#tragic undead shit

[invinciblerodent]

Lucanus, however, is a genus of stag beetle, so that's him on every playthrough he's not romanced I guess. despite the. the "anus" in there.

(man, I really was on some prophetic shit when i had Ray say something along the lines of "I don't get how you Northerners can take each other seriously, half your names end in 'anus'." He no doubt holds that up.)

"Neve" is Italian for "snow".

"Gallus" is Latin for "rooster".

She's a detective.

Ms. Snow Cock, the Lady Dick.

[artbymesa]

A result of this

He's such a brat 😅 [affectionate]

But he can have this one if it makes him feel better about what happened at the ritual

[mold-for-breakfast]

come home with us, my friend, and you'll be at peace

[spookieloop]

Torturing myself with thoughts of Durge potentially having a very unintended experience the first time she goes on that little weave date with Gale.

.

What if she intends to kiss him in the weave, but her fractured mind conjures up the image of Gortash instead after she pulls away.

It's who she really wants, she just doesn't remember.

Gale is none the wiser, until the weave slips away to reveal a panicked Durge...

Trying to explain what she saw?

Trying to brush it off?

Who is that man burned into what's left of her brain matter? Who was he to her that the weave would pull him forth when she made the decision to pursue Gale?

And laying eyes on him again for real, at Moonrise...

Maybe she finds the Prayer for Forgiveness, and her hands are shaking as she reads, knowing that she penned this.

To her father.

Her God.

To Bhaal.

Scelaritas's words suddenly make sense.

"He would forget his god for you, but you won't for him. Of that I know."

She did forget her god once, it seems.

For Gortash.

After that, she goes to Wyrm's Rock to meet him alone, because she has one burning, inescapable question.

"Who are you to me?"

[redflagshipwriter]

Ghost Driver 2

masterpost

Batman, Danny reflected, was an irritatingly hard guy to find. Which was just plain silly! The dude had been in his apartment. He had seen the guy out in public by chance! It had been impossible for him to avoid Batman in a city of millions when that had been his number two goal! 

And yet every time Danny made it to a house fire or gunshot sound or the signal on top of the police station, the fucker was already gone. 

‘Can’t say shit about his work ethic,’ Danny had to admit. ‘He really keeps it moving. Why isn’t he having a break? He arrested Joker today and apparently met up with his estranged kid.’

He stopped in his tracks as that finally clicked into place. 

Jay was Batman’s kid. His estranged batling. 

“Weird,” Danny said, appreciative. Jay truly was a catch. He had a backstory! It was probably tragic, judging by the way that he was. 

Oh. He could probably like, fight and stuff. Danny mulled that over as he half heartedly drove towards the police station. Had Danny ever really dated someone who could fight? It would be nice to not be the protector. When one of them inevitably got kidnapped by a villain, Danny wanted to be it. He didn’t want to solve riddles or discover new powers. 

He indulged in a power fantasy for a while of being able to say, “oh no, save me!” and then just hanging around looking sexy and scared and shit. A goofy grin stole across his face. Teehee. He giggled. If he wasn’t trying to confirm proof of life he would be kicking his feet and blushing over the idea. 

Not that death would be, like, that much of a barrier. Jay was not going to peacefully move on to the other side. Jay was gonna be an undead motherfucker, Danny was calling it now. He had the spirit. 

He parked in a locked parking garage by going intangible through the wall and went fully ghost to fly the last stretch towards the police station. It was a little bit ridiculous to stake out for Batman, but this was the low he was resorting to. Ugh. Strategy. He had a strategy. Despicable. He had to, right? He had to.

‘If I do this, then he’s probably going to report the sighting to the GIW. I might have to transfer.’

Danny wallowed a bit in self pity about having a problem he couldn’t argue or punch his way out of. He stuck his hands in his armpits and sulked, hovering in the air above the main police station. Someone was hanging out on the roof. He squinted at them optimistically, but they were just smoking. He morosely did a few flips. The smoker went back inside, shutting the door with a sort of deliberate silence that implied they were not allowed to smoke on the roof.

Long minutes stretched out. Absolutely nothing happened.

While he was wallowing alone, he remembered to send his mom a thank you text and let her know Wulf had arrived safely. 

A car! Someone was pulling up to the police station!

Danny perked up before he remembered that Batman would not be coming to the station by car, and almost certainly not in a mauve minivan. 

The sun started to rise and Danny had to admit that it was not going to work out. He let out a little screech of frustration, hands in his hair. How was someone supposed to get a hold of Batman? He didn’t have a publicly listed phone number, Facecard, or… did he have a twooter account? Danny went to check.

He did. Batman had a verified twooter account. Danny stared at his screen for a minute, mouth slightly ajar. 

“I wasted so much time,” he realized. Then he switched to the account that Tucker had made for Phantom, took a selfie of himself floating over the police station, and tagged Batman in it. He pursed his lips and considered what to say for a minute. 

“I just wanna talk. HMU dude.” 

That was perfect. He hit send twoot. 

His mentions exploded before he could get his phone into his pocket. Danny startled so badly that he dropped it onto the police station rooftop. He shrieked and dive bombed like a seagull, desperately trying to snatch his phone out of midair. 

He saved it at the last moment, pulling up sharply to avoid dipping inside the police station. That would be awkward. Danny huffed a sigh of relief and glanced at the current landing notification.

‘This guy for real??’

Yeah, obviously, Danny responded. He looked at the next twoot that caught his eye.

‘Lmao this fucker thinks he can get an appointment with the batMAN’

Danny rolled his eyes and responded,

Get good, loser. He wants to see me. 

That did set off a flurry of speculation that he was fucking the Batman. Hmm. Danny frowned at his phone. Maybe he should talk less. 

Instead of doing that, Danny hunched over and started committing twooter violence, responding to people on indignant impulse. 

Someone cleared their throat. 

“A minute,” Danny said distractedly. He was holding his phone nearly up to his face and typing furiously about how @acovadobinch147 could get on his level if they only changed everything about their sour ass attitude. 

“Is this really the time?” A man’s voice asked.

Danny startled, elbows flying up. He kept his grip on his phone this time. He looked down. 

There was a cop on the roof. A cop with a seriously unimpressed expression, under eye bags big enough to have to check at luggage, and a death grip on a paper cup of coffee. 

“I’m not doing anything,” Danny said reflexively. He hid his hands behind his back. No. That’s suspicious. He took them out and put them in his pockets. Nailed it. 

“Ahuh.” The man took a sip of what looked like black coffee. “You might be loitering, son.” 

“The property line doesn’t include airspace,” he said promptly. 

The cop’s mouth twitched up slightly. It was hard to see under his mustache. “Might be. Aside from that, would you happen to know anything about the disappearance of the Joker from his cell?”

Danny blinked at him. “You know about that already?” He wondered. He shoved his hands further in his pockets and shrugged. “Yeah, he was really creepy and shit. I sent him to the Infinite Realms.” At the blank stare that garnered, he added, “the ghost zone? The lands of the dead. The unending stretch-“ 

“I got it, son.” The cop looked shell shocked. He stood perfectly still for a moment. Then he drained his entire coffee cup, crushed the paper cup and stuffed it in his pocket, and started digging in his vest pocket. “Don’t tell,” he said vaguely, and extracted a cigarette. 

Danny drifted a little further away. “Keep that downwind,” he warned. “My dad would lose his mind if I came home smelling like tobacco.” The odds of Jack Fenton showing up unexpectedly for bonding time were low, but they were never zero.

The cop snorted. “Sure thing.” He shuffled to the side a few steps and lit up. “So, uh, you want to meet the Batman to tell him you… to tell him what you did to the joker? He won’t thank you for it,” he warned. 

“No.” Danny blew a raspberry. “I don’t care about his opinion. I wanna know where my boyfriend is. Almost boyfriend. Well, we really just met, but I wanna see where it’s going, you know?” 

“…and you think that Batman knows?” 

Danny nodded furiously. “He was the last one who saw him, aside from Joker, and the unfunny dude didn’t know jack shit,” he complained. He bobbed in the air as he crossed his arms. “He was such a weirdo creep! He was making, like, innuendo about spanking? And I’m pretty sure he claimed he predated on Jay? And that’s obviously not cool and shit, so I couldn’t leave him there to be a bother,” Danny explained. He shrugged. “He’s kind of my jurisdiction anyway,” Danny justified. “Joker has major death experiences vibes.” He wiggled his fingers to illustrate this. “Was he ever declared dead? He acted like he was.” 

“Jurisdiction,” the cop repeated. “Son, are you… do you have some kind of foreign license as law enforcement?” 

Danny thought about it. “Technically,” he admitted. Embarrassing. “…two roles, technically.” Ew. He shuddered. “Walker gave me the rodeo yeehaw cop gold star thing after the last big prison break so I could help, and also teeeechnically I’m meant to enforce infinite realms laws.” He grimaced. “Because.” He ground a foot into the air as if it was the dirt. “Ugh, this is embarrassing.” 

“I don’t need to know the details,” the cop said. That was so unhinged Danny stopped to stare at him. “The Joker was taken into custody by another law enforcement agency, details are classified. Does the Joker still exist?” He was holding his temple.

“Yeahhhhh,” Danny drew out the word. He scrunched his eyebrows together. “If that’s what you want, we can just keep him, I guess. He can be a denizen of the Infinite Realms. Like me,” he added, because he didn’t want people looking for human him. This was a great alibi. The cops would tell the GIW that Phantom lived in the Infinite Realms now, and they would never catch him. He was going to live forever.

The cop took a long drag on his cigarette. “You’re deceased, correct?” 

“You’re blunt,” Danny muttered. “Yeah, uh, I’m a ghost. Wooooo.” He made scary fingers. 

“And your boyfriend?” 

“Not deceased,” Danny said slowly. Although something about what Joker had said was sticking in his mind. “At least, not as of this afternoon. He’s like, this tall. Square jaw, big hands, very white teeth, has a red helmet drag persona-“

He cut himself off as he remembered things. “He’s very unobtrusive is what I was saying,” Danny lied hastily. He gave a nervous laugh. “He, uh, rides bicycles, not motorcycles because that’s a cool guy thing, regular motor-bicycles regular bicycles and he has a red human safety hat for it. Ummmm.” He looked away shiftily and snapped his runaway mouth shut. “Yeah.” He looked back and frowned in concern. The cop looked awful. “Hey, are you okay? Do you have a headache?” 

“Nope.”  The cop didn’t stop massaging at his head. “Name?” 

“Jay,” Danny said. He wasn’t gonna give him a full name.

The cop sighed. He sounded like he was in serious pain. “Your name.” 

Oh, okay. “Phantom.” He did a midair flip.

The cop nodded heavily. “Thank you. Is there anyone I can verify your credentials as Infinite Realms law enforcement with?” 

Danny groaned and buried his face in his hands. Like who, his Dad? Some wizard? Ember? “Do you really have to?” He asked pitifully. “They’re all so embarrassing.”  The cop raised an eyebrow. Danny folded. “Literally anyone who can contact the Infinite Realms,” he muttered sulkily. “I’m kind of a big deal there. I, like, arrested the last king. There’s, uh, a few human magicians you could confirm with. Some ecto biologists in Illinois that you can look up. Any ghost you know, really.” 

So mortifying. He was cop adjacent. He felt queasy.

The cop closed his eyes. “Does that put you in the government in any way?” 

“…You’re smart,” Danny said, surprised at that deductive leap. “Yeah, I’m like, the next king or whatever. When I’m old and dead enough.”

“Fantastic. I’ll leave you my number and I’d like a way to contact you. I want paperwork on the Joker’s new placement tomorrow, I can’t be party to kidnapping.” 

…What was happening?

“Okay,” Danny said in a very high pitch. He, uh, was probably going to have to rescue him from Skulker and actually put him in Walker’s prison. He should have listened to Mom. He fidgeted. “Is there anything else?” He laced his fingers behind his back, feeling a little bit like he was in trouble at school.

“Yeah.” The cop dropped his cigarette and ground it out underneath his boot. “The Red Hood was wounded tonight, but survived. He left of his own accord, alone. I expect he’ll be passed out in some safe house.” 

“…so I should just like, wait?” Danny frowned. “I don’t like it.” 

‘I do have a clue. Jason Wayne. That’s enough to track him down, right? He’s gotta have a dead grandma or someone haunting him. I find his home, I find a family ghost, and they tell me where he is. Boom.’

“You’ll like it less if the Batman shows up to have a chat,” the cop said frankly. “This was a professional courtesy.” He frowned sternly. Danny veered back at the very scary face. “Do I make myself clear, son?” 

“Crystal.”  Danny shot off a salute. “I’ll, uh, go now.” 

“You had better.” The cop’s tone sounded awfully final.

Jeeze. Danny went invisible and left at high speed. He could take a hint. 

[pluckyredhead]

“I have larger thoughts about how DC has kind of written themselves into a hole with Jason and now he's stuck in this limbo that's unsatisfying to everyone which is why so many Jason fans are mad all the time, but that's for another ask.”

🤓 Do tell…

Okay, let's see if I can do this in less than a thousand words!

So Jason, at his core, represents a challenge to Bruce's ideology, right? Bruce's #1 rule is No Killing, and Jason's basic idea is: "That doesn't work. Some villains are bad enough that they have to be killed for the greater good." (There's something very funny about Jason, famously undead, thinking killing stops ANYONE in the DCU, but we'll leave that aside for now.) This is a really interesting ethical quandary to throw Bruce's way, and by having it voiced by his beloved son, his greatest failure, his second most profound tragedy, it becomes a deeply thorny emotional problem as well as an ethical problem. That's all great.

The problem is, DC can't allow Jason to be right, for two reasons:

Batman must always be right and must always win.

...I mean, come on. They can't actually publish a story advocating for a traumatized 19-year-old with assault weapons to be the arbiter of who lives and who dies, that's nonsense. I love Jason but really.

The problem with that is, Jason is a major recurring character.

UTRH works great in a vacuum. But if Jason is showing up in a comic every month, or even just a few times a year, this central conflict has to be addressed, and the options for doing that are limited:

Bruce and Jason fight and Jason wins. DC will never let this happen. (And what would "Jason wins" even look like, honestly? He's not going to kill Bruce.)

Bruce and Jason fight and Bruce wins. They've done this a bunch (sometimes with Dick in place of Bruce), but Jason fans don't want to see him repeatedly getting his ass kicked while being lectured, and frankly it doesn't make Bruce look great either.

Bruce allows Jason to kill people. This can't happen either; it would be wildly out of character for Bruce, not to mention literally everyone in the Batfamily. They are all canonically pretty opposed to murder.

Jason continues to operate however he wants, but outside of Bruce's reach/jurisdiction. As wretched as RHATO was, I actually think it was a smart decision to keep most of the action outside of Gotham, because then we can pretend Bruce doesn't know what Jason's up to, just like we pretend Clark couldn't super-hear everything in Gotham and save Bruce's ass every single night without breaking a sweat. The problem here is that it means Jason is unavailable for the kinds of casual team-ups and crossovers that fans of all stripes crave - plus, every time he comes back to Gotham, he and Bruce have to relitigate their entire relationship AGAIN.

Jason compromises and agrees to follow Bruce's rules in order to have a relationship with the Batfamily. This is basically where DC has landed, and I understand why they did, because it's the option that allows them to publish the most comics with Jason in them, which they want to do because he is an immensely popular character who makes them money. However, it leaves him in this awkward position where instead of being a tragic villain/badass antihero, he's just...the sassiest member of the family, while simultaneously always being available to be treated like shit because he's Bad. He gets punished without even the fun of doing the crime anymore.

So what's the solution? I don't know. Theoretically, DC could try to do what Marvel does with the Punisher. People always get mad when I say Jason is DC's Punisher, but he kills pretty much indiscriminately in UTRH and RHATO, for pretty much the same reasons. ("Dudebros think it looks cool.") And Marvel heroes inexplicably let Frank just kill however many people he wants unless they're appearing in a Punisher comic, at which point they go "Frank, you naughty boy, I shall stop you!" and then Frank kicks their ass and makes them look like an idiot. DC is never going to let Jason do that to Bruce, plus it would put a real damper on the Wayne family Thanksgiving dinner.

Alternately, they could make him a Nightwing villain. Dick has spent 40 years fighting inconclusively with Deathstroke; he's much better suited to go endless rounds with Jason without either of them Always Triumphantly Winning than Bruce is. I don't personally want this option because I just don't care that much about Dick, but it could be really interesting, though it would limit Jason to fewer appearances and primarily in Dick's book. (Jason would have made a superb Red Robin villain 15 years ago for similar reasons.)

My vote, I think, would be for a really good (god, if only), really thoughtful Jason series where he has reason to seriously reevaluate his philosophy towards crime - something that reshapes him into a character who can still challenge Bruce's entrenched ideas without being so diametrically opposed to them as to make him a villain. He needs to be close enough to Bruce's rules to appear in crossovers, but far enough and specific enough that he's not just Meaner Nightwing. Jason is a passionate character; DC needs to find a new way to let his passion work for him, because right now he doesn't have anything driving him, and it's satisfying no one.

(900 words, BOOM!)

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Won't go Home without You 🫂

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

RER2!Leon S. Kennedy x reader

♤

This.... this is very sad. I think. Maybe??

《Content》: Canon typical violence, Ex-boyfriend!Leon, neutral ending?? Idk it's tragic, but I don't know if I, personally, would classify it as a sad ending.

The order is here -> 🎂

Even after he'd broken your heart, you go after your ex-lover and unknowingly stumble right into your shared demise.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"Shit, shit, shit!" You cursed frantically, running through the dark and messy halls of the Raccoon City Police Department, adrenaline pumping in your veins.

The fear that struck you right in the middle of your chest was enough to make your legs move like they've never moved before.

You thought the horrors outside in the streets were straight from a nightmare, but no one talks about how terrifying hordes of undead are when you're trapped with them with no way out.

The puddles of blood stemming from slaughtered police officers and other personnel almost made you slip more than once on the smooth floors. You had to push down the urge to empty the contents of your stomach so you wouldn't end up like the poor victims that lined the halls.

Rattling the handle of every door you came across you almost cried in relief when one finally opened.

You could hear the moans and groans of the moving dead as you barricaded yourself in the tiny office.

You locked the door, pulled down the blinds and pushed the heavy desk in front of it. There was a second door, one that would connect the room you were currently in to the one next to it.

Considering the other office's door was locked, you only used a sturdy chair to hopefully keep any unwanted visitors out.

With a heaving chest and the adrenaline buzzing in your blood you moved to the furthest corner and slowly sunk down the wall.

You managed to get in a couple of breaths, feeling how your lungs and ribcage expanded before the reality of it all clicked in your brain and the tears started flowing down your cheeks.

You wanted to wail and scream, maybe even hurl your guts out at how nauseating this whole situation was, but you could only manage quiet and pathetic whimpers with your hand firmly pressed against your mouth.

And to think you only got yourself into this whole mess because you were cursed with a heart too big for your body and you still cared about him. He was the entire reason you even stepped foot into this hellhole of a city.

At the thought of him you couldn't quite decipher what you wanted to feel first; did you want to scream at him and curse him to the high heavens for doing this to you or was the last thing you wanted from him to hold you, embrace you and never let go when you'd inevitably die tonight, as pathetic as it sounded.

You didn't know what you'd weep over first, your doom or the shattered pieces of your heart contained within your ribcage that cut into your insides.

Leon had broken your heart, maybe a week ago, just to leave you behind and follow his dream. The fact that you weren't in his dream was enough to sting like disinfectant on a paper cut. Everything the pair of you had built or were planning on building, or so you thought, was ruined by his stupid sense of justice that never really did him any justice at all.

The punch in the gut that you felt when you woke up one morning to all his things gone and his key to your apartment laying on your kitchen counter while he sipped his morning cup of coffee with not a care in the world, was enough to knock the air from your lungs and any words from your throat.

He'd tried to explain it to you; that it'd be better this way, for both of you, and that he was sorry. His reasons were shit, to say the least. It would've hurt less if he'd just said he couldn't stand to look at you anymore.

Leon said he couldn't do long distance, that he needed his partner there with him and that, as a rookie, he wouldn't have time to call you anyway.

But all attempts at bargaining, that you'd literally follow him to the end of the world, were shut down immediately. He left you, stepping on the broken pieces of your heart as he walked out the door.

And he had the nerve to pull you into one last hug and press a gentle kiss to your forehead as if that would, in any way, fix the gaping hole that he'd left in your chest.

The crying burned all of your energy, you couldn't even find it in yourself to flinch when the infected right outside your door were stumbling over each other and torn of limbs like a newborn foal. As your hysteria subsided, the depressing outcome of your fate set in.

You would die tonight. Alone, heartbroken, in a trashed police station that, coincidentally, was the whole reason your lover had broken up with you in the first place.

Never to be found and rotting away until you fell onto the menu of the undead.

Your limbs felt like lead, your head was pounding and any little spark of hope or perseverance was snuffed out. You stood no chance.

Because, unfortunately, the media and every zombie movie ever had lied to you and the undead, were, in fact, not slow and dumb.

They were bloodthirsty, brutal and they would go after what they wanted. You had nothing to defend yourself. There was no way you could outrun them forever.

"Why zombies... why did it have to be zombies?!" You shouted at the sky, cursing whoever sat up there and got a blast out of making your life miserable.

You tugged at your hair as the tears started spilling again. What else as there to do?

You might as well write 'dinner' on your forehead and step out into the halls.

And then, from the corner of your blurred vision, you could see a light. A light that flitted around almost like... a flashlight? You wanted to hit yourself when you felt that faint feeling of hope bubbling up in your chest.

But, unless the infected had learned to use human devices (it wasn't too far off considering most of them were human themselves only a few hours ago), there was someone else out there.

The light was followed by gunshots and finally a door unlocking.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you scrambled off the floor, putting a good distance between you and the connecting door. The light was gone now, you figured its owner had done the same thing you did and barricaded themselves in the room.

But there was clear shuffling to be heard, and you could even make out a faint voice. Your whole body tensed in horror when the handle of the connecting door rattled.

You could've sworn you heard frustrated grumbling from the other side, but you didn't really give a shit when the whole door started shaking and the chair you'd lodged in front of it started to bend. With the limited vision you had, you quickly looked around for anything you could use to defend yourself.

You were about 93% sure that there was an actual person in the next room over but who knows what they're up to. Your gaze landed on a small potted plant.

Not ideal, but you figured a porcelain pot to the face could do a decent amount of damage. Maybe throw some soil in their eyes.

You raised the plant and kept your eyes trained on the door. The chair was cracking and the person seemed to throw their entire weight against the door, accompanied by laboured grunts.

The chair eventually gave out, as did the door, and the person stumbled in. You couldn't see anything, the flashlight that ignited your spark of hope just a few moments ago now burning away your retinas. You squinted, keeping a tight grip on the pot.

"Buttercup?"

Oh, fuck. You knew that voice. You knew that voice better than anything else in the world. This had to be a cruel joke.

"Leon?" You breathed, lowering the plant.

He quickly attached his flashlight to his belt and lowered his gun, making his way over to you in a few long strides.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Leon asked panicked, placing his hands on your arms.

You were frozen, not a single word left your mouth, the pot still in your hands.

You could only watch dumbly as his eyes searched for an answer within yours, a worried crease between his brows.

God, you'd missed him. You'd missed him so much. You could feel your heart, or what was left of it, twisting in your chest.

"I..." you forced out, eyes glistening with tears again. It was all you could muster.

"Why are you here?" He asked again, shaking you slightly. You could see the distress on his face.

".. You." You swallowed.

"Me? What do you mean?" His grip on you tightened, subconsciously you would assume. Your lower lip started trembling and you could feel another stream of hot tears spring from your lashline.

"I was worried.." You admitted with a shaking voice.

"I heard about the Outbreak, and I just wanted to know that you're okay." You cried, sobs racking through your chest.

"I didn't know there'd be fucking zombies!"

Leon was stunned and, suddenly, he regretted every decision he's ever made. He broke up with you, shattered your heart and you came here to check up on him? He could feel bile rising in his throat and his stomach churned.

He left you to keep you safe, to spare you any pain when he'd start his work on the force, and here you were, weeping your heart out, having doomed yourself for him.

"You... You came here because of.. me?" He asked, his own voice trembling.

You only managed to nod.

You must've been a sight. Crying over your ex after having stumbled into Armageddon with a fucking potted plant in your hands.

Leon swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as he took the porcelain pot out of your shaking hands and set it down on the desk you'd previously moved in front of the door.

"Buttercup..." the strained petname tugged uncomfortably on his vocal chords.

You looked up at him, met his eye, and his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Why did you leave me?" You wailed, wiping at your seemingly endless flood of tears.

Leon's jaw clenched and he took in a shuddering breath, trying to stop himself from breaking down.

"To keep you safe. All I wanted... was to keep you safe." He replied, the words getting stuck in his throat.

"This is the shit I wanted to keep from happening! You were supposed to be as far away as possible from all of this. I didn't exactly calculate for walking corpses, but I didn't want you to be in danger because of me. Why would come here?!" He hissed, frustrated.

He was so annoyed. Annoyed at you for being too sweet and kind to leave things as they are and annoyed at himself for not protecting you better.

You were taken aback by his response, wide eyed and speechless. But you could see the clear panic and fear in the ocean of tears in his blue eyes.

"Because I love you, you fucking idiot!" You snapped, your distress being replaced by a raging fire of anger.

The confession stopped him in his tracks and all he could do was stare at you.

"I thought I was gonna marry you! Move into a house with a white picket fence and a big yard. Maybe have a couple of kids along the way and some pets -at least one dog and a fluffy cat- and then you decided to walk out on me to keep me safe?! Do you even hear yourself?"

Everything bubbled over. All of the anger, the heartbreak, the sadness, the distress. And you let it. You didn't care anymore if he got burned.

"Doesn't even fucking matter anymore because I'm gonna die here anyway." You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in.

"Don't... don't say shit like that." He heaved, harshly pointing a finger your way before burying a hand in his hair and tugging at the sandy locks.

"Fuck." He cursed under his breath.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. To keep you away from all the bullshit that comes with being a cop..." he muttered, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes.

"And for the record... leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do. And I regret every second of it. I love you more than life itself, and you weren't just in my future. You were my future. And I ruined it." He sounded hurt and vulnerable as he laid out his heart in front of you.

"Give me chance to make it right. Please." He croaked out, a pleading look in his glistening eyes.

"Leon.."

the tears you'd tried so hard to stop came back in a flood, staining your cheeks. You gently cupped his face, stroking your thumb over his cheekbone before pulling him into a tight hug.

He wasted no time wrapping his arms around you and holding you as if you could vanish any second.

"Don't leave me again.." you begged quietly.

"I'm so sorry. I love you so much." He cried into your shoulder, mumbling apologies and 'I love you's into the fabric of your sweater.

You held each other in that embrace for a while, soaking in your lover while everything else started to fade away.

Leon pulled his face from your shoulder and took your cheeks in his hands, wiping at your tears.

"I'll marry you when all of this is over, I swear it." He sniffled, watching as a sad smile followed by a wet giggle spread across your face.

"I love you." You whispered, sighing when he connected your lips in a passionate kiss.

The desperation Leon poured into the kiss was unlike anything you've ever felt before, and you didn't want it to end.

"I love you more, Buttercup." He pressed his forehead to yours in an intimate manner.

For a minute, it felt like just the two of you in the entire world, ignoring how you managed to mend your relationship in a trashed police office whole outside the gates the world was ending.

"We need to get out of here." He said quietly.

A dreading feeling settled in your stomach, but before you had a chance to respond, the TV mounted in the corner of the room crackled to life.

The room lit up, and you turned your focus to the corner and watched as the broadcast ran over the screen. Your eyes widened as you took in the words.

"They're gonna nuke the city..." you breathed out, swallowing thickly.

"What?" Leon exclaimed, panicked. Without a second thought he tightly grasped your hand and dragged you towards the door.

"We need to go." He said quickly.

"No, Leon, wait." You stopped him from moving the desk out of the way with a hand on his arm.

"Are you insane? We'll get turned to dust if we don't leave now." He urged.

"I... there's no way I'll make it through the night. You need to go without me."

Leon looked at you as if you'd lost your mind, and maybe you had, but it was either just you that died or the both of you.

He still had a chance.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" He hissed, grabbing your arm.

"Listen to me. You still have a chance to get out. I'd just slow you down." You explained, hoping, praying he'd understand.

"No, absolutely not. It's not over tonight. I-I won't go home without you- there is no home without you."

You bit your lip in order to hold back tears.

"Please, Leon. You can still make it." He shook his head, whether to say no to you or the option of leaving you behind again, you didn't know.

"I said I won't leave you again." He stated firmly, grabbing your wrist and tugging you into the corner of the room.

He sunk down onto the floor and pulled you into his arms, intending to never let go. You pushed yourself away from his chest and looked at him.

"What are you doing?" You asked frantically.

"I'm staying." Was all he answered, gently guiding your head back into the crook of his neck.

"It's gonna be alright." He whispered against your temple.

A lie, both of you knew it, but what else could you do. You melted into his embrace and braced yourself for what was to come.

One minute, it was just you in Leon's arms, holding each other lovingly, and the next, there was nothing.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This was my first time writing for RE2!Leon specifically, so this might be a little ooc!

I give out free hugs and tissues if you need one 🫂🩷

《Leon taglist》: @k-fallingstar @vampkennedy @dmitriene @argreion @allysunny @leonslittlekennedy @angelstargel @entr4p3

Lmk if you wanna be added/removed 😚

More Leon and other works -> 💫

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

[meanbossart]

do you have any thoughts on cazador as a character? personally i really loved the parallels between him and astarion & the way that the master/spawn relationship is used as an allegory for cyclical abuse. the scene with cazador’s master’s skull where you find out that he was once victimized in the exact same way that he later victimized astarion was really a lightbulb moment for me re: what vampirism represents in this game.

BOY DO I, i don't think much of it hasn't already been said, though. He's a tragic character in his own right of course, not that that takes away from the awful man he is.

Me and my boyfriend make fun of him a lot, we call him "the best BG3 character" as a little inside joke between us and come up with ridiculous scenarios of things that might have occurred throughout those 200 miserable years the spawn had under his command lol. Maybe he had a month where he was really specific about the shoes everyone wore, maybe once every other decade he had a weird week where he tried to be "nice" only to become frustrated when his efforts weren't immediately met in kind by the rightfully-terrified spawn, maybe between all the torture and horrific-ness he just did some plain weird shit like making someone crouch by in his fainting couch and wait by open-handed for grapes that he dramatically chewed on and then spat right out since he can't actually eat them lmao

And that's hysterical but I think we also started doing that because when you meet Cazador, when you first hear his voice and see his demeanor in person your immediate reaction is probably somewhere along the lines of "THIS is the clown you were so scared of, Astarion?"

And the answer is, of course, yes. This embarrassing little man stuck in a cage of his making instills fear beyond comprehension in Astarion and all his siblings. This man who undoubtedly showed all these spawn, inadvertently, the strangest, most arguably "human" aspects of himself at some point or another during these two centuries they had together is also an absolute monster. And i really like that! I think its far more effective and fitting for his story than if he was, lets say, a Ketheric type.

(this got very long so, more under the cut)

Look at Ascended Astarion in the epilogue now, for example. Everyone agrees that he's an absolute fucking dork - and I think we all also agree that he will go on to destroy the lives of many people beyond repair, especially his own, until the day he is killed.

In the topic of vampirism as an allegory for abuse, I both agree and also don't, at least not exactly - i just think it's deeper than that. I've spoken about this in another post but i find it incredibly refreshing how, to me, it seems like Baldur's Gate 3 has no interest in painting vampirism as sexy or fun past a surface level. It's a curse that nobody asks for unless put in a situation where they feel as if they have no other way out, and it shapes and haunts you for the rest of your undead existence.

Even if you enjoy its benefits at first, that has a time limit. You will see your family and loved ones die, you will see culture evolve while you stay perpetually the same. You will experience so much hurt and pain because the only thing that makes life truly sweet is knowing that it is finite, and eventually it will wear down all of your humanity. And since you can't die unless you are scorched by the sun, staked, or dismembered, you must live with the knowledge that you will never have a peaceful death - and since you won't have a peaceful death, you better not die - and if you don't want to die, you better not be weak - and if you don't want to be weak, you must seek out power at all cost and slash things like love and friendship out of your life.

And what is funny, is that in his attempt to be more like a mortal - to eat, drink, walk the sun, such incredibly simple desires - Cazador (and Astarion, if he ascends) is accidentally only drawing further away from the person he supposedly once was, because that fear of weakness has already utterly corrupted his soul.

That's quite a grim way to look at it, of course. But I genuinely think that it is the natural conclusion of something like immortality.

That's why I quite like that, even after Astarion has found happiness, even after he finds his peace, he still doesn't exactly embrace being a vampire - because It's not something he should be expected to embrace. I think it's a very unique take on the trope.

I also want to leave here this message written by his character writer, which really got me thinking about him on a deeper level since i saw it months ago. It is specifically about the sexual aspect, but I think it branches beyond it too, when you think about it.

[see-arcane]

I don't even care about the Nosferatu characters but there is something creepy about Eggers' scenario being all "this guy feels like he's a beta cuck in front of (thieving, ignorant, dirty) foreign masc men who constantly humiliate his masculinity and surprise he gets cucked" when this was nowhere in the film nor its source?? The fuck was that about

It's the Jonathan Harker effect.

I.e., a reflexive response from adaptation and spinoff creators who have actually been made aware of all the facets Jonathan Harker--or in this case, his doppelganger Thomas Hutter--possesses within the canon of the novel Dracula/the original Nosferatu and immediately get a bug up their butt about how much he encompasses of what makes them uncomfortable.

Jonathan Harker is a damsel in distress.

Jonathan Harker is kind and not classically manly beside a backdrop of more standard masculinity.

Jonathan Harker is preyed upon in an intimate way by the dark and powerful male Villain, the latter having supernatural ability and desire to collect an undead harem/partners against their will.

Jonathan Harker was left ill and disabled after his escape and so showed weakness, needing aid from others, relying on women (ugh) like the nuns and Mina before he could heal and move forward.

Jonathan Harker loves, cherishes, and worships his wife more than anything, wanting her to take the lead. Without her actions and sacrifice, the Villain would never have been defeated, which he highlights at the close of the novel, just as the Nosferatu iteration must take the lead in ending the film's Villain.

Jonathan Harker, polite little nobody that he is, is the one to transform himself into a Thing That Terrifies the Masculine Conquering Power Fantasy Villain. He sends his former abuser and predator running like a coward into the streets, himself giving chase to kill him in public. It is his knife that lops off the Villain's head while he hides in the dirt after Mina arranged the hunt--tastefully aligned with Nosferatu via Ellen (Mina) fully realizing the martyr role and sacrificing her life not out of amorous want of the Villain, but out of a desire to protect her husband and the town, taking on a masculine role in her own right by making the fatal sacrificial play.

In short: Jonathan-Thomas is a victim. He is antithetical to every macho babe-collecting ooh hoo hoo look at my cool-powered masculine conqueror metaphor that exists within the Dracula-Orlok figure. Jonathan-Thomas is naturally more endearing, blithe, and sweet than the common male hero and follows that by being forced into a traditionally female role as the preyed-upon and imprisoned damsel.

His mere existence throws the Mina-Ellen figure into even brighter contrasted spotlight, where she manages to wholly subvert the expected Man Villain seeks Pretty Girl to Ravish format. Mina-Ellen turns it on its head, making herself into the weapon by which the Villain is defeated, rather than leaving every point of planning and action and sacrifice to a male rescuer. This she does to aid and/or rescue her husband, the actual damsel, and humanity at large.

In the book, Jonathan the Damsel turns the tables with Mina's impetus and guidance, and ultimately slaughters Dracula, who they terrified into running home to hide and skulk.

In the film, Thomas the Damsel's plight spurs Ellen into action, making plans and taking heroic steps all on her own to destroy Orlok when she baits him with her offered blood, leaving Thomas to grieve and weep for her, tragically spared from his attempt to take on Orlok himself.

And male directors and writers like Eggers, along with so so So many before him, absolutely fucking hate that shit. It spoils the whole premise for them. Because Jonathan-Thomas is ruining their vibe, the limping simping little milksop Victorian era soyboy that he is. How does he get to kill their bestie bodypillow stand-in, Dracula, or let the Girl One take charge in Nosferatu to put down Orlok?? Bullshit!

Kick him out, kick him down, and make sure Girl One ditches his lame unmanly ass to bounce on that vampire dick that we all know she reeeally wants, lol

And throw in even more weird racism/xenophobic BS to show how Manly and Sexually Liberated the stinky foreign Romani thieves are in the year twenty-twenty-four because why not I guess

[queenoftheimps]

(Also, was chatting with a friend who said something like "What're the chances Armand eats that Atlanta TV host for being a shit to Daniel?" which I would find hilarious)

Oh this is all just playing around, I don’t think any of this would ever be canon, but I personally would find it extremely funny if Armand did eat him. (Where’s that post that said “none of these undead bitches can take any criticism”? That!)

Some random true crime podcast zeroes in on it in a “everyone who criticizes that weird vampire book guy has a Tragic Accident/Mysteriously Disappears, I’ve connected the dots” “you haven’t connected shit” meme.

Goddddd yes it would be fucking HILARIOUS if that dude suddenly goes missing and the internet goes wild with connecting it to a couple of folks that left really nasty reviews on Goodreads

Daniel gets weirded out and has to tell people (including Louis) that hey it wasn't him, he has an alibi for all of them, and then later Armand, looking like a cat dragging in a dead bird, is like "Yes I did make sure to kill them when you were very publicly located somewhere else to minimize contingencies :)"

[utilitycaster]

would love to see your take on the recent laudna-delilah merge! i believe you've mentioned before that you found laudna stale (?) so i'm very interested to know if this feels compelling to you. i'm DISGUSTED and scared 😅

I LOVE IT. I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.

In all seriousness my issue has always been that Delilah has for the most part been not just an unfired Chekhov's gun but like...a gun that occasionally thrusts itself into the hands of a major character who was designed to handle this gun and yet everyone including that character was, for like, the majority of the play, repeatedly saying "oh man it's that wacky gun again!" and really, the gun was way cooler when it was fired in an earlier play in 2017.

You can play a warlock without a complex relationship to their patron! Loquatius is a solid example; Elmenore and he are on pretty chill terms and he's mostly a bard and it's a story not about that aspect of him anyway. Zahra is another; she and Sirius appear to be largely simpatico! But if you pick Delilah Fucking Briarwood as your patron you best come correct, and, increasingly, finally, following episode 77, Marisha has and it's been great and it finally expanded into the rest of the party.

I love how quick Laudna is to trust Delilah on this even though she knows Delilah lies, she knows about the gnarlrock. I love how Imogen immediately stands by her and Fearne is inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, only to slowly, with mounting horror, realize (or, more likely, reluctantly admit to themselves) that this is Delilah's doing and that Laudna either won't or can't resist. Because that's the immediate threat - sure, it says something about Laudna's character and victimhood whether she is doing this deliberately, or whether she cannot overcome the compulsions from Delilah, and for what it's worth I think it's somewhere in the gray area between - but in the end it matters most that Laudna as an entity comprising both herself and Delilah is going to pull shit like attacking people in their sleep to steal magic items to feed to the evil undead wizard. She's more sympathetic if she's trying but failing, but in the end, if we can return to the (imperfect but not uncalled for) addiction metaphor Marisha has invoked re: Laudna, whether you drive drunk because you were in recovery and were triggered by circumstance and fell off the wagon, or whether you simply don't care, you're still drunk driving and someone still can be killed. Intent says a lot about your character but not whether you're a danger to yourself and others, and Laudna undeniably is.

I'm honestly happy with basically any outcome here. I think it will be narratively easier if Laudna doesn't really resist much, given that that's what she's been doing for 30 years and much of the campaign; foreshadowing is a complicated thing in an improvised medium but I think it's hard to deny that a tragic ending hasn't been well signaled. But I think it's possible for Marisha to thread the needle, particularly if she keeps putting in stellar performances like that one, to have Laudna snap and turn on Delilah. It's doing wonders for my thoughts on Imogen and Laudna's relationship too; finally there's some unavoidable tension and conflict to the point that even if they deny it that creates more conflict. I don't know if they'll overcome it, but I don't think we can have gnarlrock all sizzle no steak #2 this time. I think Imogen's going to have to make a stand of some kind, even if it pains her.

[tossawary]

Looking up some things has turned into reading the last 100 or so chapters of the "Naruto" manga for fun, because why not. Some random assorted notes so far (as of finishing Chapter 661):

This end fight is so fucking long, there are so many characters, and the pacing is bordering on excruciating. There's some stuff happening here that's delicious, but there's a lot of messy back and forth of the narrative focus that I personally am not fully vibing with. I cannot imagine trying to follow this split story weekly. This is common enough to a lot of big shounen mangas.

I generally like the basic artstyle here (the use of white and black especially), but the quality of page composition, panel composition, and scene clarity generally is obviously suffering heavily from these chapters being pushed out too quickly. I can barely tell some characters apart and some panels are just messes of lines. This is also common enough among mangas, so eh, it's also whatever.

It's kind of funny to me how Hashirama and Tobirama and Minato suddenly become major characters for like a solid 30 chapters or so. Like, yeah, I can see why Founders Era fic is popular. The flashback chapters themselves are pretty short, but Madara is one of the main villains in this fight, and the undead Senju brothers are suddenly here to kick ass on a level apparently far beyond most other characters. The grudges and betrayal here are delicious. These are also the people who founded Konoha itself, the main location of the manga for hundreds of chapters now, honestly not that many generations ago. It also helps that the Founders feel like they have nicely complete tragic arcs and lives to work with, instead of the relatively open-ended narrative mess that the main Naruto characters live in.

Also, Hashirama can definitely act the idiot and I think some of his choices / opinions are stupid as hell, but he's obviously a very clever and observant and ruthless person. Tobirama went on to become Hokage after his brother and will not hesitate to forcefully give his opinions, but it's also clear in some scenes that Hashirama is still the one in charge between them. Tobirama seems to fairly naturally fall into a very useful support role to whoever he's fighting with, including Minato and Naruto.

I like both Minato and Tobirama because I have a weakness for characters who engage with their magic systems to make new things. Minato improved on the Flying Thunder God technique and Orochimaru improved on the Edo Tensai technique, but Tobirama invented BOTH of those things? PLUS Shadow Clones??? All of which are basically carrying a significant part of the battle right now? Like, damn, Hashirama has his Mokuton, and Tobirama was stubbornly like, "Not being left behind. Fuck you."

So, yeah, the "Hashirama versus Madara", "Tobirama versus Madara", "Minato (plus Naruto & Tobirama) versus Obito", and "Kakashi versus Obito" are probably my favorite parts of this. Not knocking on Naruto or Sasuke or the large background mob of characters here, but they just do not have the same personal, ugly, emotional history in this fight, so I don't really care as much.

Ino can forcibly link hundreds of unknown minds together so Shikamaru can broadcast battle plans??? Holy shit??? The vibe I'm getting is that she was using the link apparently created by Naruto's chakra to do this, but still. Both Ino and Sakura have the potential to be incredibly OP badass characters and they are generally just... Not Allowed to take the spotlight here.

Shikamaru had this big dramatic chapter about surviving to become Naruto's future advisor someday, and I had to repress the urge to holler, "Gaaaaay!" at the screen. I do love the inherent homoeroticism of a right-hand man. (Also, *waves a hand vaguely* Gaara's whole everything.)

To be honest, though, I'm not even sure what Sasuke has spent the past fifty chapters doing. He's there! He sure is there! I think he just got stabbed, so now he gets to be emotional motivation for Naruto again. As far as I understand it, not being sure what Sasuke is actually doing sums up basically everything he does in the manga. There are too many characters here.

On that note, the vibe I'm getting from Orochimaru is that he's also mostly just here to spectate. Like, yeah, I know. Characters like Orochimaru and Sakura and Tsunade are keeping everyone alive with their bare fucking hands right now, but also, give Orochimaru some opera glasses and an alcoholic beverage and it wouldn't feel that out of place.

I'll probably have more to add at some point, but these are the (not that serious) notes off the top of my head.

[juuuulez]

📰 | prologue, part two: capulet.

info: No Carl Grimes (sorry!), takes place after farm/before prison era, awkward father Negan my love!, reader is 13 in this.

summary: Both you and Negan struggle to navigate your new relationship.

HELLO!! thank you all for the nice messages about Capulet! this is another backstory chapter, but is actually soooooooo cute :,) it’ll provide more context for the readers choices in the next chapter, so don’t skip it!

next chapter will focus around the narrow end of the war, and what this means for the carl/reader relationship……aka shit is going down!

-> masterlist <-

It had been a few weeks since Lucille died.

Now it was just you, and Negan. For the small while you’d stayed at their house, you cherished the feminine presence, something you’ve never experienced in your own household. Your mother had died when you were little, delivering your sister, who passed weeks later an infant.

But Lucille was nice to you. Even if you were skittish, and spoke back whenever Negan tried to make you read a textbook, and took any chance to go outside and playfully harass the undead.

She had a lot of books, you originally noted. One night, upon noticing your attention towards them, she’d offered to read to you. So you picked one out, and nestled in the chair beside her bed, allowing Lucille to read you to sleep.

Romeo and Juliet.

You thought the dialect was beautiful, and held such a tragic story, one moreso than your own. It was comforting, in a way. That, and the Shakespearean language flowed from Lucille’s tongue so easily, it was mesmerising.

Not that it mattered anymore.

You stood outside while Negan crowbarred the door open, snow falling at your feet. It was an early winter morning, and Negan had insisted you find a new place to stay, somewhere with thicker walls and better heating. A fireplace was your top priority, right now.

The door finally creaks open, but you stay put obediently as Negan goes to inspect it for any dead. You’d found the routine stupid at first, but now knew better than to aggravate him about these things.

He was hanging by a thread as it is, and if something were to happen to you? There’d be no recovering.

Finally, he gave you permission to enter, trudging into the house quickly to escape the biting winds. In your hand was that metal baseball bat, clutched tightly. You’d been taking it everywhere. Every time you looked at it, you remembered what you’d done to your father.

It made you feel powerful.

Which was probably concerning for many reasons, but you didn’t care.

Negan searches the house for any supplies, noting the two bedroom layout. The living room, surprisingly, contains a small fireplace, and a kitchen attached. You scour the cupboards, finding not much else than a few cans of soup, pulling them down for later.

Curiously, you turn to the gas stovetop, pushing the knob down as it clicks. One, two, three, and suddenly it starts hissing. The revelation overshadows the potent smell reaching your nostrils.

“It’s got gas!” You yell out, a victorious little grin on your face as you turn it off. At least tonight you’d eat hot food, which was a relief in itself.

Negan comes into view, finally resting your bags down on the floor. This means you’ll stay here tonight. Thank god, you mentally sigh.

“Gas line must still be connected. Probably got heating, too.” He comments, searching through the cupboards once more as you pull yourself to sit on the counter. “Front door was barred, so they probably left out the back. Hoard must’ve come through the town.”

Your legs swing slightly, clad in denim jeans, though they don’t exactly do much to combat the cold.

“It’s a nice neighbourhood. We should go raid the other houses.” You suggest, mind already working at a fast pace, despite having just found somewhere to settle down.

Negan picks up on this, his brows furrowed, head shaking dismissively. “Hold your horses, kid. One step at a time.”

It makes you frown, knowing that he doesn’t take you seriously enough, like an equal. Though, you suppose that’s fair, given you’re a child. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of keeping your shit together.

Fortunately enough, this souring mood is disturbed as Negan abruptly turns around, a small purple tin in hand, and a stupid grin on his face. “How ‘bout this?” He holds it out, towards you.

You take it tentatively, a small smile coming to your lips. It’s powdered hot chocolate. Not something you’ve had during the apocalypse… or much before it, either.

“Pretty cool, I guess.” You admit, and despite any attempts to seem less enticed by the childish find, your expression gives it away. Definitely more than pretty cool.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Negan tries to find little things for you to be happy about. Things kids like. It seems, most of the time, that your attitude is anything but childish. He’d like to try and preserve that for as long as possible.

That, and it was a good distraction from the grief. Gave him something to pour his energy into, lest it fade completely.

So, the pair of you shared a dinner of canned soup, warmed up, and in actual bowls with cutlery. The nearby fire illuminated the area, warming the small kitchen whilst winter raged on outside. Snow had begun falling, and you internally wondered how the dead would hold up against the cold. Did it affect them? Maybe, maybe not. It wasn’t for you to know.

After dinner, Negan boiled some water over the stovetop, pouring it into two mugs with a healthy scoop of the chocolate powder. Milk was a luxury, now. Even if you somehow found some on the shelves, specifically the long-life kind, there was nowhere to keep it cooled.

But this tasted perfect as was. You sat on a stool at the kitchen bench, feet unable to touch the ground. All that walking was beginning to take its toll on your feet, so you were grateful for the break. Yet, that wasn’t an excuse to slow down.

“I really think we should check those other houses.” You prompt once more, trying to steer back into the conversation that had been shut down an hour ago.

Negan appears curious to your insistence, but not in the mood to entertain it. “Not we. I’ll go out in the morning, poke around. You can sleep in.”

Your brow furrows, a look of irritation filling your features despite the kind offer. “I’m not a toddler. I don’t need to lounge around while you’re collecting shit for us. I can pull my weight.”

“No, but you’re thirteen. You don’t need to pull your weight,” He explains sternly, “Just stay here, be a kid. Go play ball, or something.”

This irritates you to no end. However, Negan doesn’t know how sensitive you really are. Your whole life, you’d been forced to grow up, and now those tools were beginning to come in handy. Yet you were forced to act an age you outgrew years ago.

You huffed, slipping from the stool and padding down the hallway, refusing to entertain this conversation. Okay, maybe that was a little childish, to storm off. But you couldn’t help it.

So far, Negan had been nice to you, and you didn’t want him to realise how bringing you along was a mistake. That you couldn’t get along with adults, because it always felt like they were out to get you. You didn’t want to repeat this cycle with him. So, you shut him out for the night.

You even left your half-drunk hot chocolate on the bench. It was only after you’d firmly shut the bedroom door, that you realised, and were too prideful to go back and retrieve it.

“What the fuck..” Negan mumbled to himself, not understanding what he’d said wrong. He knew better than to chase after you for answers, instead letting it simmer, hoping you’d sleep it off.

Since leaving the house, you’d slept in all sorts of makeshift shelters. So having your own bedroom was weird. The wind was audible from inside, trees scraping against the windows, their branches whipping back and forth. You tried to block it out, but found that to be difficult.

You’d like to read your book.

But it was still out there, in your bag of supplies, which was left on the living room floor. Maybe this was the consequences of leaving in a huff. You told yourself that you didn’t need it: you weren’t a child, you didn’t need a bedtime story. Besides, you’d already read the play thousands of times.

It reminded you of that short period you’d been happy. Sure, the dead rising was pretty rough, but you had a safe place to stay, companionship, and were treated with a motherly kindness, something you’ve never experienced. It was more than just a book, for it reminded you of Lucille, when she’d read to you.

This room was the opposite of that memory. It was cold, it was dark, and it was lonely. What if something were to happen, and you were cooped up in here?

What if Negan decided you weren’t worth the trouble? An ungrateful brat that couldn’t communicate, couldn’t regulate her feelings, and thought everyone was against her.

Suddenly struck with the image of him leaving, of taking the chance to continue on his own, you rose from bed. Fuck that. You weren’t being left behind.

You pushed the door open, peeking into the hallway. It was dark in the house, but much warmer out there, the sensation growing the closer you got to the lounge, where the fire was still going.

The two mugs still sat on the kitchen bench, causing some guilt to ebb in your stomach, feeling bad for being so childish.

The other door, opposite yours, was still open. The room was dark, the bed empty. So you passed it, continuing into the living room, where you suspected Negan was.

You were right.

“What’re you still doing up?” He asked, having heard your footsteps coming down the hallway. It irritates you that he was so perceptive, but knew lashing out again would be unfair.

So, you shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” It’s a mumbled answer, still mentally distancing yourself, yet you come over to sit on the couch.

He’s seated on the floor, near the fire, trying to stoke it back to life. With no response, you feel antsy, like you should be explaining yourself, like you owe him an answer. A reason for everything. That no movement, no word, no action is allowed without justification.

“It’s just, that, bein’ down there feels weird,” You whisper, sounding unsure of yourself, “Like, in the back of the house… thought I’d sleep out here, instead.”

Negan gives a small nod, acknowledging your words, yet provides no argument against it. You wished he would argue.

To cement your point, you shift so you’re lying on the couch, knees brought up to your chest. In truth, it is much warmer out here, and significantly less closed off than the bedroom. It will work as an adequate resting space.

Then, Negan stands, moving out of your line of sight. You frown, wondering if you’ve done it, pushed him away. Some evil, dirty voice in the back of your head applauded you: yes, you don’t need him.

You weren’t awarded too much time to wallow, as soon the footsteps are returning, and a thick blanket from one of the bedrooms is placed over you. A frown fills your features, but nonetheless accept it, finding it much warmer.

The couch dips at your feet, Negan sitting down, remaining silent for the time being.

Truth is, he was still trying to figure you out. It was hard. He knew that you weren’t right, that he couldn’t handle you like any other child, but was determined to figure out what made you tick.

He tried to think about those few moments you had been happy. When your soured mood faded, and you actually smiled, not worrying about the undead.

“Want me to read to you?” Negan asked, sounding nervous. It was almost amusing. Almost.

You rolled your eyes, burrowing further into the blanket. “I know how to read.”

It was a snappy reply, laced with irritation. But Negan knew not to stop there. So he leaned down, fishing through the small bag on the floor, until he found it. A hardcover copy of Romeo and Juliet. It was Lucille’s, though he never remembered getting it for her, and assumed she must have bought it herself.

Flicking the pages open, he found where you’d tabbed the worn paper. He’d never read a script before, hesitating for a moment before reading aloud, sounding equally confused and awkward.

“I am.. a-weary, give me leave awhile,” He read in a monotone voice, “Fie.. how my bones ache. What a.. what a jaunt have I had..”

“You’re doing it wrong,” You immediately correct him, sitting up on the couch to deliver an unamused glare. “It’s not supposed to sound like that.”

“Who talks like this?” Negan rolls his eyes, but nonetheless continues reading. “I would.. thou hadst my bones, and I thy… c’mon, these aren’t even words.”

You try not to smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but it proves increasingly difficult. You lean over, taking the book from his hands, biting back a grin as you position it in your lap.

“Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.” You read off the page, in a much softer voice, trying to mimic the tone of the conversation.

Negan looks over your shoulder, visibly confused. You tilt it towards him slightly, pointing at the next line.

“Here, you can read for the nurse.” You suggest, only half serious.

That much is obvious, as Negan rolls his eyes, “Y’know what, you’re right, you do know how to read.” He scoffs, though he feints annoyance, he tries not to make the subtle victory known. That he managed to cheer you up.

You smile, laying back down on the couch, book propped up in front of your face. You resume a less tense position, letting your legs stretch a little, to which Negan manoeuvres your ankles so they rest over his lap.

He knows there will be many more days in the future where this happens. When something sets you off, or you get snappy, or you act out. But it’s not a terrible thing, as it means you’re alive and well. He’d like to keep it that way.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, anyway. Negan decides not to disrupt you, letting you stay on the couch, but he does carefully take the book and close it.

The next morning, you’d scavenge the remaining houses together. You’d continue your travels, together, until inevitably, your little group of two would grow into an army of many.

Even then, you were still a pair.

[velvetvexations]

The thing about comparing Kipperlilly's grudge to hating DEI and affirmative action is that those things are exactly what she's advocating for. The Bad Kids are not receiving accommodation for anything - and in fact Aguefort seems like the type to despise things like accommodations and would tell disabled people to pick themselves up by their bootstraps, but I digress -rather, they have direct connections to massive save-the-world plots three years in a row now that puts them way ahead of everyone else. Though they put in hard work, that doesn't change the fact that no one else working as hard as they can will ever equal being told to go stop a god from coming back and coincidentally your dad (a) worked directly with that dead god's primary agent in the past and (b) is now a super cool angel secret agent who will directly assist you in the task. Oh, and also, your teammate's parents are the dead god's primary mortal agents. And also they kidnapped your other teammate's dad because he's a powerful demon lord so now she's involved too. And you all happen to end up on Leviathan, where Fabian is an instant celebrity who immediately gets a cult worshiping the planks he walks on because they all work for his rich undead infernal dad.

The issue is that people keep mapping it to the real world and seeing "tragic backstory" like it would be IRL, which is a mistake. It's not a disability. They don't go to normal school to become accountants or NASA engineers, they are there to be doing exactly that shit that their backstories rope them into. Like, this isn't Buffy, they aren't saving the world incidentally, this is school for saving the world to pursue a career in saving the world. Spyre functions so differently from IRL that everyone is dramatically failing to comprehend the actual situation everyone is in.

And the thing about hating affirmative action is that it presumes someone only got into whatever not because they have skill, but because of their race or something like that. That's manifestly different from what's going on here. Kipperlilly has no doubt the Bad Kids are incredibly powerful and skilled - but their backstories gave them opportunities to use that power and skill that no one else will ever have regardless of effort or even luck. The Bad Kids can't go five seconds without tripping over the revelation that the BBEG for the year is one of their second cousins. That just doesn't happen to other people, period. The world revolves around the BK's in ways it will never revolve around anyone else so the Bad Kids will always get the massive adventures to save the world and be the top of their class because they're personally connected to the narrative.

Remember, Brennan has confirmed that other AA students do not do shit like that. They do exactly the sort of missions you'd expect them to - go in dungeon, fight monsters, come back. It's not "uh, the Rat Grinders should have just gone out and saved the world too", that's not how it works. AA students are not usually expected to, their rat grinding is just a more tedious and efficient version of what they would be doing otherwise. The BK's don't get involved with these plots simply because they're the most heroic heroes ever who seek wrongs to right, they do it because every single time everyone but Gorgug (who is for the most part absent major narrative stakes) was born someone that would get those in's, feats reproducible by no one else.

"Ah, but the Seven-"

The Seven prove the tragedy of it. Because Kipperlilly is right, but she's also wrong. The brilliance of BLeeM this season is that he's crafted a narrative inseparable from the meta of how the game works. In a very real way this is like the Dungeons & Dragons versions of Tron. The fact that it's a series of fictional TTRPG sessions is essential to the universe and it's story, in a Twin Peaks-ian way.

Because, see, it's not actually, technically magical trauma that gives out those narrative advantages. Magical trauma is just the most obviously visible side-effect. What the issue actually is is that, as everyone has noted over and over again, the Rat Grinders are NPCs, and it is therefore impossible for the world to ever bend itself around them the way it does for the PCs. Except, most are just saying that as a funny haha joke.

No, like, literally, that's the issue. They will always be in the shadow of the handful of people that the people constructing their world, their timeline, their very existence, has decided matter. They are doomed by narrative causality to be "boring". And I'm going to take a moment to say here, isn't it crazy no one is talking about this when we just got done with Neverafter which was all about this exact thing????? Like, literally the BBEG was the Authors. That is the situation here, more or less.

Anyway, there will never be a demon attacking that due to a curse is only vulnerable to hot licks from Ruben's guitar passed down from the first gnomish rocker. Mary Ann will never be the prophesized liberator of kobolds enslaved in dragon dens. Ivy will never find out her father was secretly a super-soldier for the Council of Chosen who before he was assassinated left her notes detailing a sinister plot within the government of Solace.

People keep having a hard time with this because it intuitively doesn't feel right to ever classify something like losing a father in any context to have some kind of bright side. But if you take nothing else away from this post, let it be this: Adventuring as it's done in Spyre is not something done in the real world. Adventuring is something everyone chose to go to AA to learn and put into practice as their long-term career. And in that, absolutely these things give the PCs a completely one hundred percent insurmountable leg-up on the thing they're all in competition for.

And it being completely insurmountable in that way further goes to show the difference between hating that situation and hating affirmative action. Even AA is not a guarantee that a specific member of the majority will lose out on something and a specific member of the minority will get it instead. As soon as the character sheets were rolled everyone else at Aguefort may as well have just gone home and started studying to be accountants because the main characters had been chosen. Or they could keep going and hope they get a spin-off, I guess.

But Kipperlilly does keep trying, for she doesn't really comprehend the true eldritch horror beyond her existence shackled to the bits of a bunch of comedians, and her solution is to adjust for those unfair advantages.

Which is affirmative action.

How is that not obvious.

[vigarioamelia]

there are a lot of tragic characters in elden ring (pretty much everyone lol) but godwyn exudes a kind of Shakespearean tragedy that just makes me feel so bad for him

godwyn the... betrayed

do you guys remember that trend? jupiter was supposed to be a star but failed?

alexa, play the old doll audio

i'll be talking a lot about godwyn so uh big words trigger warning i guess

Godwyn the Golden, the first child of Godfrey and Queen Marika the Eternal and also the first Demigod known to ever perish.

He was the first descendant of the Golden Line and one of his traits is *literally* being friends with dragons.

Whenever he's mentioned, grief is involved. Both the grief of a Mother and the grief of the people.

He was part of the Golden Order, but we know for a fact he was no maniac for its fundamentals, given the genuine bond he had with Fortissax, for example.

I know we can't really Know this stuff but come on, Godwyn seemed like a certified Big Bro™. He gives the feeling of how pure a person should be. Royal blood – of the purest kind! From the lore we have of him, it appears that he really was The ideal prince.

I like to believe he was particularly fond of the Omen Twins and that, even though they grew up in completely opposite worlds from each other, he was always sort of There. Better than Marika, that's for sure. Just imagine big bro Godwyn taking his baby bros for a tour around the capital. They spend the entire day running around and Godwyn looks so peaceful that the twins can't help but feel that too, if only for a moment.

Not to mention the tender relationship he probably had with the cursed twins.

When Godwyn's spirit was slayed during the Night of the Black Knives, he received a fate worse than death itself: the curse of living in Death.

He who should be crowned golden as the Lord among them all was crowned in ruin as the Prince of Death.

Godwyn will not only never die, but he will never live again. His existence is a terror that punishes the roots of the Erdtree, a thing that not even Miquella was able to stop or help in any way.

This once sweet and kind and beautiful lord is now nothing but a creature spreading across the land.

When both Miquella and Fortissax failed to give him a proper death and rest, what then remained of his body was laid under the roots of the Erdtree. A bit fair, isn't it? First of the Demigod, ruined and buried under the Erdree, where he will slowly but certainly cause destruction and despair all across the land, bringing death to all it touches.

It kills me that the place where he's buried is so dark and lonely and scary. The Godwyn before the Rune of Death was assured to have dozens if not hundreds of statues and paintings and churches and whatever to honor him.

But Godwyn the Golden ceased to exist. There's no one left to adore or admire or cherish. The only thing left is Godwyn the Prince of Death.

He's now worshipped by the undead, Those Who Live in Death, as D calls them. Is there a more tragic end for a royal who was once beloved all across a golden capital?

The only way to change his fate is to make things even WORSE.

Restore the Elden Ring with the Rune of Death and he supposedly comes back again, but. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I would literally go fucking insane if I first opened my eyes to the world I cherished and grew up on completely destroyed by MYSELF without my damn consent.

If he became Prince of Death by his own choice? Fucking sexy. I would support him. SLAY (literally).

But this? My man was ROBBED.

Imagine being "reborn" (in death) and realizing that EVERYONE from your life is dead. The place where you ran around as a kid? Fucking demolished, DIRTY with ashes. ASHES OF DEAD PEOPLE.

AND YOU'RE THEIR MONARCH.

There's NOTHING to rule and most of all THERE'S NOTHING TO PROTECT.

Literally the worst thing that could happen to a dude.

look what the fuck they did to my baby holy shit there truly wasn't enough room for a blonde twink in the lands between was there

Ohh... Oh,  Lord Godwyn... Such cruelty, such humiliation... My poor, sweet lordling should have died a true death. As the first of the demigods to die. As a martyr to Destined Death. But why must it yet bring such disgrace? A scion of the golden bough, sentenced to live in Death...

i really only have two things left to say:

1. godwyn was too sexy to be in the game so miyazaki gave him the worst fate known to humanity (godhood?)

2. this happened to my buddy eric

[fangsandfeels]

Don't come at me, but I am confused why whenever there is a plot about one of Astarion's siblings going full villain, this sibling is almost always Petras. I agree; he is a jerk and a bully. But he is also the guy who gobbles up Cazador's bullshit about getting freedom with ZERO suspicions. Aurelia and Leon are hopeful, but it doesn't take them long to realize it is yet another way for Cazador to break them, and of course, he never intended to let them go.

Petras is oblivious to the point he is already making plans for the future and composing his menu. He is also the guy who flirts (badly) with the first person who approaches him without even considering the risk of the said person being a vampire hunter. Like, Tav can be wearing full plate armor and have a hugeass war hammer slung over their shoulder, and Petras would still go "Yes, this is the perfect naive victim to seduce. They will totally fall for my charms" with Dalyria cringing and trying to do damage control at the back.

Petras makes Astarion look like a criminal mastermind.

And no, I'm not saying that he can't be an antagonist to Astarion at all.

He can be dangerous by deciding to go his own way, gathering the group of spawn who share his views, and making a part of the Sword Coast his hunting grounds. But don't I see him plotting complicated schemes or even trying to recreate Cazador's rituals. He may try, but in my opinion, he will fail hilariously. No intervention needed.

Now, speaking of a more dangerous and tragic potential adversary, Leon is right here. He is a sorcerer. Moreover, if the nature of the spell he used to protect Victoria is anything to go by, he is experienced with Necromancy (I may be wrong; the blood thing could have belonged to the Transmutation school, though).

He is the top performer. And, he is a desperate father who did it all to keep his daughter safe. Now, I still assume that he managed to smuggle Victoria out of the palace -- which would keep him his calm and reasonable self. But if Victoria is really dead?...It would mean that everything he did, all these victims, all that suffering, all the measures he took, all the hurt he inflicted on his siblings/inmates - it all was for nothing. He was ready to die for Victoria to live. He was willing to sacrifice an orphan to save his girl. And he failed.

He failed her.

Wouldn't that push him over the edge? The desperation, the devastation, the horror? Wouldn't that create a void in his undead heart and put him into denial and resentment for his fellow spawns (he didn't know HOW she died, but he had seen enough hungry looks from Dal and Violet)?

Wouldn't he become obsessed with "fixing" it somehow because he already went so far to protect his daughter...why not go even further to bring her back, let her live the life that was so unfairly taken from her? He doesn't care about power, about sunwalking, he doesn't give a shit about anything and anyone -- he wants his child back. And he will make it happen.

At any cost.