair, moaning against his lips as you sought friction against his leg. He smiled softly against your lips, before your hands wandered, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it off of him. You had just managed to get his belt off before his hand left your breast, trailing downwards across your torso as he moved his knee further away from you, before delving between your hips and expertly locating your clit.

No longer capable of focusing on ridding Zemo of his clothes, your hands gripped his shoulders, and he hissed deliciously as your nails dug into his skin when he began rubbing small, methodical circles on your clit. Small moans fell from your lips as he watched the way your mouth hung open slightly, face relaxed and eyes closed as you enjoyed his work. But again, he wanted more, needed more. Still observing you, he delved his middle and ring fingers into your core, causing you to let out a loud gasp that faded into a long, low moan. Zemo smiled to himself. That was the reaction he was dying for.

He kissed you senseless, drinking in your moans and gasps of pleasure like wine, his free hand cradling the back of your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. It didn't take Zemo long to find that sweet spot, deep inside you – as he'd subtly alluded to earlier – that longed for his attention the most.

You couldn't help but moan loudly and cry out, "Fuck! Baron!" Zemo growled low in your ear, clearly a fan of your usage of his title as he picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers with expert precision and speed, sending you hurtling over the edge with a string of curses in both Sokovian and English. By the time he removed his fingers from you and stood, you were seeing stars, breathing heavily as you laid flat against the couch. When your dazed gaze found him, he was naked from the waist down, and was just finishing rolling a condom over his length. You had no idea where he got it from, but you were way beyond giving a shit at this point. Zemo then rejoined you on the couch, roughly spreading your legs apart as he kneeled between them, looking at you with a primal, deep hunger in his eyes.

"You are certain that you want this?"

"Yes, please – fuck," you cut yourself off as he began rubbing your clit again.

"Yes please, what?" His voice was low, teasing, as he continued his work below. "I want to hear you say it again, Kätzchen."

"Yes, please, Baron."

"Good girl."

Zemo took your leg and rested your calf on his shoulder, before easing himself into you, agonizingly slow. You watched through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrowed together, his jaw went slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out. He was silent, but you very much preferred it when he was a bit vocal. So, you flexed your muscles down there, and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.

"Do not do that if you want this to last long," Zemo suggested through clenched teeth. You smiled to yourself, then said the magic word that you knew would get him going.

"Yes, Baron."

He growled again, right in your ear, then sat more upright to begin a harsh, quick pace of thrusting. His hips collided with your body each time, causing a delicious sort of pain, and he leaned down to lock you in a messy, deep kiss.

A few minutes later, Zemo moved your other calf to his shoulder as well, and the new position enabled him to get delectably deep inside you. You raked your nails down his chest, watching as a shudder ran down his spine, all the while releasing small, breathless moans and whimpers. When he opened his eyes again to gaze down at you, he licked his lips before delving both hands under your head and into your hair, and forcefully gripped two fitfuls of it at the base of your skull. The moan that tore its way from your throat was animalistic, as your nails dug into his forearms as you desperately gripped them from their positions on either side of your head. Just then, he hit a spot deep inside of you, and that familiar, tight coil in your lower belly began to form.

"Fuck! Right there, Baron, please, right there!"

"As you wish, Schätzchen."

Zemo began to thrust even faster, careful to maintain the same angle as he released his grip on your hair and leaned up a bit, so that he could resume rubbing your clit. Moans began to fall from your lips practically endlessly, and somehow, you still needed more. More, more, more. You took his free hand and laid it on your neck, and he instinctively wrapped his fingers around your throat, careful to apply pressure on the sides but not the front, as to avoid harming you. When he opened his eyes once again and looked down at you, he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.

"You will be the death of me, mein Engel," Zemo whispered, seemingly more to himself. All you could do was moan in response.

"Baron, I'm going to – fuck – I'm —"

"Yes, come for me, Kätzchen. I want to feel you."

That was all the encouragement it took. Well, that plus how perfectly he was rubbing your bundle of nerves, and how his pace nor angle had faltered once since you had requested exactly that. You came undone again, legs shaking as your nails clawed at his shoulder blades, earning a series of groans from him. As you came down from your high, Zemo's hips began to falter, enthralled by the waterfall you had become, soaking the base of his cock as your walls squeezed around him. His hand at your wet heat abruptly moved to grip your hip, at the same moment his hand around your throat clutched at your hair again, and he met his end with a loud, gruff moan as he spoke a mantra of nonsensical praises and your name.

Zemo rested on his arms on either side of your head, and he let your legs fall to the sides of him, breathing hard against your neck as he occasionally peppered kisses there. He remained inside you for a few moments, savoring the feeling, before you chose to have a bit of extra fun by flexing your lower muscles and squeezing yourself around him again. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled out of you, shooting you a glare.

In Sokovian, he murmured, "You are a naughty little thing."

"You adore it."

"That I do," Zemo conceded, then stood and walked off to the restroom. You heard the tap run, and a few moments later, he returned with a glass of water for you, sitting beside your feet on the couch and resting his heels on the coffee table. He was exceptionally handsome like this; still catching his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest, a content look upon his face. You spent a minute or two admiring him, before he looked over to you, and a smile blossomed on his lips.

"I cannot thank you enough for that. I must admit, I spent countless nights alone in my cell, dreaming about getting to touch a woman like that again. Especially considering the fall of our country, I never could have imagined I would be lucky enough to lay with a stunning, intelligent Sokovian woman."

"In the spirit of confessions, it's been a while for me, too. My last boyfriend was about two years ago. And I'm not the one-night-stand type. So, do with that what you will," you stated, earning a small chuckle from Zemo. You sat up so that you were sitting beside him, instead of laying down, as you continued. "I fantasized about it a lot myself, but I never even dared to think my next time would be as good as this was."

Zemo smiled, a mix of pride and joy, then his smile softened as he leaned toward you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "This doesn't have to be our last time, you know. I would be honored to have you as often as you'd allow me to. And I assure you, I would make it worth your while. I will give you whichever vehicles your heart desires, more jewelry than you know what to do with, take you to the most beautiful places in the world, dine at only the finest restaurants – and above all, treat you like my queen. Take care of me, and I will take care of you, Liebling."

You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, as usual when you feared that someone was lying to you. You searched his mind for any fraction of false pretenses, but there were none. The man simply found you intoxicating, and would do whatever it takes to keep drinking you in.

The arrangement wouldn't exactly be an easy one, nor would it be all that wise – nor morally correct, in all honesty. But he was undeniably sexy, and the danger and reprehensibility of it all made it that much more alluring. And besides all that – the way his power and wealth turned you on, how good he was capable of making you feel – most Sokovians were dead, and you missed home. Getting to speak your native tongue with him, chat about your country – it made you feel at home with him.

But you wouldn't give Zemo the satisfaction of agreeing to him that quickly.

“We'll see.”

—————

Part Two

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 306: the beginning of the WHAT

Previously on BnHA: Nana and the Gang were all, “hey Deku, we can read your thoughts and feelings so we should already know the answer to this, but for some reason we want to quiz you on whether or not you’d be down to kill Shigaraki Tomura.” Deku was all, “um okay, well tbh, probably not seeing as Saving People has been my entire thing since literally the start of the series.” The Vestiges were all, “yes that makes perfect sense and again we already knew that, but well, good for you buddy and I’m glad we had this talk. Anyway I guess we should ask these two cryptic fuckers in the corner to finally turn around now before we run out of -- ” and then the chapter ended. Because OF COURSE IT DID.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT, WOULDN’T IT BE SO MUCH BETTER IF I GAVE YOU A CONFUSING CHAPTER WHERE EVERYONE FINALLY LEARNS ABOUT OFA, AND GOES BACK TO THE DORMS, AND THEN THE CHAPTER ENDS WITH DEPRESSED NOMAD DEKU STANDING ON A PRECIPICE WITH GRAN TORINO’S TATTERED CAPE FLOWING IN THE WIND.” Everyone is all, “???????????” Horikoshi is all, “also the parents are moving to the U.A. campus, and Jeanist’s neck is two and a half feet long, for everyone that was wondering.” Everyone is all, “WHERE ARE KACCHAN AND TODOROKI AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHO ARE THE SECOND AND THIRD USERS”, and Horikoshi is all, “:)” and fades away into nothingness like the fucking fae he is. Like a fucking imp who’s kept his end of the cursed bargain. What, the, fuck.

okay guys, so after the longest Thursday of my fucking life, during which I was secretly hoping that my spoiler containment net would be somehow be breached, inadvertently exposing me to theta spoiler radiation, so that I could be all “oh no... spoilers... there’s nothing I can do... I have no choice but to look” (which sadly did not happen), it is finally Friday and the chapter is finally out. so I’ve got my clown kit at the ready and other self-deprecating memes on standby, and I’m ready to go. and I should note that I’m also ready for Horikoshi to pull some absolute bullshit and be like, “oh you know what, we haven’t checked in with Rat Principal in a while have we” and spend the entire chapter on nonsense like that. I’M READY FOR FUCKING ANYTHING so bring it

(ETA: it would be nice if this man wouldn’t call my bluff every now and again.)

oh, right, we were due a color page! wow look at this

isn’t this supposed to be the future?? what’s with all of these staticky CRT TVs

anyway, so! is this the first time we’ve seen Tomura’s stylish finger prosthetic glove thingy in color?? because I didn’t expect it to be red. also, at some point you just have to give in and change your pants into cutoffs or something, Tomura. start a new trend of stylish villain capris

meanwhile Deku is dressed like he’s going on a journey into the desert to find a mystical oasis. actually this cape looks a lot like Gran Torino’s. I have to go back and see if Gran’s is all raggedy like this

(ETA: it wasn’t before but APPARENTLY IT IS NOW. I also forgot that Horikoshi had showed it sitting on a side table in the hospital a few chapters ago.)

lastly, AFO looks like someone’s thumb after they’ve been washing dishes for twenty minutes. you are just the ugliest dude in history, and as always, fuck you

HAHAHA SOB I KNEW IT

oh, Twowy McTwoface is finally starting to turn around? better CUT BACK TO DEKU’S HOSPITAL ROOM THEN. wouldn’t want to accidentally ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS or SOLVE ANY MYSTERIES, god forbid

well, whatever. whatever!! anyway so now someone’s knocking at the door. I say “someone” but we all know it’s Hawks

yep

they were actually standing outside the door for a while hoping they’d overhear another juicy plot conversation, but no such luck this time

lmaooo Jeanist wtf

acting all embarrassed, but you’re really just as curious as Hawks is. making him do all the dirty work for you huh

ARE YOU SERIOUS THIS IS AN INJUSTICE

so like two seconds after Katsuki gets dragged away you open the door for the rest of them!! well, fine!! I really want it to be a more private/personal moment between the two of them anyway so let the other kids check in on Deku first then

and in the meantime, time to see Hawks put the thumbscrews to All Might’s resolve lol

I wonder how much of it Hawks has already put together in the last five minutes. One for All is something connected to All for One that Tomura seems to want. Tomura was apparently targeting Deku. that’s more than enough to make a few deductions right there. I wonder how much Hawks knows about Deku’s quirk. he did watch the sports festival, and he ran into the kids interning under Endeavor that one time

okay well maybe he hasn’t put the rest of it together just yet, but Hawks is making a pretty reasonable pitch here to All Might

also this is a pretty spectacular view. is this a hospital or a hotel??

AHLKJLKJLKJ ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO TELL THEM

OH MY GOD HE IS?!?!

JUST LIKE WE ALL EXPECTED, THE NEXT TWO PEOPLE TO LEARN THE TRUTH ABOUT OFA ARE GOING TO BE HAWKS, AND BEST FUCKING JEANIST

-- LFKLKKLDK ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. ARE YOU --

( •̀_•́ )

[sitting cross-legged on the ground pulling up little clumps of grass and letting them fall from my fingers one by one] yeah. sure. okay. fine. sure

-- OKAY, NO. NUH-UH. NO

everybody better hold tight cuz I’m about to pick up this whole chapter and yeet it into the ocean like a fucking frisbee lol

HORIKOSHI I DON’T CARE ABOUT THESE PEOPLE SITTING HERE WATCHING TV WTF

-- OH

well okay then. proceed. though lord help me if they’re about to reveal the secret of OFA to the whole fucking world skdkj

oh snap

well, there it is. pretty much what I expected, but it’s good to actually get to see this moment with him taking responsibility

though at the same time, thank you Horikoshi for not forcing us to sit through the rest of that

their fucking faces omg. okay but seriously, what nation doesn’t secretly love a good scandal

the Endeavor Pamphlets, part two. thank you for giving the country something to opine about on twitter in these trying times, Enji

so now they’re asking about Hawks and Jeanist but I cannot even focus on anything all of a sudden because what?!

is Jeanist even a real actual human being you guys?! are we sure he’s not three kids sitting on each other’s shoulders?? are you related to that one guy with the really long neck from the Jedi Council?? are you Orochimaru, bro??

so now Hawks is apologizing for the murder of Twice, and for hiding the connection with his dad

the fact that he has to give this serious formal apology and beg forgiveness for the shameful crime of Having An Abusive Father is really something else, though. just. it’s realistic, but I still hate it

moving on now to the one thing he actually does owe the public an explanation for

not to go all “Hawks did nothing wrong” on you guys yet again, but seriously. 100% facts. fandom can (and no doubt will) debate this until the end of time, but if Twice had gotten away they wouldn’t be having this press conference right now because there wouldn’t be any heroes left to give one. anyways though, I’ve already said more than enough about that in previous posts

so now some severe-looking lady with the weirdest fingers I’ve ever seen is saying that her mother was injured during Machia’s rampage

and she’s basically all “a fuck lot of good ‘I’m sorry’ does us all about now.” true true

wow she’s really getting fired up

and now Enji is basically saying that he understands that an apology isn’t enough, and what they really need now are solutions. okay, well! SO THEN WHAT IS THE PLAN THEN

hmmfsdgh

this eloquent PEZ dispenser makes a good point you guys

wait, hold up

CERTAIN citizens?? um excuse me, what??

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit

holy shit. well, this will go over well

okay! so this tells me a number of things, though

basically the minute that Hawks learned about One for All, he realized that anyone connected to Deku (e.g. Inko) would be a target for AFO. AFO wants OFA, meaning AFO wants Deku, and one of the easiest ways to get to Deku would be to target his family

Hawks therefore realized that Inko needed to be placed into protective custody

but the fact that ALL of the hero course students’ families (and is it only the U.A. hero course, or all of the hero course students across the country?) are being given protection tells me that Hawks and co. don’t want to single Deku out as being important. so then it looks like they’re not going to tell everyone about OFA (or at least not the public. which, good). so rather than drawing suspicion by saying “we’ve got to protect everyone connected with this one kid”, they’re making it seem like all the U.A. kids’ families are getting this treatment

but since the heroes are now spread so thin, they can’t just send a protective detail to each and every family, so they’re bringing all of the families to the same place instead to better keep an eye on them

so that’s all well and good, and a very smart move. except that idk how all of this is going to go over with the general public, all of whom are probably feeling unsafe at the moment, and who will probably see this as preferential treatment -- basically just the heroes looking after their own and leaving everyone else to fend for themselves

(ETA: okay so @hanashimas​’ translation clarifies that U.A. is offering their services as an evacuation shelter for everyone who wants it, not just the families of the U.A. students. that’s much more appropriate so I withdraw my previous “wtf” reaction lol.)

anyway though here’s Mitsuki and Inko

can we take this as confirmation that the two of them really are friends? that’s one piece of fanon that I’ve always hoped was true, so I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s confirmed

(ETA: also this means that Hagakure’s parents (or maybe “parents” in quotation marks) will supposedly be moving in as well. sure am curious as to how that’s going to go.)

now someone in the press crowd is asking whether U.A. can provide adequate security, which is honestly the LAST thing I expected these people would be outraged about lol. shows what I know I guess

(ETA: again though, this makes sense if the “certain civilians” thing was just a translation error.)

LMAO DAMMIT ENJI

YOU CAN’T JUST ALWAYS PULL THE “JUST WATCH ME” TRICK AND EXPECT IT TO SHUT DOWN THE CONVERSATION EVERY DAMN TIME YOU ASSHOLE

-- OH MY GOD RED ALERT

TIME TO ANALYZE THIS BECAUSE OMG

WASH CAN’T BELIEVE HIS FAMILY GROUP CHAT IS STILL SENDING HIM FUCKING MEMES AT A TIME LIKE THIS. HE DOESN’T GIVE A FUCK IF THE DABI DANCE IS TRENDING ON TIKTOK, MOM!!

FOR A MINUTE I THOUGHT MT. LADY WAS HOLDING MIDNIGHT’S TORN-UP MASK, AND BY THE TIME I REALIZED THAT’S ACTUALLY HER MASK AND NOT MIDNIGHT’S, I HAD ALREADY CONSTRUCTED AN ELABORATE HEADCANON IN WHICH MT. LADY AND MIDNIGHT WERE SECRETLY DATING BUT HADN’T COME OUT TO ANYONE YET, AND THEN TRAGEDY STRUCK, AND NOW MT. LADY IS GETTING READY TO SET OUT TO SEEK VENGEANCE. AND WELL, NOW THAT THIS HEADCANON EXISTS IN THE WORLD, I’M NOT SURE IF I’M READY TO GET RID OF IT

MIRKO HAS GOTTEN HERSELF A PROSTHETIC (ROBOT??!) ARM, NOTHING ELSE THAT’S HAPPENING IN THIS CHAPTER IS EVEN SLIGHTLY IMPORTANT!!! HELLO!!!!!

AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH GOOD LORD. THE WORLD ISN’T READY. HE LOOKS LIKE HE HASN’T SLEPT IN NINETY-EIGHT YEARS, BUT SOMEHOW HE MAKES IT INTO THE HOTTEST THING EVER AS PER USUAL

WHO THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING GUY. ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW HIM? IS THIS KAMUI?? WAS THAT THING WHICH I ALWAYS ASSUMED WAS HIS HAIR ACTUALLY A HELMET OR SOMETHING WHAT

LOL AND MEANWHILE

you tell me, Dabi! weren’t you the one who said that wouldn’t be enough to kill him? what even is your endgame here. I’m starting to worry about the villain brain cell supply you guys. I feel like Compress took most of them with him when he left

OH??

“when asked about One for All, Endeavor fucking lied through his teeth.” well, well, well

SLKDFJLSKGDJLKLKGJL THE DORMS

( ⁰ ⌂ ⁰ )

SLDKJFLKJWLKJLK

WLKDJSLKJFWKELKSDJLKHGLK

HDSMFLKGKL:GDSELK

OCHAKO’S HAND IS SHAKING OH MY GOD

THERE’S YOUR KAMINARI, EVERYONE!!

RHA’S SCANLATION TEAM REALLY THREW DEKU’S HANDWRITING UNDER THE BUS HERE HUH

HE TOLD EVERYONE!?

WHY THE FUCK IS HE WRITING IT AS A LETTER

(ETA: 9. also if he really wrote every kid in his class then that means the U.A. traitor -- or Hagakure as we like to call her around these parts -- also knows about OFA, and knows that Deku has run the fuck off and isn’t at U.A. anymore. so that’s just great!)

OH HELL NO

the hell does that mean, you must leave. leave to go where. son you are not up and leaving to go power up and lead us all into a timeskip. and I swear to GOD, if you left Kacchan too...!!

MY GOD I CAN’T PROPERLY ABSORB ALL OF THESE OCHAKO FEELS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I’M TOO TERRIFIED TO SCROLL TO THE LAST FUCKING PAGE, FUCK

I JUST GOTTA DO IT. I JUST GOTTA SUCK IT UP AND DO IT. FUCK

FUCK

WHAT. THE. FUCK

y’all I’m not even gonna waste your time with more keysmashing, JUST ASSUME THAT I AM DOING IT NONSTOP, FOREVER. and let’s just jump RIGHT IN HERE

okay so here I thought that All Might and co. had taken him away somewhere to train, but that is CLEARLY not what’s going on here. this kid is standing here in his Apocalypse Aesthetic hero costume which has CLEARLY seen better days, with Gran Torino’s cloak (GUESS THAT EXPLAINS THAT, THEN?? SO DID GRAN FUCKING DIE EXCUSE ME WTF), and a fucking backpack. this little green idiot has RUN AWAY FROM HOME. this is the absolute LAST THING ON EARTH I ever expected to happen so PARDON ME WHILE I SCREAM CONFUSEDLY INTO THE VOID

he does not look okay. you guys he doesn’t look okay at ALL. he has NEVER looked like this. this isn’t just a “I’m sad because I’m leaving all my friends behind” kind of look on his face, or even just a “Gran Torino died maybe and I’m still having emotions over it” look. this is an EXHAUSTED, dead look in his eyes. something terrible has happened

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARMS DEKU. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS GODDAMMIT

love how this random building is just straight up collapsing, like that’s just a normal thing that happens every day now. lovely

APRIL MEANS IT’S NOW FULL ON SCHEDULED ALL-MIGHT-DYING-HOURS, BUT LET’S COMPLETELY IGNORE THAT THOUGH BECAUSE FUCK THAT NOISE

“THE SECOND USER? WHO KNOWS? CERTAINLY NOT ME” HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD

“BAKUGOU? NEVER HEARD OF HIM!” HORIKOSHI PLEASE

WHERE. IS. KACCHAN

did he go with Deku?? did he get a chance to talk to him before he left?? did he get his own private letter which he read and then promptly blew up in a fit of panicked rage?? is he going to go after him?? DOES HORIKOSHI KNOW WHAT HE’S DOING TO ME RIGHT NOW?? OF COURSE HE DOES, DON’T BOTHER ANSWERING THAT

omg. though actually the fact that we’ve already jumped a few weeks forward makes me hopeful that there won’t actually be another timeskip, or at least not much of one. I’m sure that’ll be the big debate of the week, but I don’t think we can jump too far forward here. for starters because of that All Might prophecy I mentioned. and also because TomurAFO isn’t just going to wait around for months. and also because I’m 100% sure that Deku’s running-away backpack is just filled ENTIRELY WITH NOTEBOOKS and this asshole cannot possibly survive more than 3 days on his own. UNLESS SOMEONE COMES TO HELP HIM THAT IS. OR SOMEONES, EVEN. OMG. omg omg omg. fuck this chapter lmao

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

------------------------

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

------------------------

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. ���I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

------------------------

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

------------------------

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

------------------------

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

[mariaiscrafting]

You know, what think I like when you are critical of a content creator is that you know how to separate a fact from especulation, unlike a blog out there that took especulation as facts.

Example, that night when we were critical of Karl, or any instance you have discussed about him, a lot of anons were saying that he gave them clout chaser vibes to them, and despite your opinion, you expressed that those were only especulation and not the truth, and to keep that in mind. That's good critical thinking.

But this blog had some similar anons, saying that he only is friends with the Feral Boys gro clout- In fact, they said the Feral Boys were only in it to benefit from clout and money. And they took it as a truth. I know you instance on them is neutral, but come one, they are friends. All of them. Karl isn't friends with them for clout. Like today Karl was playing golf with salad gang plus Sapnap and George at first and then Quackity and Dream joined bc they had spared time and it all devolved into typical chaos (Poor Corpse and Tina and Brook, had to endure those children lol/lh /j). Like, the stream wasn't planned with the 5/5 yet they joined, missing Karl and just having fun.

Idk, I guess that blog's superiority (They were a SBI focused blog) just irritated me. It's as if they were putting both groups at each other as if those streamers aren't friends or close. They were singing prayers of one while shunning the other based from especulation. Criticissism is fine, in fact recommended to be critical of your interests, but taking rumors as facts to base your crit is yikes. It's as if I wanted to crit SBI and base it only of "Philza hanging only with people younger than him is kinda weird ngl.." or "Sbi doesn't care about Tommy cuz he joined late" like that dumb Tumblr post did or some fuckers in Twitter imply.

The main reason I take so much care to separate speculation from evidence-backed theories and confirmed truths is because I feel like that separation is what distinguishes us from mcyttwt the most. One of the main reasons for mcyttwt's toxicity, imo - for its relentless cancelling of everyone, for its bandwagon campaigns - is that people oftentimes criticize and defend based on their personal feelings rather than rationale or evidence.

For example, I complain a lot about Dream stans on here, but you know the reason I didn't stop watching Dream directly after the cheating scandal broke loose, even though I thought he cheated? Because of mcytblr Dream stans. Mcytblr Dream stans engaged with me in discussion, both publicly and in DMs, about the cheating scandal, and even those who eventually came to the conclusion that Dream didn't cheat accepted the facts and statistics they were given and kept a healthy skepticism throughout the process. On Twitter, Dream stans were defending him before he even made a video following up to the mods' initial accusations because they felt that Dream wasn't the kind of guy to lie or cheat. They were replying to screenshots of statistical analyses from subreddits and to articles from mathematicians and staticians with extremely reactionary responses because of that feeling, which they believed in so adamantly, they had accepted it as fact. The thing is, to believe that Dream didn't cheat in the face of all the statistical and rhetorical evidence to the contrary is, in itself, speculative. Usually we think of speculation as a baseless theory that something is a positive truth- that is to say, that something did happen. But speculation also applies to those theories of someone not having done something, when the opposite has been nearly proven to be true.

For this same reason, I chose not to ignore the anti-technotwt threads with screenshots of Techno's old tweets in them. For me to have simply ignored these screenshots and continued supposing that Techno never expressed bigoted beliefs and/or currently doesn't would have been speculative on my part, and to boot, blatantly wrong, given the evidence to the contrary.

People in this fandom, and in all RPF/RPF-adjacent fandoms need to understand that almost everything they believe about the CCs they watch is speculative, at least to some extent, because of the nature of the content they make. Even if someone, in your opinion, displays evidence of some aspect of their personality - whether that be some form of bigoted, sweet, rude, clout-chasing, or anything else - because of the extremely one-sided nature of sharing one's life through a screen, that theory of ours will almost alwyas only ever be speculation, not a solid conclusion that can be drawn. We will never know these people's true intentions behind something shared to us via the Internet.

That vagueness leads to virtually every viewer creating a different theory in our heads about the CCs we watch, and we can't treat those theories as facts, especially not when sharing them with the rest of a fandom. I'm not a very big blog, but I consider even over 50 followers to be way too many people to spread a theory too, without at least clarifying that what I'm posting is speculation. If I have evidence, I like to list it or, if I can, provide sources; but otherwise, I take care to qualify most things with phrases or disclaimers that will clue followers into the speculative nature of whatever it is I'm saying. This is because theories and "feelings" can blaze through a fandom like wildfire, especially somewhere like Twitter, where so many things are word-of-mouth or based on summary due to character limitation.

You know why mcyttwt was cancelling Andi? Only a handful of original Tweeters under the cancel Andi hashtags actually knew what clips or tweets to criticize her for, or tried to elaborate on that criticism. But because every other mcyttwt user was getting bombarded by their mutuals hate-posting about Andi on their TLs, the "negative feeling" towards Andi grew and grew, even if most people didn't even know what they were supposed to feel negative about, exactly. Our judgement works on a quick trigger on the Internet because of the amount of information we're receiving, and so, even a single bad word against someone you don't have too strong of an opinion on can fundamentally alter your perception of them, usually subconsciously. If the first thing you see about Andi, who you've only seen on a couple LOH's or a couple Punz streams before then, is a tweet along the lines of, "disappointed in Andi for her homophobia and joking about suicide," despite you having no context, you will most likely be pushed to the negative side of her. Thus begins the cycle of hatred, building up and up, leading to you searching for more and more criticism about Andi, whether speculative or not, until you solidly and genuinely believe she is a Horrible Person. It all starts with the vaguest fucking feeling, because that's all speculation has to go off of, and it snowballs into a fucking wildfire across an entire fandom. I'm not about to be another person to let feelings snowball and spread like that.

Now, I don't know what exact blog you're referring to, but as an adamant SBI enthusiast, let me flip the argument many SBI stans have for their speculation upon the genuity of Karl's friendship with the Feral Bois, onto SBI. What do we have to go off of for the genuity of SBI's friendship, anyways? Our perceived brother dynamic between Tommy and Wilbur could very well just be Tommy capitalizing on Wilbur's brand and continuing the charade until now because it's been profitable. Maybe Techno only continues to associate with SBI because he knows how much his fanbase likes headcanon'ing about SBI, so he puts up with streams with them so he can continue to feed his fanbase with dynamics he knows they're obsessed with. Maybe Phil would rather play MC with people his age, and actually dislikes that he's friends with a teenager, but sticks around because he profitted so much off of Dream SMP and SBI-related content. And what could any SBI stan have to argue with me on any of these theories? Just because SBI laughs around each other and seems fond of each other doesn't mean they're actually like that behind the cameras. They so seldomly stream or make videos together anymore, anyways, so maybe they've grown tired of keeping up the dynamic.

Everything I said could be interpreted as utter bullshit, and that's because it fucking is. I don't actually know what Techno wants to do with his life, or how Wilbur and Tommy actually feel about each other, or who Phil wants to fucking befriend. The same goes for Feral Boys. There's nothing wrong with stating your theories or speculation, but to treat them as fact or not at least qualify such posts with the fact that this is all based on your bias and opinion, and no substantive evidence, is irresponsible. Just because you feel like one or more of the Feral Boys is "clout-chasing" doesn't mean you have the right to tout that feeling as truth. I feel a lot of things about a lot of CCs, both negative and positive, but no matter how strong my feelings, unless they have substantive evidence backing them up, I have no right to treat them as facts with my followers.

[musekicker]

So basically this drabble is parts of episode 5 if fusion were a thing. Naturally spoilers for episode 5. And warnings for a lot of swearing, which is natural for this fandom but still warning for it.

The games were as fun as Blitz hoped for. All the competition and sheer chaos that was promised in the event was there.

Even better, there was Striker.

Not only did the guy have a cool horse but Striker himself was interesting. They got along so well that more then once during the games the two had nearly fused right then and there in front of a large crowd. A sort of natural reaction to how in sync they were feeling.

As much as that would had been quite the show, Blitz had not given in to that urge. He was more interested in showing off his own induvial talents at these games.

It almost didn't matter by the end of it as the both of them had came in first place at the games.

All in all, a good fucking day. At least it was until Blitz caught Striker in Millie's parents house, at the window with a view of the stage in the festival and just about to kill Stolas with a heaven blessed weapon, 

Well, that couldn't stand.

Blitz let Striker know as much, his gun aimed at Striker. On his end, Striker didn't seemed concerned. More like amused. Which honestly pissed Blitz off more.

But then Striker starting moving forward and Blitz backed up a bit before he knew it. Then Striker began talking. Of things like how he and Blitz were superior to most of their kind. Or how Stolas just used Blitz as a play thing. That Blitz could do so much better.

Striker was just throwing out a flurry of words that were both partially truth and things that Blitz had not ever thought he would be hearing out loud from anyone. Blitz was struggling with so many things with these words. So busy in his own head he didn't realize he was being directed to the wall until his back was to it.

Now Striker had Blitz up against the wall, hands braced on the wall on either side of Blitz's head. Looking up into the eyes he could feel the urge to just drop the gun aimed at Strikers chest.

Was that some unknown power of Strikers? Or was that all him?

Striker, noting the hesitation continued on.

"Fuse with me." Striker said.

Blitz looked up at Striker with a questioning look.

"Come on Blitz." Striker said, sounding almost amused by Blitz's clear confusion.

The tension in the room suddenly seemed to rise. Up to higher levels of it until something would soon snap.

"You know that we nearly fused more then once during the games. So I know you wouldn't be adverse to fusing with me." Striker said.

Blitz didn't even attempt to act like that wasn't true. Striker clearly had felt the same way during the games, given how he had grinned at Blitz each time it nearly had happened. Always pushing a bit closer and closer to the edge of actual fusion.

"Together we'll take down this blue blood. Both our fingers will be on that trigger. And then we can be the most dangerous thing in hell." Striker said.

"That's... a good fucking pitch." Blitz said.

"Been work shopping it." Striker admitted.

In the moment it was tempting. 

Blitz couldn't deny there was something about Striker that made him want to just throw everything and run off with this guy.

Not that he was going to, as tempting as it really was. Not with Loona and his employees in his life.

Thankfully he did not have to distract for very long. Moxxie showed up, gun aimed at Striker. Too bad the fucker even got the upper hand back quickly. Enough so that Blitz tried to call Loona. When he realized she was going to be taking her time, Blitz took matters in his own hands, or rather foot when he kicked up at Strikers leg.

More fighting, and Blitz fought just as viciously as Striker. It was after Blitz slammed him across the face with his horns did Striker realize he would not be able to continue his job. But there was still a way that Striker could get at the very least one thing he wanted.

"Should had said you wanted to dance, darlin." Striker said, getting a hold of Blitz's arm during the battle.

There was a interesting belief about fusions. The strong ones often learned their fusion trigger actions fast. Some of them danced, some held hands. Some even jumped into the others arms.

Striker knew those things would not work with his and Blitz's fusion.

"What the fuck are you-" Blitz started to say.

Striker pulled Blitz close, chest to chest, and in one, swift action slammed his lips up against Blitz's. The fusion started to form immediately. 

"Sir!" Moxxie cried, far too late to stop the fusion.

Smoke was swirling in the air. Bright, swirled, green eyes were suddenly visible in the smoke and then the smoke cleared.

The new fusion form stood tall, it's form clad in a long, black coat, that seemed to move in the wind though they were inside and there was no heavy breeze present. The coat went up far enough that it, a hat, and a red scarf hid the face of the fusion. All except those green eyes.

Other details were the two sets of horns. One Blitz's horns and one Strikers. The tail meanwhile was longer then normal and whip like as it moved.

The new fusion looked down at his hands a moment, seeming surprised this had worked. Then a small laugh.

"I feel like our name is Outlaw." the new form said, looking down to Moxxie.

Moxxie's eyes went wide at the appearance of this fusion. With Blitz fused with him like this, Moxxie could not shoot. Not if he didn't want to risk killing his own boss.

"Oh crumbs." Moxxie said.

The fusion should had fallen apart. That was how fusions where all parties were not agreed worked, right? Yet here Outlaw was, still walking towards Moxxie with menace, tail lashing the air.

"Time to take you out for good, vermin." Outlaw said.

Outlaw suddenly stopped in their steps, clutching one arm and shaking.

"No. We are NOT fucking doing this!" Blitz's voice cried from the Outlaw form.

Blitz was trying to get free of the form. The Striker part of the fusion however was not easily letting Blitz go. 

"You think you can fight your way out of this? Not happening." the Striker part of the fusion said.

Moxxie considered running for help at this moment. But he also feared if he left Outlaw would just leave, taking Blitz with it. So he just stood there as he didn't know how to help his boss with this battle.

Outlaw suddenly straightened up and was no longer shaking.

"Now now. Behave." Outlaw said, clearly no longer in odds with itself. At least not in a way that was visible to Moxxie.

Now Outlaw's attention was back on Moxxie. The fusion summoned two guns to it's hands. Jet black things with hellfire glowing inside the barrels. Moxxie would be more impressed by the guns if his life were not in danger right now.

"Sir.. sir please. You don't want to do this." Moxxie said.

Outlaw laughed.

"You think you can reach him? Good luck. I've got my claws in him and I'm not letting go." Striker said.

The guns were aimed at Moxxie. Moxxie very well would had died right then if the door to the room slammed open, nearly hitting Moxxie.

Loona was here.

"Okay I'm here. What do you want?" Loona grumbled.

She looked around the room before seeing Outlaw. Outlaw turned on Loona, eyes narrowed. Loona, sensing ill intent right away snarled and readied to attack.

"Loona wait! Blitz is in that fusion!" Moxxie cried.

That was enough to stop Loona in her tracks.

"What?" she asked.

 The moment that Outlaw trained their guns on Loona the shaking from before happened again, this time more intense.

One arm gripped the other, pushing down and forcing at least one of the guns to face down to the floor.

"No! You will not hurt my daughter!" Outlaw roared, in two different voices rather then one.

Then Outlaw slammed themselves against the wall, forcing the other hand to drop it's gun. It took about a minute more of shouting, sometimes in one voice and sometimes in two. And it took a lot more frantic action of fighting with ones self.

In one final slam against the wall, fusion had finally fallen apart. Loona and Moxxie hurried over to Blitz.

"Are you okay?" Moxxie asked.

Blitz sat up grumbling.

"Just help me up to blow a hole in that fuckers skulls." Blitz snarled.

Sadly when the three looked to where Striker was last, he was already gone.

"Shit." Blitz growled.

Blitz started to his feet and stumbled. After that forced fusion and fighting it so hard, Blitz was just drained.

He let Moxxie help support him to his feet.

"I need a nap." Blitz grumbled.

As he, Moxxie, and Loona exited the room Blitz could only think of two things.

The first was how easily Striker had been able to trap him in the fusion for that long. 

And the second and most worrying though. 

This was not over.

[fandom-necromancer]

You and me against the world

This was prompted by an amazing anon! The universe didn’t want this story written, but I summoned my inner Gavin and said phck the universe. I hope you enjoy! The lost version is better stylistically, but I still like it!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warning: Graphic depiction of violence, Hank is OOC for the sake of having an antagonist) [Part2]

It should have been easy: Sit in a room, drink some water, look important, answer some questions and get back to work. Had Gavin known how it ended, he would have never agreed to do this stupid live interview about human-android relations after the revolution.

‘Hello! This is Joss Douglas from Channel 16, reporting live from the DPD’s fifth precinct where the very first android joined the police force. We have the unique possibility to interview not one but two human-android work partners. Let’s greet Lieutenant Anderson and Connor, who had worked here even before deviation, as well as Nines and Detective Reed!’ Gavin tried to keep up a neutral but nor intimidating face and hoped Hank to lead the talk. Their dislike was mutual, but at least they had managed to stay professional so far. He nodded his greeting after Connor and Hank answered with a polite hello. ‘Okay, then let’s jump in right away!’ The reporter announced flashing a well-trained smile that should calm as well as impress. ‘I guess the question most people out there would love to ask is how it is to work as a deviant with the police. During the revolution it isn’t too wrong to assume you had been opposing forces.’ The reporter looked towards Nines with it, but the android redirected it: ‘I believe Connor can say more to that. I’ve been activated after the revolution as a deviant from the start. I can only say that my human co-workers have been generally accepting and nice. We do face problems sometimes when we have cases involving deviants that suffer from trauma caused by previous actions. Though we hope to become better and change that.’ The reporter nodded and turned towards Connor. ‘Then let’s ask you then! How did your life pre-deviation influence you? Were you treated differently afterwards?’

Gavin listened to Connor being polite and diplomatic only with half an ear, instead focussing on how they all avoided calling names. No one said something about being a machine or robot. Well, he guessed it was better that way, although he still didn’t believe in seeing them as all human. He knew Nines very intimately by now and he had noticed himself how forgetting they were steel and plastic had caused unnecessary harm. But he came to the wise conclusion it was probably best not to say that on public television. Next the reporter asked Hank and him how it was working during the revolution and both answered mostly by telling the truth: That they had investigated the cases like any other, but were very glad not to be involved in trying to suppress the revolution. It would have felt wrong. That likely was the only topic he and Hank would ever agree on.

‘Without doubt there are a lot of challenges deviants as well as humans out there face figuring out this still new situation. Have you faced any yourselves?’ Connor was eager to answer, clearly the more enthusiastic to help androids make use of their rights, being part of the revolution himself: ‘There have been some challenges in the beginning, but after a few months, things started to change really quickly.’ The reporter seemed just as eager to jump on it. This clearly had been what he had wanted to talk about all along. ‘Oh, would you mind elaborate on that a bit? I believe quite a few androids face some kind of problems these days. I think it is time to face them together!’ Gavin had relaxed quite a bit from the initial nervousness. It seemed Connor and Hank were comfortable leading this whole thing, while him and Nines stayed in the backseat and answer with additions and different perspectives. At least until Hank spoke up, joking: ‘I believe, Gavin here could tell you a lot about that.’

Oh no, please, did the old phck really have to deal that blow? The reporter seemed just as confused, having read the natural feeling of their personalities. Connor was quick for an attempt at damage control: ‘Hank, I don’t think-‘ But the reporter had caught himself and apparently taken it for a genuine cue. ‘Oh, that would be lovely, Detective Reed.’ Gavin sighed, remembering they were on TV. He thought how to put this best without looking like the man Hank wanted him to frame as. ‘Well… you see… Me and Connor didn’t get along at first. When he was still a ma- Before he deviated, I saw him as one of these “robot-overlords” that were sent to replace us.’ He did think to quickly add air quotes to that. ‘I did things that… weren’t exactly nice, but I have since-‘ ‘You tried to kill him. Multiple times’, Hank interrupted.

Gavin gaped at him. So that’s what they were playing? He knew Hank didn’t like him and that he wanted to drive a wedge between him and Nines, who he saw as almost a son. Damn overprotective bastard, it wasn’t as if he had changed since then and- ‘You did?’, the reporter asked too shocked to remember doing his job. Gavin’s brain worked overtime trying to find a way out of this one, but when he had opened his mouth, Hank had already began. ‘Before the revolution he viewed them as simple machines that weren’t alive. As if deviancy was nothing but a bug. Roughing up an android suspect wasn’t out of the question.’ Nines sat up straighter, before Gavin could do something dumb on life TV. ‘May I add that Detective Reed never did and never would do such a thing and that the statement was meant as a joke at that time?’ Apparently the reporter realised his interview had been derailed and wanted to regain power over it, but Hank had other ideas: ‘Yeah, but he threatened him with a gun – I think twice - hit him and called him names.’ ‘Is this true?’

Gavin had managed to stay calm until now. But this was enough. What did the idiot think he was doing? So he did what he could do best: explode. ‘Yes. Yes, it is true. I was an asshole, am still, but me and Connor came to terms. We talked about it. I regret it. I have even fallen in love with one of these plastic pricks! And I talked about my ways with Nines and we are still together. Maybe you don’t understand it Hank, but it is like it is! So phck you and your stupid schemes! This interview is over!’

With that he marched out of the room and called himself a taxi home.

~

Of course, the live broadcast had been a disaster that had become famous for all the wrong reasons. At least the protesters outside had subsided a week later and Fowler had had his back by letting him off the hook with a disciplinary and Hank on patrol duty for his shitty behaviour. Didn’t mean life was back to normal. His favourite bar had thrown him out, as the android bartender had politely explained they didn’t serve robophobic fuckers like him there. Not that anyone in Detroit thought of him highly. Cases had become difficult as witnesses refused to speak with him or even became violent upon seeing him. It was surprising Nines still had his back. The tall android had stepped in front of him every single time, catching fists directed his way and explaining in his most intimidating voice that personal opinions would not advance the investigation. By now Gavin was happy to get the gruesome cases. The cases that involved dead bodies en masse without any ties to the living world.

But hell, this was not what he had wanted. Not at all. He was a detective, goddamnit! And he had changed, he had put real effort in too! And now all of that had been torn down by Hank phcking Anderson. Phcking hell… He stared at the screen without any ambition, tracing the specks of blood, overlying Nines’ analysis and the forensics’ data. It was likely a suicide after an overdose that had destroyed the woman’s ability to think clearly, but Gavin would be damned if he wouldn’t be thorough. Only that by now he was craving a cigarette. He had to relax, get his mind off of this whole shit-show. Maybe he needed a vacation. Maybe he should ask for a transfer. But for now, a cigarette would do.

So, he decided to call it quits for today. He would take some of his overtime for this. He grabbed his jacket and waved his hand half-heartedly at Nines. ‘See ya tomorrow, tin-can.’ Then he headed outside, a stick already on his lips fumbling to get the lighter on in the strong autumn wind. It had gotten cold far too early in the year. He finally ignited the cigarette and put his hands in his pockets, walking down the street. He had sat in a chair far too long already and decided to get home by foot for once. At least until he decided otherwise.  He took a few shortcuts through back alleys, trying to escape the sharp winds of the main streets, puffing out clouds of smoke and breath. He wasn’t really thinking about anything, letting his feet carry him on. Maybe that was how he couldn’t see the fist coming for his face and then his stomach.

He doubled over and saw the cigarette falling to the ground weirdly clear. All air seemed to have left his lungs as he knelt on the cold floor holding his middle. ‘This is the man, right?’ ‘Yeah. What a piece of shit!’ ‘Oh, this will be fun.’ Gavin groaned. How could he ever have thought androids and humans were different? Everyone was just full of the same bullshit. ‘Get up!’ Someone grabbed him by the back of his jacket and hoisted him up to his feet. Gavin stood face to face with an android, two more behind him. A woman and one that apparently chosen not to present their skin. Not that Gavin cared, the three were here to beat him up, that was all he needed to know. Phck, Fowler would hate the hospital costs. This still counted as an accident on the journey from work, right? God, he hoped it was. He didn’t have a beautiful face to begin with, but he really didn’t want another go at how phcked up do you want to look versus how much are you willing to pay.

At least these ridiculous thoughts left him as the android that had picked him up pushed him against a wall and pinned him while the skinless one threw the next punch to his jawline. Gavin felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes and blinked them free, just to get the next strike to his sternum again and when he gasped for air, someone kicked his legs from underneath him. Unable to react fast enough, Gavin flopped to the ground, remembering his lessons to roll in his head to his chest and keep it there. The least thing he wanted was to get hit in the head and fall unconscious while the androids had their fun. There were better ways to die.

He rolled to his side as a boot connected with his shoulder and burrowed his head in his arms for protection. Maybe if he could get a good kick at one of them, he could roll over and escape. Maybe he could make it to the main street where people could help him. Not that he expected them to, but he couldn’t fight three androids on his own. But unfortunately, his foot didn’t hit a leg but a hand, as the woman grabbed and lifted his leg, turned him around and kicked where it hurt most. Gavin couldn’t suppress a whine as the pain paralyzed him. He once again rolled up into a ball and tried to protect his vulnerable areas. Maybe he should have fallen unconscious, he thought as boots and punches made his whole body light up in pain. Somewhere along the way one of his teeth got knocked loose and he tasted blood in his mouth. As he opened his eyes the next time the world was a blurry mess. Maybe they would stop soon. Maybe someone had called the police. But no, the only thing he saw was a fourth silhouette joining the three. Well, that was just his luck, wasn’t it? Who cared how much you changed? All that mattered was how the world saw you and in his case the world had made up its mind a long time ago. He pressed his eyes closed and braced for more.

But nothing came. Until there were hands on him. ‘No’, he begged. ‘Please, don’t.’ But the hands continued mapping his body and Gavin noticed they were gentle. They didn’t hurt, didn’t press down on them but simply examined him. He dared to relax a little and uncurl, but the tiny movement made everything ache. Apparently, Gavin had groaned, because the stranger spoke up: ‘Shh, it’s fine, Gavin. I’m here. You are safe.’ ‘Tin-can?’, Gavin slurred and made the effort to look up. It really was Nines and he threw him a soft smile. ‘Yes. You left early and you forgot your keys. Wanted to bring them to you, but you already left by foot, so I followed. I’m sorry I wasn’t here faster.’ ‘You are here now’, Gavin sighed and God, was he tired. ‘Hey, stay with me now. You don’t get to seep just yet, wait until you’re home and showered.’ Nines turned him around gently and finally nodded. ‘Aright. You are beaten up pretty badly, but it’s nothing serious. Minor wounds, but a lot of them. I’ll get you home, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. You will feel better in no time.’

Gavin smiled and lifted his hand to lay on his cheek and Nines took it to hold there. ‘Why do you still stick around?’, the human asked. ‘After what happened I’m basically target practise. You’d have it easier without me.’ ‘I don’t want that’, Nines said, wrapping Gavin in his jacket. ‘Come on, if the whole world says I’m an asshole there has to be some truth to it.’ ‘I don’t care what the world has to say about you’, Nines said and snaked an arm under his back. ‘I love you’, he said with vehemence. ‘I know you. The real you. And that’s everything that matters to me.’

With that, Nines picked him up and pulled him to his chest, carrying the beaten human towards the street, where a cab was already waiting. ‘I’d say it’s you and me against the world’, he whispered as he sat him down on the backseat. But Gavin had already fallen asleep.

[>next part]

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

Jotuns don't have the freeze burn touch on constantly. It's been shown in the first movie (Thor got headbutted but didn't burn, Vollstag was burned deliberately). They do it deliberately, consciously, just like with fostering ice and creating ice weapons. This was how Loki discovered he was Jotun, because that one warrior grabbed him and then tried to burn him. But his sleeve and armour disintegrated instead.

This!

I was about to say

Wen Laufey sits on Odin, the fur blanked does not ice over and brake so it is very deliberate

Also

Jotunheim is very cold, to have these ice colums exist you need subzero temperatures year round

So … let‘s say the place where they land is around -10°C cold

→ cold enough for the icy landscape but not so cold that the asgardians drop dead on arrival

That means, if thermodynamics works the same on Jotunheim as it works on earth, that the Jotun need to be -10°C or colder to not freeze

If Loki is in an earth like setting, there is no need for him to be that cold

I think the Jotuns do have cooler body temps, but it's not freezer burn cold by default. Even in that clip from the Avengers, his temp isn't super cold, it's just a bit colder than his surroundings.

This

You can see in the picture that he is the same temperature as the background.

So probably around 20°C

Cold to the touch of a 37°C human, but not cold enough to burn

And that is wen he has no reason to make himself palpable (literally) since he is in enemy territory

Because:

#I mean if Loki was super cold all the time it probably would have been noticed way earlier that he was a frost giant

This!

Thor is constantly touching him, he would have noticed

I don’t care if it’s an au, Loki cannot turn the form off and on as he wishes! If he could’ve… I’m sure he would’ve found out a lot sooner. In order to be so deceptive, his mind has to be in tune with everything about his body. His expressions, body language, etc… He’s very intelligent. Which not only the fandom forgets, but also Marvel.

→ In order to be so deceptive, his mind has to be in tune with everything about his body

But that doesn‘t mean that his mind tells him all it‘s up to

People that get, for example, a ADHD diagnose late in life, might at first get a lot worse, because they now can‘t explain away things anymore, they can‘t lie to themselves, they can‘t force themselves to function like they are supposed to at the detriment of their health, because now they know

Or take systems

A lot of Systems don‘t know that they are systems until they know

After all, the whole reasons alters exist is to hide trauma, so the whole System can survive

So it‘s in the systems best interest to hide the truth from who ever is at the wheel.

Odin might even have put a sort of SEP field around the „button“ that allowed Loki to change his shape, so he didn‘t really notice it was there until he KNEW it was there …

That is actually a fantasy trope, doors that only exist for people that know where it is, or who have a key in their pocket or who hav eth right to open them etc …

For other people the door just does not exist …

So, you can definitely handwave it away as:

The ice touch is a deliberate choice

In an earth like setting Loki would be warmer then on Jotunheim.

All that being said.

I completely agree with this:

Also I’ve ranted before about how fanfic authors have him dropping his glamour way too often and too easily anyway. It actually annoys me how cavalier people are with it when we know Loki has a lot of self loathing to work through over his birth form. Like, headcanon what you like but I personally find “Loki turns blue to snarl at and terrorise Y/N only she practically throws her vagina at him” unrealistic tbh.

And no disrespect to monster fuckers, you do you.

And no disrespect to people who just want to tell Loki, via a character (oc or canon) that he is loved regardless, without having to slog through a novels worth of writing, you do you to

But I personally like it best wen it is used as a mark of trust in a relationship (platonic or romantic).

Because I feel, used like that. it is very Loki.

It is basically his version of asking, “would you still love me if I was a worm?”

It also is him calling the shots and being in control. He has learned the had way that secrets don‘t stay secret and tend to come out at the worst moment possible. So as long as his true nature is a secret there is the possibility of it coming out at he worst moment wen he isn‘t prepared, wen he is vulnerable, wen he doesn‘t expect it.

So he chooses wen and where.

It‘s basically your cat showing you it‘s soft belly, trusting you will not touch.

It also might mark the fact that he is now so emotionally tied to this relationship that this is his last chance to get out with most of his heart intact. A sort of now or never moment.

If he is rejected now, he will survive, if he is rejected any later his heart will brake irrevocably.

So yeah.

Done well, this is my favorite Loki trope.

Done wrong I loath it with the passion of a thousand suns.

For me, it needs to be earned.

It can‘t just happen

Oh I also dislike it wen it happens because he is injured, I want it to be his decision …

Wait I don’t know if anyone’s talked about this before, but in Jotun Loki fics, people always have the reader touch him while he’s in that form which sort of… never made sense to me.

Considering the fact that he’d be reverted to his Jotun form, wouldn’t anyone who touched him began to freeze? Hence why (perhaps one of the reasons) Loki in Thor 1 was so apprehensive about grabbing Odin’s hand, with the hand the Jotun grabbed him by and reverted him with in Jotunheim?

I… don’t think you’d be able to touch him. And he wouldn’t just be cold to the touch. Loki is ALREADY quite cold to the touch canonically (right bottom corner shown in the picture above), so in his Jotun form… he’d be freezing.

Anyone please correct me if I’m wrong, though. Was just wondering because I always had the sort of idea that if you touched Loki while he was reverted to his Jotun form, that it would be dangerous. Just like touching any other Jotun.

Which is one of the reasons he was probably afraid to grab Odin’s hand. Not only at the thought of himself being a “monster” and untouchable in that sense, but also literally being untouchable because it wasn’t necessarily safe and he was hyper conscious of it, even if he had already been reverted back.

I get people excuse things for the sake of Fanfic, but I actually don’t think I’ve seen people talk about this before. So I don’t know if it’s just them excusing it, or a fandom-wide misconception.

May reword this later. Probably sounds a bit stupid and might be straight up incorrect in some areas because I just woke up.

[kob131]

Looks like Hbomberguy's hours long crap is up(publicly).

“Made a legendary animator, his most trusted colleage (shows Shane) and two-”

People he outright went to and he acknowledged were better writers, thanks for admitting that HBomberguy and not be an insulting jackass right?

“RWBY’s failures matter because it could have been something-”

So could Twilight- That means nothing at this point other than ‘I made a bunch of headcanons and the show dared to not follow them.’

‘It’s easy to see why this show has such a devote fanbase because it frequently threatens to become good-”

So did Fairy tail (except for real) and that died out. Also you are really chipping away at my goodwill

‘People say what it promised!”

You mean this?

‘Weaken REAL criticism by being given too much attention-”

Hypocritical much douchebag?

“*insert a bunch of sarcastic bullshit mocking critics of RWBY*”

*rolls eyes* You say as you mimick them down to using the DEAD.

‘It’s separated into two eras with issues that don’t necessarily overlap-”

Bull. Fucking. Shit. Most of RWBY’s problems now ORIGINATED in the early Volumes. 

“If you’re a fan of the show you’re probably gonna dread what I’m about to say and if you’re a fan of the second half then you’ll probably agree with what I’m about to say-”

Considering you’re stupid sarcasm is just a less smug version of what I do, pretty clear ‘agreement’ and ‘actual good point’ are very different here.

“If you love RWBY and are still gonna watch, thank you and I love you for joining me on this journey.”

Less a journey and more a Seven Page Muda but sure.

“My goal isn’t to make people think less of the show-”

Which is why you openly insult it in the beginning.

“-but to think more about it.”

So far you’ve shown about as much understanding of the show as FloofArtist, complete with hypocrisy. And considering what I’ve heard about your video, you’re not getting better.

“I hope to give credit where credit is due-/It’s said failure is the best teacher-”

Which is why you openly insult people.

“’Rooster Teeth is starting game development!’ *insert insulting Steam Statistics*’

Fucking wonderful. Like you haven’t already tested my patience.

“*gushes about the Red Trailer after about eight minutes of recaping*”

Cool, eight minutes wasted on knowledge that EVERY RWBY fan knows. Literally every RWBY fan knows the origins of RT and Monty and the bitch basic knowledge of how they came together. You seem to have targeted this to RWBY fans and yet to blab about shit that you get after looking at the fandom for 2 seconds.

To say nothing of how you prove something was wrong with the Red Trailer. Namely, you never mention a plot, a personal conflict, a display of character or anything other than ‘cool music!’ and ‘animation!’ despite the show being pretty plot dependent.

*Gushes about the White Trailer*

Yet another bitch basic gushing with nothing of substance to it. For a guy who says he wants people to think critically about RWBY, you sure don’t do that for what is considered the basis of the show. It’s just talking about shit you like instead of anything worthwhile.

*Yet more gushing with the Black Trailer.*

... You know, I watch these kinds of videos searching for some kind of intellectual stimulation. Something to make me think and engage with. Right now, I get more stimulation and engagement from RWBY itself than a supposedly critical video that doesn’t even have to bother with anything original.

“The show already has generic monsters who just want to destroy humanity and yet you have written your characters to act exactly the same-”

And within your own bitching, you discovered the counter. The Grimm have nothing really to explore about them outside giving them variations and powers whereas the human characters can have these things called ‘motives’ and ‘reasons’. Not to mention even you would say people act like that in real life *cough* anyone NOT of your political alignment *cough*.

“And the audience is left with one lingering though...he can make that jump.”

How does it feel that Family Guy did a better version of your joke?

“She’s written like two adult men who have never written anything professional before except Red Vs. Blue wrote a Teenage girl-”

.... Monty wrote her based off her voice actress.  You’ve also made me regret ever using this same insult against Miles and Kerry so congrats on that.

*Even more gushing...*

You know, I am legitimately considering rewatching the Persona episode of Game Theory because at least MatPat’s faffing about is short and he has more content in his first eighteen minutes than this.

“More people have gone back to watch the trailers than watch actual episodes of the show!”

The trailers are the first thing people would watch to know about the series- no shit they’d be higher in view count.

“It’s so hard to not be onboard with the trailers!”

It’s actually very easy, especially in their release.

Why? Simple, a lot of the depth in the trailers only exists with context from the show itself. The White Trailer is cool and all but it’s symbolism and deeper meaning comes from Weiss’ backstory and the truth depth of Blake leaving Adam and what it causes is found in the show, the two best trailers while Red is just mindless fun that you can get better from other places and Yellow is just kind of neat.

How the fuck am I the more critical of the two of us so far?

“Then the show actually came out and it was terrible-”

Piece of advice, don’t follow this up with a super janky, uncanny valley 3D animation that makes Volume 1 look appealing.

“RWBY isn’t just a bad show, it’s a bad show that could have been something-”

*cracks neck*

The idea that RWBY or any show ‘had potential’ is most often used when a person once had a fondness for the property in question but has long since lost the goodwill to see it in a positive light, trying to make up for the cognitive dissonance of the conflict between liking what it once was and disliking what it is now. The issue here is that these so called ‘issues’ are born of the original creator who either founded the show or helped found it which means that it was pretty much DESTINED to be this way as the creator’s specific interpretation of their own work is what resonated with you in the first place and was likely built up to in the subtle inner workings of the show, thus making the big changes you want so badly would cause a ripple effect that would have affected your past impression of the show because everything in a show is connected. And in all likelyhood, your impression would have soured no matter what.

Tl;Dr- ‘It had potential!’ is self defeating and stupid.

‘The creators are receptive to criticism!...well, they try to be.-”

Oh boy I can’t wait for Mr. ‘kill half of all babies’ to try and speak about THIS topic.

“You don’t engage with any of the good faith criticism and just reward shitty people with attention. And I hope to show them that as a lifelong fan of RT and Monty Oum, that I’m saying this thinking RWBY could have been good...and still could be.”

Says the man who when referencing Miles for the first time, actively SEPERATED him from being a ‘treasured college’ of his friend and insulted him with Yang even though the fault lied with MONTY. 

All while referencing a tweet where he chews someone out for saying EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE SAYING ( ‘God this is why i hate this fandom. You miss the point. If I critise the show I'm a hater because you worship it. I'M OFFERING CRITISM U IDIOT SO THE SHOW SEES ITS FAULTS AND FIXES THEM. HOW THE FUCK CAN U KEEP MOVING FORWARD IF YOU DON'T IDENTIFY YOUR OWN FAULTS AND LEARN’). Yeah great job there jackass- How exactly are you any different from this fucker?

So that’s my thoughts on the first twenty or so minutes. Can already tell it’s gonna be shit.

[oohnoniall]

no one asked for this but here we go!

songs that remind me of tamlin rosehall and why:

snow globe - waterparks; “in the daytime i get to debate myself and quiet all the evil things i say like; everybody hates you, people miss the old you, they hate everything they all changed you into.” idk this song just gives me tamlin vibes from the beat and the way it’s slowly progressing into how much he hates himself, also you can’t tell me these fuckers in the ic didn’t fuck with his mind.

just kidding - waterparks; “i wish i was dead sometimes so i could spend a day alone and not feel like everyone hates me” tamlin has a lot of people who hate him constantly and doesn’t get a chance in hell to just process his trauma, another line in this song that makes me think of him is “i buried all my pain today” bc he buries shit a lot. also the way the song repeats that the narrator is “just kidding lol” makes me think of how everyone treats things in this series.

awakening - yellowcard; “yes i miss you still, and probably always will, i’m living with a busted heart that i will have until i find the strength i know it’s somewhere in my bones.” tamlin has a lot of feelings for feyre, it’s obvious. this song is about letting go of that type of love and i can see him getting absolutely smashed on his own as a celebration of letting go of her and embracing his future.

dear insecurity - gnash, ben abraham; “dear insecurity, when you gonna take your hands off me? when you ever gonna let me be proud of who i am?” not only does this song sound like it was written in the spring court with the gentle guitar and the soft chiming that is sprinkled throughout but the lyrics sound like a letter that tamlin would write to himself. homie hates himself and you can see it in every single interaction he has with anyone. also the line “i’m a mess, i’m depressed, i’m alone and it’s all my fault” is definitely how he feels daily.

lowkey as hell - waterparks; “i think i’m halfway there, but my heart feels off so, what’s the point in being great if i’m great alone?” literally everyone has left him. he genuinely just needs a friend at this point. he let the spring court go to hell bc lucien and feyre both abandoned him. also, the song discusses how the narrator feels as though his problems are overlooked because people have a certain way of thinking about him. i couldn’t make this more about tam if i tried.

you’d be paranoid too (if everyone was out to get you) - waterparks; “you’d be paranoid too, if everyone you knew was out to get you” literally everyone in this series, including his one and only friend, paints tamlin out to be the villain at every single turn. he cannot catch a damn break. how does this not fit tamlin to a t? someone tell me right now.

permanent heartbreak - the friday night boys; “you set me up and that was my mistake” feyre deadass set the spring court on fire and didn’t give a single fuck about the innocent lives that she either destroyed or killed in the blaze. like how are we all rooting for this woman? but no, tamlin trusted her. he trusted a woman who loved another man and it ended up nearly killing him. i don’t see how he’s going to come back from this nor how sjm is going to give him any redemption since she hates anyone that isn’t rhysand.

numb - waterparks; “you only like me when i’m numb” the one and only time we saw tamlin as a sympathetic character was when he had a literal heart of stone. this song fits him as the fandom and as feyre see him. it’s so shitty to see that he has never had a chance to grow, thanks for coming to my ted talk.

if i could i would feel nothing - blackbear; “if i could i would feel nothing, that’s the truth and i don’t care” while this song is about addiction i think it also fits tamlin as he has a hard time controlling his emotions and often acts out in rage because of this. this goes back to numb as well, the only time we find him to be worth love is when he is held back by this stone heart and i can see the character wanting that back.