#//PRECISELY why I exist B]

[epicdogymoment]

gender and sexuality labels are so fucking hard how am i supposed to know how what i experience (already hard to pin down) compares to what "normal people" experience (completely unknown to me)

[bluebeads-art]

As the flash hits your eye, you feel something crashing into you from all directions. Below you is obvious, Bonbon situated themself to bump into you while the picture was taken. You look to your right, and Mirabelle’s cheek is pressed up to yours. On your left, Isabeau’s sheepishly hugged you to his side. There’s a hand in your hair, too, and it feels like Madame Odile. [...] “We need a souvenir of this trip,” Mirabelle adds. She rushes to the ground to pick up the picture and snort-laughs as she looks at it. “Oh no, Siffrin looks like we’re holding him hostage!” — Curtain Call, Chapter 9, by @openphrase123 (Link in the replies)

2024 October 22nd

Fanfic fanart fanfic fanart!! When I read the "hostage" line, it invoked such a clear image in my head of Siffrin tensed up like a startled prey animal that it got added to my list of things to maybe draw immediately.

Dooon't think about the words 'left' and 'right' in that quote too hard. I know how to read I prommy. :) (I did Not process those words and lost the coin flip in the composition phase...)

Close-up and ramblings about the cans of worms I unleashed upon myself under the cut

Time taken on this was [head in hands] 48 hours and 37 minutes.... That bloated number has two culprits:

1) I got a new tablet! My old one was 10 years old. Its plastic was melting and the electronics had ghosts in 'em, so it needed the sweet release of retirement. However, I had just gotten to the line art phase when the switch happened. Clumsily getting used to the new one during the most precise phase of the process did devastating things to my perfectionism.

2) I made a GRAVE mistake with how I chose to color this. I wanted to keep the grayscale layers for accuracy instead of just slapping a B&W filter over the colored version, so all the colors come from gradient maps, color balance layers, overlay layers, and raster layers clipped to other layers. Listen. I'm used to working with lots of layers. I like keeping things separate so I can edit them more easily. But this is the worst layer system I have ever created. Going from color to B&W requires toggling exactly 20 layers & folders on or off. There are 87 visible layers total. This file lags when you edit it. I've never wanted CSP v1.13 to have layer comps more in my life.

Not helping matters was Isabeau. I said he was the easiest to draw in my last post, but he took that as a challenge, apparently. It's a simple fist-on-hip pose, why was that so hard!?! His face gave me grief too.

Odile's lil' wave got added at the end of the line art phase. I've never added to a sketch that late in the game before, but I felt bad about how little screen area she got, haha. Girl, I tried, but this composition was not kind to you.

Giving Isa, Odile, and Siffrin skin colors felt cursed. Well... "color" is maybe a stretch for Sif. The pallor from being affection-jumpscared isn't helping. In the dev's nose reveal post, they said that Siffrin isn't white but is white-passing, so BOOM albinism headcanon. Like c'mon, they wear a big hat and have most of their skin covered because the sun is a deadly laser when you have little to no melanin and idk if sunblock exists in-universe. Heck, maybe most Islanders have it, their whole religion is about the night sky so maybe they're nocturnal. This makes perfect sense. :)

[bruciemilf]

Having so many de aged! Jason feelings. I might just burst.

Dick and Tim theorize on how a small, happy little baby winded up in Jason's apartment. It's no secret their brother, a wall of bulk with a tender core, houses the homeless sometimes.

Maybe the baby is someone's? But if so, why was he alone? Jason isn't exactly famous for his unquestionable wisdom, but he's too caring to leave a defenceless infant by himself.

More importantly, why is this baby rolling on his tummy on a familiar brown jacket, evidently craving to be picked up?

"Can you take him? I'm not..." Tim's not good with kids; It's a running joke among them. Even If there's nothing comical about this.

Dick nods. His pride does swell when the baby giggles and coos.

"He has good taste."

" Okay, Narcissus. Let's take him home before your head pops,'' was Tim just a tiny bit jealous this little chubby cheeked thing was snuggling close to Dick, while downright glowering at him?

Maybe. A little. But babies were glorified chunks of meat, shaped just enough like a human to be considered cute. What did they know?

So they get home. It's a pleasant rarity, but they're all in one place.

All except Bruce, of course. Too busy bleeding on the streets to spend any time with them, Dick huffs,

Poor Damian is trying to jump and leap amongst them giants, struggling to take a peek at their young guest, " Grayson! I want the baby!"

" He's not a toy, Dami," they all share a silent look, clearly thinking the same thing. He got it from Bruce,

"What does it do?"

" He's a baby, Steph. He's not even aware he exists!"

" God I wish that were me,"

Duke looks at Babybird, as Dick affectionately took to calling him, with a strange, quizzical look, " He looks familiar. You said you found him at Jay's?"

" Yeah, but I'm taking him to a firestation. I just had to show B. You know he likes volunteering at daycares. Maybe he'll recognize him."

" Recognize who?"

Babybird was chewing on his own foot when the elevator doors slid open. Cass wasn't a wordsmith.

She read movements and actions as one listens to music.

Every member of her beloved family was a song of their own; Dick was motivational and calming.

Stephanie was packed with action, brimming with electrifying energy that just made you want to jump.

Tim was clean and precise with accents of pop. Duke was light and happy and silently confident. Damian was angry, and passionate and brave.

Bruce was powerful, sad, and perfectly tragic.

But when Babybird shrieked, yelled out in happiness and excitement and tried to wiggle out of Dick's arms with a sunshine beam and grabby hands?

Her father was a love song.

"Jay," The name sounds like Bruce is choking. His eyes are burning with tears, marching directly to Dick, " Jay? Jay!"

" Wh--"

"Dada!" Babybird, -- Jason? They only now noticed the white curl bouncing on top of his head, ( their inner detectives groan) " Dadadada, pap papi pap,"

They can't do anything, frozen in place, as Bruce spends the following two hours planting a garden of kisses on Jason's cheeks, full with laughter, while they read and color and build blocks.

"Uh, Bruce? I'm...I'm gonna call Zatanna."

" In a minute."

" DAD, --"

" In a minute."

It wasn't just a minute. It was an entire week.

As ridiculous as it was? They were starting to get jealous.

[angellesword]

Baggage l JJK (01)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, OC cusses excessively so watch out

Pairing: dad!Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

→ Next Chapter (02)

***

You know it's New Year's Eve when people flock to Incheon's Chinatown. Some were rushing to buy gifts for their families and friends, while others ate in a fancy restaurant or watched fireworks and the famous lion dance.

As for Jungkook, he knew it was New Year's Eve when he could earn double. 

"I said I don't want to take a picture!" The loud wail of a little girl could be heard through the vast street of Chinatown. Many shoppers looked at the kid and her father with disdain. The child was crying hard, yet her father simply laughed it off, urging the child to take a picture with Jungkook or, rather, with Ronald McDonald.

Jungkook was wearing the infamous mascot costume of that red-haired clown of McDonald's.

"Come on, Wonyoung-ah. Just one picture, please?" Seokjin, the child's father, batted his eyelashes, acting cute. It worked on his partner Namjoon. Unfortunately, it didn't have much effect on Wonyoung.

"No! He's so ugly and scary!" Wonyoung stole a glance at Jungkook. The mascot looked so hideous that Wonyoung couldn't help but throw her ice cream at Jungkook.

"Wonyoung." Namjoon, who had been quiet all this time, grimaced when he saw Jungkook stilled—as if the ice cream that hit his chest also froze his heart.

Namjoon usually tolerated the young girl's brattiness, but seeing that Wonyoung crossed the line and even hurt someone older than her, Namjoon couldn't help but scold his daughter.

"Apologize to him." Namjoon tilted Wonyoung's shoulder, compelling her to face Jungkook, who was still rooted to the ground.

Jungkook had never liked kids. He thought they were annoying and full of shit. What happened today totally embarrassed him. Not to mention, many people witnessed the jarring scene.

"I don't want to! Why don't you listen to me! He's a bad clown! He scares people!" Wonyoung refused to look at the mascot. Honestly, Jungkook couldn't refute the kid's reason. He, too, was aware of how ridiculous he looked. Most of his co-workers went on vacation leave. No one was around to help him apply his Ronald McDonald makeup. He had to do it himself.

Jungkook had no talent when it came to makeup. He had accidentally put on too much white face paint—even his manager laughed at him. But despite feeling helpless, he still swallowed his pride and went out to entertain customers. It's just for one night. Someone who needed money to survive couldn't be picky with the little opportunity available.

Not everyone was lucky enough to throw away food like it was nothing. Wonyoung was a young heiress; throwing ice cream at Jungkook was considered throwing tantrums and not wasting food. They had money. They could buy people's silence.

That's precisely what happened. Namjoon was hellbent on making his daughter apologize, and after a long time of coaxing, Wonyoung finally (although reluctantly) managed to say she was sorry.

Namjoon apologized on behalf of his child, too. Conversely, Seokjin gave Jungkook some hush money after promising to 'discipline' Wonyoung at home.

Jungkook could only nod, once again forced to swallow his pride and accept the money offered to him. Poor people like him didn't only have fewer opportunities; they had no self-preservation either. He endured long hours of smiling as kids cried seeing his face. The brave ones were a little easy to deal with. They only clung to his legs, asking their guardians to take more pictures with him.

It was already late at night when the last customer bid him goodbye. Jungkook was exhausted; the cold winter wind made his body shiver. He was itching to go home.

"What happened to your costume?" The manager who laughed at Jungkook earlier couldn't laugh anymore, not when he knew it would cost the restaurant money to clean off the stain.

The chocolate ice cream thrown by Wonyoung heavily stained the costume. Jungkook explained what happened. Unfortunately, the manager only shook his head.

"Nope, that can't be. It's your fault you didn't dodge. I'm gonna have to deduct the laundry fee from your salary."

Jungkook's hands balled into fists when he heard about the salary deduction. There was ringing in his ears, and as if that wasn't cruel enough, the manager added, "I'm not going to double your payment this day. Half of it goes to dry cleaning."

The strong urge to grab the manager's collar and slam him on the wall made Jungkook's hands twitch. Who even dry-cleans a fucking mascot costume? A whirlpool of profanities at the bottom of his heart threatened to swallow him whole. Jungkook wished he could just disappear from this world.

Logic sided with him in the end, though. Jungkook needed a job. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to because if he did, where would that leave those people to whom he owed money? He couldn't escape his responsibilities. Yes, it would be satisfying to smack the hell out of his manager, but after all that gratifying feeling came the consequences: he would lose his only source of income, face a civil case, and be forced to look for a new job.

The last one was the hardest thing to do. No one would want to hire someone like Jungkook. He was a failure, and almost all business industries knew about it.

For the third time tonight, Jungkook swallowed his pride. He held the crook of his manager's elbow and beamed, "Manager Bang, have mercy on your poor employee, would you? You promised to pay me double today."

Jungkook struggled to steady his voice. He swore he never cried, not even when losing millions of assets. But things were different now. Back then, he lost everything because of his own decisions. But today's case was different. He didn't ask any of this. He didn't ask that stupid brat to throw ice cream on him. None of these was his choice...because sadly, he only had one choice:

It was to beg. 

"Please? I-I need money. I need to..." Jungkook choked on his bitter spit. He shook his head. Never mind his needs, never mind his reason. It wasn't like others cared. He could only compromise, "What if I wash the costume instead? You don't have to pay at all."

Jungkook was so passionate about his proposal. He kept spouting nonsense. It was a pity, really. Even his manager couldn't bear looking at his face. It was such a cringe-worthy juxtaposition to see a happy clown almost crying.

"Okay, fine!" The manager cut Jungkook off. He had never seen someone desperately beg for money. It made him uncomfortable. "Do whatever you want. Just get out of my sight."

The manager shuddered again, but Jungkook smiled, almost kowtowing as he received his compensation.

"Thank you, Manager Bang!" Jungkook smiled at his manager before finally leaving the food chain. He didn't change his outfit, realizing that things were better off like this. It was winter, and he had no money to buy coats and boots. He had to make do with this clown costume.

With little compensation in hand, Jungkook walked around Chinatown, spending his transportation fee on food instead.

It was New Year's Eve, after all. He felt like he at least deserved to eat something delicious. Jungkook originally wanted to buy crabs but could only afford five sticks of chicken skewers and a bottle of the cheapest soju. 

Jungkook had low alcohol tolerance. It had been many years since he last drank, and the consequences of that night had been awful—so awful he decided to never drink again.

Tonight was the only night he'd break his promise. It was New Year's Eve. He had no one by his side; he could only rely on alcohol to give him warmth.

As expected, Jungkook's vision doubled after just a few sips of soju. He couldn't stop drinking, though. The alcohol burned his throat and stomach, but it was nothing compared to his bitterness as he looked at the building before him.

The Bighit building. 

Out of hundreds of restaurants and food stalls in Incheon, Jungkook had no idea why he chose to dine in a place where he would have a clear view of Bighit. He did so well trying to avoid going to this part of the city for years, so what changed tonight? Was the embarrassment he experienced earlier not enough?

Did he need to be reminded of the pain and humiliation he went through at the Bighit back then?

Or was it because he missed someone?   

Jungkook's heart throbbed just thinking about that someone. It had been long since they last saw each other. Things had changed already. Take Bighit as an example. It was called HYBE now.

Some people left, including him. But some things never changed. The building was still as magnificent as ever.

Jungkook felt nostalgic. He couldn't stop himself from walking toward HYBE. Years ago, he could go in and out of this building as he pleased.

Everyone would bow down and smile at him. What a pity that he could only stare at the façade of this company now.

Jungkook wasn't the same man years ago, but the alcohol clouded his mind. He felt as if nothing had changed. He thought he could stand outside the building, smiling like an idiot as he waved at an angry girl leaning against her car, a frown decorating her lips while rolling her eyes.

Jungkook smiled despite himself. How shameless of him to think about that girl? To think that he could drink alcohol and pretend like he could turn back time?

Oh, how he wished he could turn back time. He would do anything to see that girl roll her eyes again, to hear her scream one more time.

Jungkook laughed bitterly.

He missed the girl.

The snowflakes fell, followed by tears falling from his eyes. The tears he thought had frozen over time.

And then he heard the sound of the fireworks before seeing it illuminate the dark sky.

It's New Year.

He heard the sound of her voice before seeing her face-to-face.

"Jungkook."

The fireworks enveloped his ears, but it was nothing compared to his loud heartbeat.

Jungkook looked at the person who had just uttered his name.

Did time really freeze? Was this some kind of New Year miracle?

Or was the alcohol still messing with his brain, making him believe that he was still the Jungkook from the past? The Jungkook could see the girl, also known as you, any time he wanted.

Jungkook blinked, chuckling.

It was absurd.

How drunk was he to see your car again parked in front of Bighit?

Jungkook was drunk, but the image in front of him wasn't a fragment of his imagination.

You were really here to pick Jungkook up.

Just like before.

***

NEW JJK ONESHOT HERE

→ Next Chapter (02)

This fic is originally a soukoku fic which I'm posting/revamping as a JJK one (I don't know, man. I feel like I have to change the characters to eradicate my writer's block. This fic has been on hiatus for many years. This will probably have 8 chapters in total. (I've written 4/8 already, so stay tuned!) This is also for those few readers who never fail to message me, asking if I will be writing more JJK fics. Here you go, I guess? Hehehe

I appreciate COMMENTS the most <33 I love you, guys. Thanks for reading.

[wigglermansblog]

TF One w/ Fallen! Reader

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A/n : This chapter is a review, I will continue it if it does well. This concept of Fallen! Reader's characteristics are based on my favourite character in CRK, Shadow Milk Cookie .

Reader is Gender Neutral

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The moment Sentinel brings down his sword into Alpha Trion chasis, he unknowingly releases an entity from its imprisonment that is far much greater than the Quintesson.

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

Orion Pax, or now known as Optimus Prime is fighting against his former friend D-16 who is now known as Megatron. The High Guards, Starscream, Shockwave and Soundwave enter the fight in order to bring the new prime down to his knees.

It was 4 against 1, it was unfair but this doesn't falter Optimus and he is able to fight back against them without breaking a sweat.

Then, all of a sudden. There is a tremor and a rumbling sound echoes throughout Cybertron causing everyone to panic. Optimus tosses Soundwave to the side, in the corner of his optics he sees a crack forming— in the air...

This sudden change in the air causes everyone to stop.

B-127 look at the sight, "Oh, the sky breaking" the yellow bot pauses before coming into realization and hold his helm. "The sky is breaking?!" he screech.

"What is this? Are my eyes toying with me~?" a voice echoes through the gaps of the crack. The voice gasps, "I don't believe it! The chains that have bound me for millions of years—" it said with a mischievous tone.

The crack becomes larger and a large figure pops their head out.

"—are now....... GONE!" they grin widely. "Hahahahahaha! How wonderful!" they cackled.

Optimus eyes widen at the sight of the newcomer, the matrix of leadership within his chassis begins to pulse as if to warn him about the danger. Megatron rises up from his pedes and looks up at the strange figure.

"Awh, how I miss the smell of fresh air! It feels so DIVINE!" they grin. "Oh? What do we have here?" their (e/c) optics looks down on the small cybertronians before them. "Oh no! It seems I got myself a really large audience!" they said, "Oh I am so so very sorry to keep all of you waiting~!"

"BUT—worry not my little cybers! The wait is OVER! Your favourite one of the fourteen is here!"

.

.

.

"(Y/N) PRIME!" they introduced themselves.

.

.

.

.

"Who?" B-127 question, tilting his head to the side. A dramatic gasp escape from them. "You don't know who I am? Ouch! right in the spark—!" they said, putting a servo over their spark.

"A Prime...?" Optimus is confused. He never heard about another prime other than the Thirteen, he had gone through every archive but none of it ever speaks about them.

"Hey, um. Not to be rude, but we never heard of you before. I thought there supposed to be Thirteen?"

"Thirteen? THIRTEEN?!" (Y/n) said, with anger and disappointment lace in their voice. "Oh, I see. It seems my fellow primes didn't tell you about MY existence!" they said. "How rude of them! To wipe someone so dazzling 💅✨ and so amazing like ME from face of history 😡!" they pouts.

Then, their eyes fall on Optimus. They pause, "Look what we have here? It seems that the Matrix of Leadership has chosen its next victim!" they said, eyes glaring down at the matrix within Optimus chassis. Optimus felt slightly uncomfortable from their gaze, a gaze that fills with hatred and—

What do they mean by victim?

"Who are you?" Megatron hiss, the bot didn't like what he was witnessing. First it was Sentinel, then Orion and now THEM? Just how many primes does he have to deal with in a single day?

"Who? Me?" (Y/n) perks up at Megatron's question. "Allow me to re-introduce myself! I am one of the Fourteen, (Y/n) Prime—well, was a Prime to be precise—" they said.

"—but~ if you want to know more about me why don't you ask Alpha Trion?" they said, "Oh, Alphy! Where are you~? Why don't you come out here and greet your ol' friend? It is quite rude ya know~!" they said. "I am sure that you are D(ie)YING to meet me!" they grin, before snorting and close their mouth. "Oh, wait! You can't! Cuz you're DEAD!" they exclaimed.

" Well, that's a bummer!" they said, giggling at the death of their 'friend'. "I am SO disappointed! I was about to have so much FUN with you!".

"I always knew that this day would happen! Watching all of them went offline ONE by ONE in such a MISERABLE way as possible— not to mention! In the hands of a prime wannabe— that's already dead right over there! HE HEHE HAHAHAHA!" they cackled.

Elita-1 grit her dentas together, narrowing her optics at the maniac right in front of her. How dare they make fun of the primes!

"Why you—" before Elita-1 could engage, Optimus stops her. "Elita... don't, we don't know what they are capable of" Optimus warns her. "But, they—" she protests but stops when she sees the pleading eyes of Optimus. She takes a step back and looks away.

"Alright, enough with the chit chat! Let the REAL fun begins!" (Y/n) exclaims.

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[ End of Preview]

[becausegraf]

So... Gulool Ja Ja and his troubled eldest

Some musings on why the Dawnservant, social skills-powerhouse, observant and transparent and trustworthy and capable and responsible Gulool Ja Ja

seems to have massively dropped the ball when it came to, you know...

preventing his own only biological child from turning towards murderous self-destructive supervillainy.

Gulool Ja Ja's biggest, most tragic failure in my understanding is that when it comes to Zoraal Ja specifically, he has a blind spot, and I think he knows it but he can't fix it.

I mean, what do you think is the ONE area that, unfortunately, he truly has nobody, not a single person in Eorzea, he can seek experienced, trustworthy counsel on?

It's being born a Blessed Sibling, living as a Blessed Sibling, Ruling as a Blessed Sibling, and raising a Son Of A Blessed Sibling who doesn't have two heads and will grow up facing extremely vicious treatment by some people as a consequence.

Zoraal Ja is unique, and the complications that come with being what he is in this cultural context are SMACK in the hazard zone of Gulool Ja Ja's own vulnerabilities and struggles.

Gulool Ja Ja's flying blind on this one, and his son's temperament is precisely the sort that his usual tools aren't a good fit for.

Papa's style is to give his children space, let them make their own decisions, to invite them to seek help and give them everything they could ask for in their environment to support them when he cannot.

Zoraal Ja's issue is one that would have required Gulool Ja Ja to be much more confident in his capacity as his parent than he seems to have been. He needed to see clearly that his son was struggling and that under his circumstances, he couldn't just ask for help, and ACT ON THAT OBSERVATION. Asking for support is not something that comes naturally to Zoraal Ja, and I can see a dozen reasons why he would actively avoid it, too.

'Kiddo, something's bothering you and for your own good, we need to talk or have you open up to someone else before this causes you great harm, and I will be accountable for this happening whether you're happy to cooperate or determined to run away from it. We're gonna figure this out, okay?'

That's the initiative it would have taken, at a much, much earlier point in time, for Zoraal Ja to have gotten the support he needed. He needed his parent to see the danger and protect him from it.

Gulool Ja Ja, through no ill intent or inate fault of his own, simply failed in that.

He doubtlessly has his own hangups, painful topics, things that drive even him to look away and lie to himself. Even if he had the amazing instinct of compensating for a shitton of his own flaws and limitations by cooperating with others that had what he lacked, again, in this one regard

literally nobody in existence

would have any sort of experience with this particular complexity, let alone the keen eye to identify Gulool Ja Ja's massive blind spot AND take the initiative to reach out to him and offer aid.

He and Zoraal ja both are masters at hiding their pain (these chicken dudes are a lot like cats, apparently), and both have pretty compelling reasons to do so. There aren't many people that would

a) care about them personally enough to even decide something needs fixing

b) have the emotional insight to detect what's going on and empathize with the exact problem

c) be the kind of person who could think of a suitable way to help without making a mess

d) have the guts to prod at their personal life without being asked to do so, and avoid getting shown the door immediately

In a sense, Gulool Ja Ja's unique circumstances, the rare thing that DISconnects him from others with no overlap with others anywhere, is his Achilles heel, his one fatal weakness in a person otherwise dipped in invulnerability.

And Zoraal Ja is the arrow that came for it, and it makes my heart break for the both of them.

(This gets a little personal for me, too, in the sense of 'my parents are so capable and smart and empathetic, they're so admirable and competent with everything and everyone EXCEPT WITH ME, for SOME reason, what the FUCK is wrong with me'. Nothing, my issues were just too much like their own issues, which isn't my fault and not theirs either.

Tell ya what, it's really weirdly painful to be in such a position as a kid, caught between love and admiration on one hand, and burning frustration and resentment and shitty self-esteem on the other.)

[delicatebarness]

ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ғᴀʟʟs ᴅᴏᴡɴ | s𝟷ᴇ𝟷

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Your search for the truth finds you in an encounter with a hardened stranger and throws you into a dangerous journey through the fallen world.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Post-Apocalypic World. Violence and Gore. Encounters with the Undead. Reference to past trauma and loss. Panic and Anxiety. Implied Sexual Tension.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3548

sᴘᴏᴛɪғʏ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪsᴛ | sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ: ᴋᴏ-ғɪ

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

ᴀ/ɴ: I'm very excited for this one, I won't lie. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

ᴀᴛᴡғᴅ: @winterslove1917 | @ell0ra-br3kk3r

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

The years passed by, but the memory of that first night burned into your soul. One scar that time would never heal. Somehow, you survived. Letting the world forget you existed you learned to hide and to stay quiet. 

The world tried to move on, focus on ending the nightmare, and find a cure or a way out. You felt differently. You didn’t want to stop it, but more to understand it. Why did it start? Why everything you loved had been torn away from you within an instant? Somewhere in the ruined world the truth was buried and you were determined to find it. 

That’s what brought you to where you are now, inside the ruins of an old library. A place where knowledge may still be hidden beneath the dust and decay. It was silent, undisturbed, the only sounds from the building being that of age and neglected groans. Moving quickly, you traced your fingers along the spines of forgotten books, searching for hope and answers. 

The scent of old paper and mildew filled the air as you moved through the dim aisles. The titles were barely visible beneath layers of grime. As you scan the shelves, you pull at a few books; covers worn and faded. You scanned for any mention of events that could have possibly led to the world’s collapse. Flipping through the pages, your mind raced. The silence was almost comforting as it contrasted against the constant danger outside. It felt like you had found a sanctuary, somewhere you could piece together the fragments of the past.

Groans began to echo through the library, shattering the silence as the undead emerged from the shadows. Their eyes locked onto you, and your heart leaped into your throat. Panic surged through you, grabbing whatever books you could reach, you shoved them into your bag as you began to move. Tugging at your shoulder, the weight of the bag slows you down, but you don’t stop and don’t look back. Narrow aisles and towering shelves became a labyrinth, but with desperate speed and ragged gasps, you navigated your way toward the exit. 

As you brushed past them, the noise of tumbling books only spurred the undead closer. Your heavy footsteps thudded on the worn floor echoed. The scent of decay grew closer, and you could feel their presence gaining on you. 

A sliver of light in the darkness was in sight– the exit, and you pushed yourself harder, willing your legs to go faster. And, just as you burst through the door, the harsh light warming your skin, the undead reached the spot where you stood moments before. Your mind was fixated on one thing at that moment– survival. 

The streets were a blur as you ran, fear clawing at your throat. You didn’t see him at first, but a man sat in a car across the street, watching the chaos with annoyance and amusement. “What the fuck–” he muttered to himself, his hand reaching a gun that sat beside him. That was when he saw you– The terror in your eyes, and the desperation in your stride.

“Great…” he sighed with a roll of his eyes, stepping out of the car and raising his gun. “It’s always the pretty ones…” 

With deadly precision, each shot hit its mark as if it were second nature to him, he effortlessly cleared a path through the horde. Breathless, you stumbled as the last of the undead fell to the ground. You struggled to process what had happened as your chest heaved. 

Moving toward you, the man carried an air of calm that seemed unnatural in the fallen world– imposing, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame, easily over six foot, you thought. Each of his movements were controlled, and purposeful as his dark hair fell in messy waves framing his faintly stubbled face. 

The sharpness of his gaze, a piercing shade of blue, cold, and assessing, contrasted with the weary lines etching into his face as he scanned the area. There was something you couldn’t place in his expression, irritation? A reluctant duty? It was as if saving strangers was not how he wanted to spend his time, but he’d do it anyway. 

Dangling loosely at his side, the gun still smoked from the shot that had been fired. His red henley shirt, scuffed and worn, clung to his frame. As he glanced at you, his eyes narrowed as if he were assessing whether you were a threat or just another helpless survivor. Then, without a word, he holstered the gun and reached out his hand. 

The gesture caught you off guard causing you to hesitate for a second before you reached out, your fingers wrapped around his large, calloused hand. Pulling you to your feet, with a surprising gentleness, he kept a firm grip on your hand as you steadied yourself. Up close, you could see the lines around his eyes and a faint scar along his jawline. 

“Get in,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly, no room left for argument. His order jolted you out of your daze, but he refused to wait for a response as he turned to open the car door for you. You hurriedly obeyed, scrambling into the passenger seat of his car. When you were inside, he released your hand and slammed the door shut, circling to the driver’s side. 

He wasted no time, flooring the gas pedal the second the engine roared to life and sped away from the scene. Swerving around abandoned vehicles and debris, he navigated the town’s maze with unnerving skill. 

Neither of you spoke, sitting in silence as the adrenaline coursed through your veins, and your heart raced. You watched the ruins of the town blur by as you stared out the window. 

And then, when he finally spoke, his voice was more contemplative, softer. “What were you doing in there?” 

Unsure of how much to reveal, you hesitated before taking a breath. “I’m looking for answers,” you admitted, keeping your voice small, barely audible. “I, um, I want to understand why this all started… why the world fell.” 

Letting out a low, almost resigned sigh as he repeated, “Why this all started–” The words hung heavy in the air. “Not many people left who care about that.” 

“I care,” you murmured. He glanced toward you, his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. There was a flicker of understanding that passed through his icy blue eyes. And, for a moment, it seemed like he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed his lips into a tight line and focused back on the road. 

“You’re chasing ghosts,” he muttered after a while, almost to himself. “Whatever answers you’re looking for, they won’t bring back what you lost.” 

You snapped your gaze toward him, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. “Maybe not,” you retorted, “but it’s the only thing that keeps me going.” 

There was a long silence settling between you, only broken by the sound of the car’s engine and the occasional groan of the undead lurking by the side of the streets. Outside of the car, you watched as remnants of the world passed by– abandoned vehicles, shattered windows, and overgrown greenery reclaimed what was once civilization.

The man sighed heavily with a weariness that ran deeper than just the physical toll of survival. “I know some people,” he said, he kept his voice low, almost reluctant. “My group might be able to help you, or at least give you somewhere to rest.” 

“Your group?” you echoed, unsure if you should feel weary or relieved. 

“Yeah,” he replied in a stern tone. “They’re not exactly the most friendly to strangers, but they’re good at staying alive.” 

Glancing at his side profile, you weighed his words carefully. He had an edge, a darkness, there was something about him that made you uneasy, but yet, at the same time, you could not deny the gravitational pull toward him. You had isolated yourself for so long in your search for answers, and the idea of finding others who may be able to help was almost too tempting to resist. 

“Why are you helping me?” You asked in need to understand his motivations. 

The silence stretched out, he didn’t answer as the car sped down a deserted road. Glancing over at you again, his expression was unreadable as he finally spoke. “Maybe I don’t want to be the kind of person who looks the other way anymore,” he said, his voice guarded.

As you searched for something– anything– that would give you a clue about who this man was, you stared at him. You wonder why he’d chosen to save you as his answer hung in the air, but his eyes, cold and piercing, gave nothing away. 

An endless ribbon of cracked asphalt and faded yellow lines stretched over the road ahead of you. The car’s tires hummed a steady rhythm, calming the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind as the remnants of the world you once knew lay in ruins. 

As the time ticked by, you were unable to stay silent for any longer. “What’s your name?” you asked.

A flicker of surprise crossed his features as he glanced at you again before he turned his attention back to the road. “James,” he simply said. 

You repeated his name, testing the word on your tongue. Strange, you thought, almost too normal for someone who brutally saved your life. But then, maybe this was the type of normalcy you craved.

~

The sun began to set as you drove further, the landscape growing more barren. The trees were sparse, and their branches gnarled, twisting like something out of a horror movie. A chill crept into the air as the sky above turned a bruised shade of purple. 

Just then, as you were about to ask James if you were close to your destination, the car suddenly jerked to the side. A violent shudder came from the vehicle, and a loud thumping echoed from the rear. 

“God damn it!” James cursed, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened, fighting to keep the car under control. Easing his foot off the gas, the car slowly came to a halt on the side of the road. 

“What happened?” you asked, your heart racing from adrenaline. 

“Flat tire,” James sighed, a lace of frustration in his voice. Killing the engine, he stepped out of the car. “Stay here,” he ordered, not waiting for a response before slamming the door shut behind him. 

You watched as James circled to the back of the car before kneeling beside the rear tire. He mumbled curses under his breath as he inspected the damage. You suspected he drove over some hidden debris on the road, causing the tire to shred. He glanced around the deserted landscape as he stood, his hand instinctively resting on the gun tucked into his jeans. 

Staying in the car, you nervously tapped your fingers on the armrest. The sun sank lower, and the shadows began to grow longer. The sense of was back and stronger than ever.

James rummaged through the trunk before pulling out a spare tire and jack. He worked quickly, with a sense of urgency in his movements. Glancing around now and then, scanning the horizon as if expecting someone, or something to emerge from the shadows. 

You watched him work through the wind mirror, noticing something in the distance. It seemed like just a flicker of movement, barely noticeable in the fading like, until your eyes adjusted and you saw them– moving slowly but steadily towards the car, multiple undead. 

“James,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady and low. “We’ve got company.” 

He looked around sharply before his gaze met theirs. His expression darkened as he recognized the approaching figures– At least a dozen of them stumbled toward the car. 

“Get in the driver’s seat,” he ordered, his voice tense. “When I say go, floor it.” 

Your heart sank as your eyes met his through the back window. “I-I don’t know how to drive.” 

James froze for a second, disbelief flashed across his face. “What?” 

“I never learned!” you confessed, a slight tremble in your voice. 

“Fuck my life,” he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes as he glanced back at the nearing horde. “No time for this, just, get in the seat anyway.” 

You hesitated before scrambling over the center console, and sliding into the driver’s seat. Your hands trembled as you gripped the steering wheel. Your mind raced as the undead drew closer, their groans growing louder. A smell of decay filled the air, a scent you’d have thought you’d grown accustomed to by now, but still made your stomach turn. 

Tightening the last lug nut on the new tire, James’ movements became frantic, tossing the jack into the trunk and slamming it shut. He sprinted to the passenger side and yanked open the door. 

“Okay, listen to me, Princess,” he said, his voice low and urgent, the nickname dripping from his lips with endearment as he slid into the seat beside you. “Put your foot on the brake– the left pedal.” 

Your heart hammered in your chest as you listened to him, following his instructions. They were almost at the car now, rotting hands reached out as they closed in. 

“Now, take the gearshift,” he instructed, nodding toward the lever between the seats as he rolled the passenger side window down. “Move it down to ‘D’ for drive.” 

Your hands shook so much, you were barely able to grip the gearshift, but with a deep sigh, you managed to push it into position, just as James set his gun up out the window.

“Nice, now–”

James was interrupted by one of the undead slamming against the window, a grotesque mask of decay moaning into the glass. Screaming, your foot slipped off the brake, lurching the card forward. Instinctively, you slammed your foot on the gas pedal. 

Tires screeched as the car shot forward, and you clung to the steering wheel. You could barely see as the vehicle swerved wildly. 

“Ease up on the gas!” James shouted, his hand darting toward you, trying to steady the wheel. “You’re going too fast, princess!” 

The fear had already taken over, keeping your foot pressed to the floor. Down the narrow highway, the car rocketed dangerously close to the edge.

“Let go of the gas! Now!” he barked, his voice managed to cut through your panic. 

The car immediately began to slow down to a more manageable speed as you forced your foot to lift. The moment of relief was short-lived, as when you looked up ahead, the road began to narrow, flanked by thick forest on either side. Between the trees, there seemed to be more movement, and as you got closer, the car’s headlights revealed why– more undead, dozens of them, staggering toward the road. 

“Oh my god, I-I can’t,” you whispered, gripping tighter on the wheel, your nails starting to dig into the leather. 

“Just keep driving,” he ordered, his voice low but calm. “Don’t stop. Just go right through them.” 

You looked at him, surprise and horror etched in your features. “You can’t be– what? We’ll crash!”

“We won’t if you hold steady,” he firmly said. “Trust me. Aim straight, and don't swerve. Just… trust me.” 

The undead were closing in, their eyes hollow as they fixed on the car. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look straight ahead. 

“Gas, now!” James shouted.

Slamming your foot back on the gas pedal, the car surged forward once again. The undead were everywhere, their bodies thudding against metal as you plowed through the horse. Cracking bones, groans, and the screech of metal filled your ears. You tried not to look at the blood smeared across the windshield, tried to think of anything other than what was happening, to not cringe at the sound of gunshots beside you. 

Eventually, you made it through, somehow. The road cleared ahead, forest fading into the distance as you sped away from the chaos. Adrenaline and terror coursed through your veins, shaking you uncontrollably. 

James reached over, gently loosening your hands from the steering wheel. “Ease up, princess,” he softly said. “You did it. You’re okay,” he continued reassuring you as you lifted off the gas again. His hands guided the car as its pace smoothed. 

Your mind was numb with shock, and you barely registered his words. The only sounds now were the engine’s soft hum and your heart pounding in your ears. After another rough mile, and as the last remnants of daylight vanished, the tension in the car was palpable. James must have sensed it when he glanced over at you. Your nerves were frayed, hands trembling on the steering wheel. 

His expression softened as he noticed the hardened lines begin to etch in your features. “Pull over, princess,” he quietly said. “I’ll take it from here.” 

Too exhausted to protest, you nodded. You eased the car to the side of the road with shaky hands and switched off the engine. James shuffled in the passenger seat and leaned toward you, his movements were deliberate but gentle. 

It was cramped inside the car, forcing you both to maneuver carefully. Sliding closer to you, his arm brushed against yours, a small shiver shooting down your spine. His scent caused your breath to hitch– earthy and warm– it filled the small space between you. You were acutely aware of the heat that radiated from his body.

You carefully lifted yourself from the driver’s seat and tried to give him room. Your leg brushed against his as you shifted, and your arm grazed his chest. The contact between you was brief but it was electric. Stilling for a moment, James’ eyes met yours and something unspoken passed between you before he moved under you, settling into the driver’s seat. 

You climbed over the center console, slowly to avoid bumping into him again, yet it was almost impossible not to. Your bodies were too close, the space too tight and his hand lightly touched your waist as you slid into the passenger seat in a small gesture to help steady you. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheek as you settled into the passenger seat. 

Adjusting himself in the driver’s seat, James’ demeanor changed. He was refocused, his gaze sharp as he pulled back onto the road. Now in his control, the car felt steadier and the tension in the air eased slightly. 

The car’s headlights cut through the night, the road ahead and its surroundings were barely visible. Yet, somehow James navigated it all with ease, it was evident he was familiar with the area. 

You couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for being such a liability, twice in less than twelve hours this man had saved your life. Shaking the thought out of your head, you knew there was no time to dwell on that now, the only thing that mattered was getting to safety.

“Where exactly is it we’re going?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“It’s not far now,” James replied, his eyes never left the road. “It’s a base camp– it’s secure and well fortified. There are people there, good people. You’ll be safe.” 

He was so certain and reassuring in his tone, it made you want to believe him. But you hadn’t felt safe or secure since before that night. Too much had changed in the world, and even the thought of somewhere being ‘safe’ seemed almost impossible. 

After what felt like hours, you fought to stay awake as your eyes grew heavy with fatigue. Just as it was about to take over, James slowed the car and a faint glow appeared ahead. A high chain-linked fence topped with barbed wire revealed itself as the road leveled out. You could make out the dim outlines of buildings beyond the fencing, and makeshift structures that looked like military barracks rather than homes. Illuminating the area, floodlights cast oppressive shadows on the ground. 

“Here it is,” James murmured, caution laced in his tone. A lone figure stood waiting by the large gate at the camp’s entrance. His silhouette was stark against the floodlights, broad-shoulders, imposing and tall. It wasn’t until the car approached that he stepped forward, his features revealing in the light. 

The man’s face was rugged and weathered, it spoke of years of hard living. Dark hair cropped short, and his strong jawline covered in a shadow of stubble. His eyes were cold and calculating as they locked on the car. There was command in his presence, a quiet authority that made it clear he wasn’t to be trifled with. He seemed the kind of man who would be ready for anything with a solid build, muscular concealed under a dark, well-worn jacket. 

James slowed the car to a stop, rolling down the window. “Bucky,” the man called out toward James before landing his gaze on you. He looked irritated, setting his jaw tight as he assessed you. “Who’s this?” he asked, without any warmth in his tone, just a cold, scrutinizing edge.

---

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Syd is the pattern breaker

Which is great news in terms of Sydcarmy ENDGAME.

It's not like we all, Sydcarmy truthers, haven't seen that one coming. Of course, we have always known this lady came to turn it all around in Carmy's world from the very get-go, it was always painfully obvious.

BUT

Here is another pattern that she has come to erase from the life of Carmy (and the show)

(He's fighting it like a champ, I must say)

Storer likes strong women who take charge and take the initiative to go after the men they love so the man doesn’t have to (in fiction, IDK about his real life). The guy is the one who gets to decide whether he accepts her advances or innuendos and responds to them, but he doesn’t really take the first step; she does.

Refer to my napkins theory (handkerchief section) please.

Exhibit A: Jess

Jess made it clear she was into Richie in 2x7. Also, at Syd's party. She is up for it and made it clear, even when Richie has not picked up her handkerchief yet.

I don't know about Tiff, nor do I care

Exhibit B: The C person

He created the C person and I will not elaborate on that one. Fuck her!

Exhibit C: Sugar

He created Sugar who is clearly the one who wears the pants in the relationship, and taking into account Pete’s personality, was probably the one who was all over him from day 1, and he was just like: “Yeah Nat, whatever you say, you’re so great, ILY.”

Exhibit D: Tina

He created Tina, same energy as Nat but her husband is no Pete, so I’m not sure about how her relationship with her husband began, I can only safely assume she always speaks her mind. So I’m sure she was open about her feelings when she met her husband, no riddles.

Exhibit E: Donna

He created Donna and same, there’s no version of the story where Donna was ever shy or quiet and not open, if not too open, about her feelings when she met Carmy’s dad (like you know who: the C person) and that’s probably why they got together to begin with and also one of the reasons why he left her eventually. She’s overwhelmingly vocal about how she feels for ppl because the excessive booze removes any social boundaries and barriers and she’s always ready to shout it in everyone’s face. That’s changing though. But that's how she was written into existence by Storer, to begin with.

The game changer → Sydney Adamu

So, that takes us to Syd who never openly flirted with Carmy, unless we count Pasta 2x2 (which I don’t).

And never really read the awkward signs he was trying to give her (which I hate but totally understand because they are business partners and she's a professional).

And so… we have a pattern breaker here. That in Storer’s book means MEAT.

We've reached the meat of the matter, chefs! YAY!

So, there are about a zillion foreshadowing leads we could analyze of how that game change in terms of the female role in the courtship dynamic will play out SOON, Storer wasn't precisely slick throughout the series, but the most obvious and recent one was brought to us hidden in plain sight, in S3 -3x5- and I already went over it here (my own RB notes from 7/27):

The point is that as the post it says: "ALL QUESTIONS ASK SYDNEY!"

That means that dynamic will have to be reversed for Sydcarmy to happen, CARMY WILL HAVE TO POP THE QUESTION. LOL!

No, not that question. Well... maybe eventually, but I'm actually talking about the CONFESSION and asking her out, asking her out on a date or something and I don't mean a symbolic date like the fucking funeral he completely ignored her at and where he then ditched her too. I'm talking about really and openly telling her how he feels for her, and exposing himself to her rejection. Not the other way around.

She has to enable this, of course, so in a sense, she will have to break her patterns for Carmy too, because love is an act of mirroring, as we all know by now.

But it´s Carmy who will have to grow a pair and put into words what has remained unspoken between them and is starting to decay inside -and it's ruining their whole relationship-. He will have to turn the dynamic around and take the role that Storer usually puts "strong women" in, and open up and go after who he wants. He will have to be the strong one and say it out loud. ASK ALL THE QUESTIONS because Syd has all the answers and her answers are the game changers of the show.

I wish it went like this (let's imagine Tanner is either Shapiro or Luca):

Fun fact: Demian Lewis said that he characterized Bobby Axelrod by playing him like a wild animal, tapping into that energy and bringing in it on set every day to play his scenes. He didn't say the beast was a bear though.

Bonus track: Ayo Edebiri. Ayo´s pattern is to be the pattern breaker of the plot. The → plot twist.

Ayo always plays the game-changer character. In Omni Loop, she did too, I'm sure her next movie with Luca Guadagnino will be the same thing. She is drawn to that type of characters and plays them beautifully.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs💋

[schraubd]

Going Darker

Jeff Bezos has published a defense of his last-minute decision to override the Washington Post's editorial board and decline to issue a presidential endorsement. It is not persuasive. Bezos' core theme is that the media has a trust problem. This problem is not about actual impropriety or bias -- Bezos firmly rejects the notion that the Post is and has been anything but professional in its coverage. Rather, the problem is the appearance of bias. Editorial endorsements, even if they do not actually evince bias on behalf of the paper's news coverage, make people believe that there is. And that's why presidential endorsements need to be axed. There's much that can be said here, including the fact that this in no way explains why presidential endorsements, alone, have this problematic effect. But I want to focus on a different problem about the concentration on an "appearance" of bias, because this is an area where in many cases the cure will be worse than disease. Where the "appearance" is based on falsehoods or absurdities, as it is here, attempts to "correct" the appearance (a) will never work and (b) will simply make other stakeholders (rightly!) second-guess whether bias is present. The "voter fraud" panic is a great example of this, because it is also an arena where courts have justified severe limits on voting rights to combat the "appearance" of fraud even in circumstances where there is concededly no evidence of actual fraud. The logic is that the state still has a valid interest in its elections being perceived as legitimate. The problem is that if people are inclined to believe "fraud" is a problem notwithstanding evidence that it essentially doesn't exist, there's no reason to believe that any interventions will disabuse them of their delusions. Why would it -- the whole premise is that the people in question believe things in contradiction to the objective evidence! Meanwhile, the "appearance" justification conveniently overlooks other stakeholders whose faith in free and fair elections starts to decay precisely because they're witnessing a slew of voter suppression measures justified on (admitted!) fantasies. Why doesn't their assessment of "appearances" matter? At least it's based on something that's really happening. The same is true in the Post's situation. The notion that an opinion page publishing an opinion is reflective of impermissible bias is beyond parody. Nobody actually believes this (including Bezos, as evidenced by the fact that the paper will continue to endorse in every other election). So there's no reason to think that abandoning endorsements will have any effect on those who make irrational and frivolous accusations of bias. Even if you buy Bezos' "logic", the entire problem is by stipulation illogical. And even as this move tries-and-fails to appease the unappeasable, it generates a far more serious "appearance of bias" in its own right. It will appear to many that Bezos is trying to coddle up to Donald Trump. It will appear that the Post's editorial independence is being compromised by the arbitrary whims of its billionaire owner. It will appear that the Post no longer is capable of fearlessly speaking truth even where powerful interests find it awkward or inconvenient. These appearances are why I and 200,000(!) other subscribers have hit the cancellation button. But of course, what Bezos' choices "appear" to represent to us doesn't matter, just as what spurious "anti-fraud" measures "appear" to represent to minority and marginalized voters doesn't matter. When it comes to avoid the "appearance" of impropriety, invented concoctions by the dominant caste will always trump objective failings endured by the less powerful. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/NfmDFTt

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Broken Birds

Previous

Next (Coming Soon)

____

The Outlands, Years Ago:

A very young cub Vitani ran into some young jackals that neighbored the Termite Mounds, and she'd confessed to her mother that she had felt a friendship coming on, but Zira snuffed that dream right out. Lions could not be friends with mindless food like little jackals.

"Oh, quit your sniffling. It's going to get you nowhere! Get up before I give you a real reason to cry! NOW!"

"Mother, please! I won't disappoint you again, Mother!" the toddler sobbed.

The young Vitani could feel her mother grabbing her wrist. The older lioness pulled the cub closer.

Suddenly, Zira seemed to change in appearance. She was now much bigger, sported a slick, red mane, and a scar across her right eye. It was now an unknown male lion.

"You're seriously going to let a bunch of crows get to you? Are you a helpless little lower animal like them?!" he screamed.

"Father, I'm sorry-y-y!" Vitani sobbed, except… this was not her voice, nor her body.

"A real lion doesn't sit here and cry! Get up, Zira! NOW!"

The bigger lion's paw came up, looking like it was about to swipe.

Vitani jolted awake, putting a paw over her racing heart. More nightmares of Mother, of course.

Mother…

The images of Zira's sentient waterfall form came back to her vividly. No one would believe her. She didn't even believe herself the more she thought of it.

And her head… it still hurt from… something. Her friends said it had been a fall, right?

This didn't happen. No, none of this happened. She just fell… Right?

SCRATCH, SCRATCH…

The Fiercest gasped and made a small noise. Before she went to investigate, however, she looked around to make sure no one heard her pathetic sound.

Luckily, no. But, only because Tiifu wasn't around. Odd. She'd be wrapped all over Vitani.

Perhaps the watery ghost did exist. Maybe it was a little like the case of Nuka's spirit. Maybe Scar's. Kion defeated Scar's spirit. Had he seen one made of water? How would he have dealt with it? She had to find him...

SCRAPE, SCRATCH…

Vitani leapt to her feet and prowled about around the corridors of the Ponya. Her ears pointed to the noise. At the main part of the Ponya, she saw a bipedal form smearing paint onto the wall with precision.

Vitani looked all around the wall. It was a portrait of her brother and her sister-in-law. She smiled a bit, but it quickly vanished, remembering how disastrous last night went. She digressed, and cleared her throat.

"Um... that's really pretty..."

The mandrill jumped a little. Her hand made a jagged mark of paint on the wall.

"Sorry." Vitani winced, "I know that must've taken hours."

"Oh, that's okay!" the mandrill charmed, "I could make these all day!"

"I really admire the light colors and soft shapes. They really come together to create a distinct style."

"Wow, I didn't know you were so artsy!"

Vitani shrugged, "I mean, everyone makes me plot out patrol maps on the ground in the morning. I think my Guard does that just to watch me draw."

"Oh, right! You're the new Pridelands' Fiercest! What was your name again?"

"Vitani." the lioness introduced, "It's Makini, right?"

"Mmhm!"

"You're, uh... the Mjuzi for Kion and his wife, now --" Vitani rattled her head, "Uh, Kion... Have you seen him? I need to talk to him. Saw some things I can't explain."

"Oh, the Night Pride already started heading back last night. I stayed back to catch up with the Pridelanders and paint —"

Vitani blinked, "What? Why?"

"Why what?"

"W-Why did they leave?!" Vitani began to pace.

"Can't leave the Tree of Life unguarded too long, I guess."

"B-But this is — Wha — I —" the Fiercest began seething, "Dammit!"

Furious, she smacked hard at something with her paw. It had been a husk full of vermillion paint.

Leaving her cloud of rage, she could see that she had gotten the paint all over her paw, and all over Makini's masterpiece.

"I... I am so sorry, I —" Vitani stammered, "I totally ruined your painting —"

"It's okay! I can make a new one any time. I'm always improving!" Makini reassured, "In fact, this gives me an idea..."

The mandrill began to wash the the rest of the painting from the rock with a soaked leaf.

"Here! Why don't you paint how you feel on this rock and maybe I can help you figure out what it means! It's called 'art therapy.'"

Vitani stared into her paint-covered paw. She didn't like the sound of just sitting here for therapy, but Kion was already gone. Kion may have had the advantage of defeating spirits with his Roar, but Makini must've known more about the past and spirits in general. That's what Mjuzis do, right?

Makini was the best option she had, it seemed. Especially with Rafiki opting to stay in his tree more often, lately.

Vitani got a good look at the rock in deep thought of how she would convey her anxieties. She considered Makini's suggestion, and began to make her first move.

Slowly, Vitani took her paw and brought it closer to her canvas. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Wait." she finally said, eyes open.

She tried and tried to remember the images she saw, but they kept changing and becoming unclear due to the deliberate effort to recall them.

"I… I can't remember, now." her teeth gritted, "It's fading too quickly!"

The Mjuzi frowned, "Aww, that's too bad. I forget my dreams a lot, too. I'm pretty forgetful in my waking life too, actually, and Rafiki says I need to work on that if I want to connect with the past. Which, you gotta see all the old paintings to know what paintings to make in the present so everyone in the future will know what to paint in their present -- We were talking about something else, right? What —"

"My dreams, Makini. The whole reason I was painting?"

"Oh yeah! And how you can't recollect the pa — OOOOHH! I got it!" Makini suddenly chimed, "I got just the thing!"

"You do?" Vitani's eyes widened with a slight roll, her jeering tone going unnoticed by the mandrill.

Makini removed the two gourds from her Bakora Staff, opening the lids of each, and — for once — carefully — poured something onto each palm.

"Rafiki told me that these two gourds on my staff represent the past and the future, and I think I know why, now! So, this staff I have right now wasn't originally my staff, it actually belonged to the old Mjuzi at the Tree of Life..."

Vitani nodded rigorously, anxious beyond belief.

"I found these powders left in the gourds! I asked Rafiki what they were, and he said one is called Zamani, and the other is Baadaye. One lets you see visions of your past, and the other lets you see your future! Rafiki told me he used the Baadaye powder on Scar to show him his future. But, we all know Scar didn't listen to his warning."

Vitani looked at Makini's hand. In each palm were powders of a vivid blue and orange. Mystery of its appearance and origin almost gave it a slight radiance.

"Please tell me you know which one is which…" Vitani knew Makini at this point. It would be in-character for this to be the next thing to somehow tragically and comically mess up.

"Actually I do! I remembered their colors! Colors are the one thing I know I can remember good. You need the blue one!" she then inhaled shakily, "Buuuut…"

"Noo…" Vitani whined to herself, shutting her eyes.

"I kinda… sorta… forgot how the powders are applied." Makini shrugged sheepishly.

"Great…" the Fiercest groaned, stepping away as Makini kept the blue powder in her ahand and placed the orange powder back.

"Don't know if you eat it, or — No, certainly doesn't look like you should." the mandrill thought deeper, "Or was it —"

Suddenly, the wind coming from outside swept the blue powder from Makini's hand. Vitani was unfortunately in the splash zone. The powder had blown into her eyes.

Makini bit her lip anxiously, "Or that could work."

"OW! Agghh! Makini, what the —"

"Sorry!" the mandrill winced, "Are you okay?"

The Fiercest frantically began rubbing her eyes with a paw, preparing for the stinging and burning. Oddly, there was none. Instead, however, she felt a numbness. Testing to see if it really was such, she blinked a couple of times. She felt comfortable to fully open them.

She began to see little blooms of blue specks in her view. They were like eye floaters, but they glowed, and morphed into mandala-like patterns until it filled her field of vision.

She saw her surroundings change from a dark cavern to her old termite mound home. Everything was starting to look like where she was in her dream, with a blue tint on everyone and everything.

"Makini, i-it's working!" Vitani gawked, astonished.

Suddenly, where the mandrill would be standing, was instead Zira., who towered over Vitani and was berating her, just like in her dream.

"Oh, quit your sniffling. It's going to get you nowhere! Get up before I give you a real reason to cry! NOW!"

"Mother, please! I won't disappoint you again, Mother!" the toddler sobbed.

Zira's form once again morphed into another lion. It became bulkier with a red mane, and with a scar over his left eye. His voice was raspy and scheming.

"You're seriously going to let a bunch of crows get to you? Are you a helpless little lower animal like them?!"

"I'm sorry-y-y!" the cub sobbed heavily, almost unable to breathe.

"A real lion doesn't sit here and cry! Get up, Zira! NOW!" the red-maned lion yelled.

Zira curled into a ball. She was sobbing, but she felt frustration build up too. It wasn't fair, the way she was being yelled at. But she still failed him. She shouldn't have tried to befriend those crows, as lonely as she was when she would stay over at the Outlands. She mustn't be so desperate to trust just about any animal.

The lion quickly changed his tone as to not completely terrify his little daughter. Screaming wasn't helping, he used a disarming charm that worked on her before.

"You want to be a mighty lion like me, don't you? You want to make the Pride back home proud of you to be one of them, right? I want to be one of them again. Help me, Zira, help the family come back together, and you can see your mother again. Don't you want that?"

Little Zira sniffled, "Yes."

"Yes. There's my mighty lion. Always be stronger than everyone thinks you are. Lions Over All! Lions Over All!" he chanted.

"Wait..." Vitani said aloud, "This is —"

Vitani was seeing way beyond what she recalled in the dream. She realized now that the Zamani hadn't taken her to the recent past, but the distant past.

The vision continued on, and pretty soon, she found herself in a deep, red dystopia. It was the Pridelands, but from an era she'd never known. A time where all animals took on a much more primitive appearance.

She seemed to be chasing a group of a type of animal she hadn't seen in the Pridelands before. Others of her own kind were doing the same thing, even going so far as to needlessly massacring the animals for sport, or as a punishment for existing.

Watching all this activity with a cold and callous gaze was a leonine silhouette standing atop a towering kopje. He sported a familiar mark above his right eye.

"Lions Over All!" he bellowed for all of the ancient land to hear, as if he wanted the lions in the sky to hear him.

"Lions Over All!" the fleet of pillager lions echoed. The message deeply engrained into their minds and hearts.

The visions and voices of these lions of the past had swarmed Vitani. The flashbacks all becoming one and playing back-to-back.

Just then, a gray lioness with eyes and a tuft like Vitani's appeared before her. She spoke with a kind, gentle, and timid voice.

"What's wrong, my little Moonlight?"

The mysterious lioness' appearance fizzled, and there remained Vitani's reflection on a shiny rock. Back to reality.

She yelped and hyperventilated from the bizarre visions. So taken aback by the frightening sights that she felt like she couldn't swallow nor catch her breath. She lied on the ground against the rock, staring upward.

"Vitani!" cried Makini as she bounded over to the lioness, "Vitani! Are you okay?!"

"I... I think I would like some privacy to paint, please." was all the Fiercest could muster, absolutely dazed.

____

Up in the main den lied Kiara. Her eyes filled with tears as she anticipated the future. So many changes were coming their way, and she didn't know how to tell anyone.

"Kiara, honey? May we come in?" asked Nala, who peeked into the entrance.

"It's open." Kiara said flatly.

Nala could still sense Kiara's tension from the humiliation yesterday. It was probably time to talk about it, knowing Kiara's honesty about her feelings.

"Baby, I thought you were finally ready for your coronation. Your dad and I told you we trusted you with the crown."

"I know, Mom, but... everything's changing so much. I don't know what everyone will think about... Just... what if I forget about who I am?"

Kiara was too afraid to say heavier things that were truly on her mind. No, her family wasn't ready.

"Kiara, I know change can be daunting, but sometimes it makes you who you are." Nala rubbed a brow against Kiara's.

"Your mother's right." Sarabi added as she entered the den, "In life, you will always learn about yourself, and become a refined lion. Your father most certainly did, and so did your grandfather."

Sarabi's eyes became glossy at the last part. Her husband would always be a part of her.

Sarafina followed Sarabi, as she always did in life. She had fetched a tortoise shell of fresh, cold water for her granddaughter.

"There ya go, Sweetie." she said, "To calm your nerves, a little."

"Thank you, Nanna." Kiara said sweetly, but still glum.

"Kiara, we trust that you can become a beloved and capable Queen. We've seen your cooperation with herd leaders." Nala said, "And Jasiri. You changed the Outlands forever by welcoming her to the Summit."

"See? Even you've made big changes. You're famous for it! And we can't forget you and that boy Kovu making us all one big, happy family!" Sarafina chimed.

Kiara's heart jumped for a second until she remembered what her Nanna meant. Right. That.

"You're a risktaker, but an openminded and levelheaded one." Sarabi observed.

Kiara smiled nervously, but tears still welled up.

They all saw this, and exchanged concerned looks before they all rubbed foreheads against her in unison.

"Thank you..." Kiara closed her eyes as she embraced them, "But what about Kion...? I totally wasted his time. I made him come all this way just so I could flake on him."

"Kion and Rani would come back in a heartbeat for you." Nala said, "I know Kion doesn't show it a whole lot, but he really wants to see you become Queen."

Kiara again tried to crack a smile, but she was just so touched by her mother's words.

"I need time to figure this out." the Future Queen finally said.

"Alright, we'll give you some space." assured Nala, "Just remember: You will always be yourself, even when you're Queen. The Queens of the Past will guide you, and so will we."

Nala turned away to the exit. The elders looked on at Kiara with love and still with concern before following suit.

Kiara continued sulking long after they left, but she eventually gave into her Nanna's kind gesture of water. Slowly, she dipped her nose into the shell, and lapped up the cool water.

However, as soon as the water reached her stomach, Kiara felt... strange. It's almost like she had lost consciousness, but her body was still up.

Pretty soon, she was trapped in her own body, which began to lick its chops as the water dripped from its chin. Her eyes took on a vivid azure glow as she cracked a grin to herself.

"I feel... much better, now." she said with a sinister tone, one she'd never used before.

____

Finishing her very own masterpiece after several hours of hunched-over work on few hours of sleep, Vitani finally managed to convince herself to sit up and refresh. The lioness had headed over to Lake Shangaza to clean the paint stains from her paws.

As she rinsed her paws, she caught her reflection in the water. She saw her exhausted eyes, and — under her tuft — what appeared to be her gash from last night all patched up.

She wasn't sure if it was the sleep deprivation, or if she'd still been under the effects of the Zamani powder, but when she stared into her reflection in the water long enough, she could swear she saw her mother's ghastly face appear for a moment.

Her body jerked back from the jumpscare. She glanced back to find nothing there. She was confused, and genuinely terrified, even though it may have been an illusion.

Though, this reminded her; perhaps she could contact a ghost she knew was on her side...

She lit a torch and said her summoning phrase:

"Roho ya Moto!"

A puff of fire exploded from the flame of the torch until it resembled her brother.

"What?! What's goin' on?! Where's the danger?!" Nuka whipped around, his paws chopping the air defensively.

"No danger, here." Vitani deadpanned.

"Lookie here, Vitani," he scowled, "You can't just summon me every time you break a claw!"

"Nuka..."

"You know how much energy it takes to —"

"Nuka." she snapped, "I summoned you for a reason. I have a genuine question that only you can answer."

"Fire away." he said bluntly. He'd realized his unintentional pun, and snickered to himself a bit.

"Have you... have you ever seen Mother up there, or... wherever it is you go? What does she look like?"

"Um... not recently?"

Vitani's eyes became curious, "Really? What do you mean recently? What does she look li —"

A raindrop landed on Vitani's nose. She looked up to see dark clouds she hadn't even noticed rolling over the lake.

SIZZLE

"OW!!" Nuka cried.

Vitani looked over to Nuka, and caught a worrying sight: Where there was fire around his being, there was now black, crusty spots that steamed.

"Nuka, what's happening?!"

"Ow, it's the rain! I can't be touched by rain, or I'll turn to smoke!" he cried, trying to blow fire onto himself where there wasn't.

"Well, we gotta get you out of here!" she cried, panicking.

"Ugh, come on, say the phrase!" he grunted as he waved his paws frantically.

"Okay, okay! Errr — Roho ya Moto!" Vitani said rapidly.

POOF!

The flame shrank into the stick shortly before it could be snuffed another, more permanent way.

"Well, that was brief." she muttered, not knowing at all how to feel today.

She couldn't see that in the distance stood a lioness. One who watched her entire interaction with Nuka.

The lioness turned away, back to the direction of Pride Rock.

____

Not too long later, the rain had mysteriously stopped.

Imara and Kasi muttered to each other about the events last night, expressing concern for Kiara along with the odd weather. They spotted Vitani wandering close to Pride Rock. She seemed pensive, but also dazed. After seeing her stumble a bit, they rushed their stroll.

"Hey, 'Tani." greeted Kasi, characteristically arriving first.

"We're about to head to our patrol routes." added Imara, "We split into groups, today."

"Taz and Shabs already headed out." Kasi said, "You wanna go with them, or us? Please pick us..."

Imara nudged Kasi. The smaller lioness got a better look at her tired friend.

"Hey, you good?" asked the Fastest.

"Um, yeah..." Vitani slowly shook her head, "Headache."

"Right. You probably don't wanna be out here, huh?" Imara said, "You fell pretty bad."

Vitani's memories of her interaction with her mother suddenly flashed back into her mind, along with the frustration with Nuka, and her visions she painted. This day was chaotic, and she just couldn't think of it anymore.

"Uhh, you know what?" she smirked, "I'll go. Joining Team Kasi and Imara."

The two in question exchanged looks. They eventually shrugged, and let their friend take the lead.

____

"Right this way, Rafiki! I can't wait to show you Vitani's work!" Makini beamed with delight as she took the elder's hand and guided him to the Ponya.

"Yes, yes, Makini, I'm coming." said the old monkey. It was difficult to catch up to his protege, now that he was without his staff, and for a long time, now.

"Welp, here it is! Could you believe a lion made all of this? With her paws?!"

"Hmm..."

Rafiki put a hand on his chin and looked all around the walls of the Ponya, noting many changes outside of just Vitani's work. There were detailed paintings all around made by Makini. He smiled a wrinkled and weary smile to himself, feeling proud and confident in his successor, and hoped she could frequent the Pridelands more.

"Vitani's been feeling a little stressed, lately. So I told her to paint her feelings."

“Hmm, yes. Art therapy is a good form of expression. Excellent idea, Makini.”

Rafiki’s eyes continued to follow every painting on the wall. He could see that not every painting had been finished. They were… very different from a Mjuzi’s paintings, to say the least. Not only from the shapes made from non-opposable, blunt paws, but the paintings were dark in palette and in subject matter.

Murky, grayish browns and deep reds were the main colors used in these nebulous shapes scattered on the wall. Circling everything was what seemed to be black birds swarming every picture. Attempts to draw her own kind were made with as precise shapes as one could make with their paws.

The lions caught Rafiki's eye. Some resembled Zira what with the recognizable stripe on her head, but others seemed familiar as well considering the motifs that surrounded them.

"Makini, take your staff and touch the paintings."

"Oh, o-okay."

With a tap to the wall, the finished paintings glowed a hellish red. The cub Vitani cowered below Zira, and Zira cowered below a similar-looking lion with a scar. The birds circled around them all in a terrifying storm. Rafiki's jaw dropped.

"R-Rafiki?" Makini stammered, a bit horrified at what she saw, "What is it?"

He slowly put his hand down from the wall, and finally spoke.

"That lion... I have seen him before..."

Makini dropped her staff, "Really?"

"Yes. When I made a recent journey to the Outlands to find paintings I had never seen." he said, "How did Vitani see these lions?"

"Vitani had trouble remembering her dream while painting, so I had just the thing — I gave her the Zamani powder I found in my staff! Pretty smart, right?"

"Makini!" the elder mandrill snapped, "You have to be careful with these powders. You cannot just use it all up on something like dreams. This powder is very difficult to find, and can have side effects if used too much!"

"Really?!" Makini gasped, "Ohh, I didn't think of that! I'll put it away, Rafiki! I'll put it way away!"

"Good. Now, come! I must show you something!"

"Rafiki, wait!" Makini cried, still putting the powders in a safe spot — a nook behind some vines.

However, in an attempt to grab her staff while she hurried after him, she didn't see that she'd knocked a gourd from the hiding spot. A mess of orange powder lay scattered about the ground...

____

((Author's Notes: Yeah remember when I said this would be out July 12th on that one schedule post I made? The one where I basically irreversibly printed those dates that I had to abide by? Well, I was once again a couple of days late because a bunch of ideas and revisions came up. This has to be, like, the most despised production of a chapter/episode so far because this is a very transitional (and kinda filler) installment right after getting to such a high point with the last one. I kept switching a bunch of concepts and dialogue exchange scenes around to make sense of the chronology and why and when such things would happen. I've been so concerned lately with how much everything makes sense rather than just having something jotted down like how uploading this story used to be.

On a positive note, however, Makini was super fun and therapeutic to write. It was so fun to channel informalities like run-on sentences and rambling through her because she's so ADHD-coded lol.

Artist Note: This entire episode is highkey a meta commentary on my struggles to come up with things to draw, even down to overworking an image in my head so much that I actually lose the image altogether, making me give up before the stylus touches the tablet. The struggles with composition and making sense of this story were what played into such a debilitating 9-month hiatus. That, finishing community college, and taking forever to rid myself of a perfectionist art student mindset while making art over the summer is what finally got my head out of my ass, realizing that this story doesn't need to be so overly professional. I get that I wanted to emulate a nonexistent, hypothetical PG-13 show to succeed The Lion Guard, but I'm not a studio, I'm one person jotting down ideas and putting them in a screenshot art style. That's how Vitani's Guard even started, and it's okay if it goes up and down in how refined it is.

Also, I'm thinking of adding that little border with watermarks of the VG logo and episode/chapter number on VG art so we can keep track of when in the story an illustration takes place. What's confusing is that I refer to things as "Seasons" too, like this is "Season 3", for example.

Fun Facts:

The Zamani and Baadaye powder are based on the unnamed orange powder Rafiki used on Scar during the future hallucination sequence in the Disney Villains: Scar comic. DV:S is… not my favorite TLK installment because of how disconnected it feels, kinda feels like someone didn't watch TLK for years and only wrote something based on what they can remember of it. But! There were some aspects I liked, such as the aforementioned eye powder trip scene, these selfish and greedy vultures whose motives are actually established rather than just "hunched bald bird evil haha" that Disney always does. Also, just the general idea of Rafiki and Scar having a dialogue exchange. You never see that anywhere in any other TLK works, I don't think. I love how Rafiki sees something in Scar that no one else can yet, and how much Scar is like the Anakin to Rafiki's Obi-Wan/Yoda. The concept does get ruined by Rafiki seemingly knowing way too much about Scar's intentions, though, it kinda just makes Rafiki look like he just let Scar's tyranny happen :p. Think I'll write a full review on DV:S sometime.

Vitani and Makini's dynamic are an analogy of me taking the word of much younger, passionate artists who simply love what they make and have fun.

"Broken Bird", according to TV Tropes, is a term used to describe once idealistic individuals who had their dreams crushed through tragedy or abuse. The individual's demeanor and personality permanently change and they find it hard to love or get attached in any way again. Vitani and Zira's ideologies and emotional maturity were commonly deeply affected by the actions of their predecessors. Also it just so happened to go with the crow theme.))

Nuka trying to restore his fire by blowing it is based on the visual gag of Lumiere doing the same thing to his candlesticks.

[extracurious]

Reminiscence

Still Drunken on the memories of the summer of 2023.I watched the movie almost 50 times till now but truly fatigue didn't grip me. The theatre experience was outstanding. I went there with very little expectation, of course a sequel rarely matches it's predecessor.The intro of ATSV made me think that it was not the case of waste of money or time . I got what I wished for since the trailer release.Terrific voice acting done by Shameik Moore , Hailee Steinfeld, Oscar Issac, Issa Rae, Daniel kaluuya, Karan Soni and others.

Peter B Parker and Miles carried the first movie with their most relatable energy.In second movie it was good to see Peter as a happy dad. Still he needed to be more cautious while handling Mayday amidst the multiverse madness even though she had spider powers .

Miles transformation was absolutely stunning one. He had grown, became emotionally intelligent yet he was not a pro. Still working for upgrading himself and continued learning. And we all had agreed that he always listened to his heart.

And coming to Gwen she was definitely "not okay" in ATSV ,especially not in a great position to handle her feelings. She doubted whether she had any importance or simply her existence was fragile.While Miles was always there to praise her innocence,wisdom,grace,skills and her self esteem.

I already had a notion of how their friendship was going to evolve into a much more beautiful bonding they could crave for. And yes Sony finally did it ,which was doomed for years. Congratulations to Hailee Steinfeld for brilliantly portraying Gwen Stacy and winning the Astra Awards and other accolades for her role.

Their interactions in ITSV had always a flirty tone in it which was subtly noticeable until Miles comeback in final battle. At that time there was a sudden realisation that the moments Gwen had longed for specially sharing with Miles, was going to end soon as the portal for her travelling back home had finally opened.

I was hoping to get atleast the full convo of the bus ride that had been pending since ITSV and how they managed to get the selfie. Well BTSV must provide that to us. Their moments together need to cherished everytime.

Hobie and Pavitr's friendship had been an exception. They were always jolly and supportive .

Expecting more screentime for all the members of the band in next movie. We all missed them a lot.

And this trio would be having a long talk before reconciliation. They would need to fix and thereby heal each other from the wounds suffered due to the betrayal.

Miguel had a hard time after loss of his daughter.His established theories could not be entirely wrong but his ideologies regarding cannon events should be studied and explained with more precision. He had been unaware of the actual policies of multiversal working. Cause he only depended on what "the model says- Lyla".Hoping the writers would be able to properly add the details and justify the incidents in BTSV along with the reason why Gwen glitched so less than other spideys in ITSV.

The creation of a joke villain,who being later considered as a multiversal threat,Spot's arc was indeed incredibly done by the writers. Eagerly looking forward as to how Spot can manipulate space and time and find the answers about his holes.

On other hand Miles 42- He gave a feeling of hardened, unshakeablly confident but sad at same time. Kind of aggressively caring person.

Lastly the music played a crucial role in uplifting the cinematic experience. Uniquely blending with all the characters. The ost and music tracks had been top notch, where "The falling apart " and "calling" became my favourite.A big thanks to Daniel Pemberton and Metro Boomin for making this a masterpiece.

This movie had no business going that hard.And I knew this obsession would have no end. 🥺

-extracurious

[sevensoulmates]

Hi I just wanted to say I was on twitter and saw someone discussing and sharing your meta posts and I was genuinely intrigued and curious because you guys are obviously so devoted to the buddie couple and it's really endearing. And I was just really interesed about this perception of the couple you guys seem to have because is so different to the other side of the fandom I'm actively interacting with. I'm obviously a B/T shipper and only got into the fandom because of them but I'm really loving the show (currently I'm on season 5). I'm just curious about how is it that you guys see buddie as romantic when I think their interactions are clearly platonic, they obviously have a deep relationship, an intimate friendship but no more that that.

Again, I'm not trying to hate I just wanted to ask because it looks like the buddie shippers are settling themselves for disappointment just waiting for them to go canon. You all are obviously loyal fans and I think that's lovely but I honestly just don't see the show writing Eddie as queer now and I really think Tommy is here to stay (I think there's too many signs pointing to this fact like the buck actually episode and the old guy named Thomas). Again I'm not here trying to hate because I think you guys love the ship genuinely but I just wonder how is it that after all the things the shows portrays you guys are still rooting for buddie. Please feel free to ignore my question if I'm annoying you, I really don't want to come off as rude I was just really interesed in the topic.

There are a boatload of reasons why I and many other people ship Buddie. Most of them are far too long to get to in one ask like this because Buddie have had 6 years worth of material to sort through and it would just take far too long.

Long story short: in the same way that Buck was confirmed bisexual over the course of a single episode after years of many people saying Buck could never be anything other than straight, Buddie could be made canon in one single episode and it would be accepted just as easily even though it's been years and a lot of people are still saying they could never be together.

It's TV. The writers can do whatever they want. The second they decide to start bringing in more explicitly romantic things, people will suddenly start "getting" it.

To be more precise: I think it's easy for people to see a ship like Bucktommy and latch onto it because it's very clearly, explicitly queer. It's a lot harder for people to believe in or "see" ships where a queer couple hasn't done anything explicitly romantic like kiss or hold hands, etc. It's unfortunately due to heternomativity and the sad death of the slow burn. I can't really do anything about either of those things.

For me, the primary reason I ship buddie is because of the deep special bond and obvious family they've built over the years that feels different from every single other relationship they've had with literally anyone else on the show. That includes Tommy, Shannon, Abby, etc. You can view it as platonic if you want, that's anyone's subjective opinion.

You seem like a sweet person, but you're also coming into the show with a bias towards Bucktommy, which is fine. They're what brought you to the show, they're the ones who initially intrigued you, and they're also the only ones currently explicitly queer. I get it.

I am going to be so honest with you: I think the show has been writing both Buck and Eddie as queer men for many many years. But just like how Buck was only allowed to confirm it this most recent season, they haven't been able to confirm it for Eddie just yet. I could write essays and essays about how Eddie is so obviously deep deep in compulsory heterosexuality and has been almost since the beginning, but it would take too long. There's plenty of posts I and others have made all over tumblr and on my blog.

Slow queer burns featuring characters that aren't introduced in the first 5 seconds as queer are almost non-existent, they very rarely happen in popular media, and because of that it's almost impossible to ship something without someone coming at you saying "they don't see it". Fact of the matter is that Buddie is one of the easiest ships to "see", if you were looking at a man and a woman, but they're not. I can't really convince people to see what they don't want to see.

If you're curious about the specifics, I'd encourage you to go through my blog/meta or other buddie-positive blogs on tumblr to find many talented and intelligent individuals who will have a lot to say on why they believe in buddie.

When it comes down to it, I don't think the fandom at large is ever gonna believe it until they see it. That's kinda just human nature and the state of how we all consume media right now.

But once the show does go there, they're gonna be like damn can't believe I didn't see that until now while the rest of us sit here like "we've been trying to tell you this whole time."

In the meantime, I'm enjoying Bucktommy for what it is, for however long it lasts, and I'm gonna enjoy buddie just the same, regardless of if they go canon or not, or how long it takes.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Three

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Before you read this chapter, I want to tell y'all I am perfectly aware of how messed up this is. But if the male writers of Game of Thrones can show graphic depictions of sexual assault and get away with it, why can't I show something messed up but empowering? They literally showed sexual assault as a good thing because the trauma can "empower" a woman. How about a girl finding strength in her body and pleasure? Now, let's traumatize these men back. >:}

Also, I find it a bit humorous that the reader is wearing something like this during this entire chapter. Also, I made a playlist of songs that I listened to while writing this story. 

Chapter Warnings: minor x minor sexual situations, CNC, we do not follow SSC here, folks. (safe, sane, and consensual.)

Aegon led you up a dark sandstone staircase worn from thousands of years of use, turning his head back periodically with a wide grin. You knew he was leading you to the Streets of Silk, where the high-end brothels were, not the type Ma ran. It was something interesting you found with Aegon, how he chose to forgo the upscaled silken sheets with finely dressed whores that most of the High Born frequented. But he, the first-born son of King Viserys Targaryen, First of Men, King of the Andals, and Protector of the Realms, choose to sink his royal cock into the cunts of lice-ridden women. You did not mind Aegon choosing something as malapropos as that, for if his tastes were better, you would have never met him.

"Come, little one, we are nearly there," he encouraged, squeezing your hand briefly and kissing it. The simple act made your cheeks hot, a hue of red blooming from your nose to your ears as your short legs struggled to stay in step.

You felt giddy with a man's affection, a feeling you had not experienced in many years. Ma had never let you grow close to a person near your age, always promptly snatching you away and telling your acquaintances to "get lost" or deal with the consequences. No child had ever dared to become friends after that. You had only Madam and the Ladies of the House until the unsightly curly, white-haired prince made his appearance.

Aegon led you down sharp turns and uneven ground, squeezing your fist every moment he felt you got too far behind. Despite the fast walking, his legs were shaking, his knees nearly buckling under him when his shoe got caught on a loose rock. You chuckled when you helped him up. His excitement was contagious. You could not help but feel the same, your cloaks billowing out behind you.

"Where are we going, my Prince?" You asked sweetly, biting your lip in anticipation. Aegon noticed you didn't use the title as an insult this time but as a... flirtation. Were you flirting with him, he wondered.

"Have patience, little one; we are only fifty paces away," he chortled, stopping for a moment and patting your hand in reassurance.

"I find it peculiar that you know the precise distance," you jested.

Jested? Jested! Aegon nearly died from happiness at the realization. Someone, who had no incentive to be kind to him, was treating him like a friend. Like he was not the royal cunt drunk fuck-up everyone claimed he was. You were so beautiful, kind, and innocent. And best of all, you were his. None of the other Targaryen knew of your existence, other than Daemon. Perhaps if his family had known about you, bastard or not, Aegon could have been betrothed to you and not that half-wit bug-obsessed sister he now called wife.

Aegon supposed things did happen for a purpose, though. If you had been raised as part of your actual family, you would most likely feel the same as all of them about him. You were too perfect, sent from the Gods, plucked from the very clouds he prayed to and placed into his wanting, needing lap. An angel finally leading him out of the purgatory he called life.

"We're here," he stated in finality, gesturing for you to look at the building.

It was much larger than Ma's. Whereas hers was built from solid oak wood and a straw-thatched roof, this was constructed from a smooth stone. Burnt steel braziers with yellow-orange flames lit the dark entrance, dancing off of Aegon's pale, veiny hand as he knocked. A woman with deep midnight hair cascading down her exposed tanned skin opened the door, hugging the frame as her golden dress did to her curves. You could see Aegon's purple eyes blown with lust as he drank her in, unabashedly wetting his lips.

She smiled, perfectly white teeth showing through her painted lips as she did the same to Aegon. More likely sizing up the potential profit in her head rather than his appearance. Then she looked at you, her smile dropping and full black eyebrows furrowing. You didn't know whether she was displeased at another woman being here, somehow seeing you as competition, or because you seemed so young. Being sized up as if you were any predator unnerved you. You were just a daughter of a whore, raised on moldy bread and stolen apples, not someone to be seen as a rival. You hid behind Aegon, intimidated by the beautiful woman's stare, and tightened your grip on his hand.

He chuckled, more at the fact you were so intimidated by an older woman's disapproving glance you sought him for protection as if he wasn't the very thing that brought you into this situation.

"Do not worry, sweet thing; Mila will not hurt you. The bitch's bark is worse than her bite." You were surprised by his brazen disrespect for the woman who might service him tonight, but she didn't seem fazed.

"This is not the first time you have brought another with you here, your grace, but never one so young, so..." Mila sucked her teeth in disapproval, raking her eyes over what she could see, "so inexperienced." Her insults upset you, and you moved from behind Aegon.

"Do not take age as a lack of experience, woman. I grew up with the sounds of women moaning and men begging to cum. It was my lullaby."

You brushed past her, deliberately bumping your shoulder into hers as you entered the brothel. You didn't need to look at her face to know you got a reaction from her—Aegon's snickering as he followed in after you were assurance enough. He knew that small demeanor could not last long, not in his hatchling.

Music filled the brothel, and the soft murmurs of people chatting amongst themselves melted into the songs, creating a gentle hum in the air. All you could see was gold. Gold walls, chairs, lounge seats, gold pitchers, and chalices of Arbor Red and green liquid as people flited along the main room. Shiny curtain dividers of the same palette divided private rooms as you entered further, the moans and pants becoming louder. Three more women came up, all dressed in varying shades of cream, tan, and gold, taking your cloaks and giving you and Aegon goblets.

It was nice. You could understand the appeal of a man such as Aegon devoting their time to a place like this. They treated you like royalty even when you were not. You were not used to being the one dotted on, usually watching from afar before Madam snatched you away and locked you in your room.

"My Prince," the lithe blonde one said, eyes a stormy grey as she bowed. "It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been so long." She took his hand, leading him to an empty bench as the second girl ushered you close behind. "And I see you have brought a guest with you." Her voice was tight as she addressed you, pursing her lips in an almost pity-like emotion.

Aegon released a breathy laugh, moving his fingers to lace with yours, smiling. "Yes, she is my companion for the evening. I expect her to receive the same treatments you would give me, as she is an extension of my crown tonight."

The girls shared a look, expressions, and wordless conversations thrown at each other before they decided to nod and smile.

"Of course. Whatever our Prince desires shall be given," the brunette nodded. "What shall we get you started tonight, your grace? Wine, mead?" She asked.

Aegon grinned to himself, flipping through all the options of alcohol he could choose for his hatchling, then let out a puff of air with his decision. "The Green Fairy, I would like to start with that, wench."

This time, you could understand the expressions on the ladies' faces. They looked shocked, worried, and scared, even for you, at his drink of choice. They both nodded, not protesting his request, as they got the drink. When they returned, they were holding a different set of glasses. They were crystal, intricate designs that blew into the stem as they set the supplies down. The pitcher was also transparent, and you could see a deep emerald liquid. It was unfamiliar to you, having grown up with mainly bottomless red and purple drinks.

"What is The Green Fairy," you questioned Aegon, leaning closer to him so the girls couldn't hear.

"That is the common name for it, little one. It is called Absinthe, and it is absolutely delightful," he assured you. You hummed, shifting your body centimeters away from him, still nervous.

You continued to watch as the whores sorted the supplies. It was entrancing, a ritualistic setup for something as simple as a drink, gathering ornate spoons with holes in them and pouring the green contents into the cup. It seemed like something a High-Born would drink, so you were not surprised that Aegon chose it. The blonde gathered another pitcher, this one not from the same set, and asked Aegon how he would like it.

"You know how I like it, Carmilla," he retorted, and she gave a slight nod, getting a small wooden stick and lighting the tip on it with a candle flame.

She brought the stick to the Absinthe, creating a burst of fire before it disappeared as Aegon put his palm over it. You stared in awe, your mouth agape as he brought the glass to his nose, removing his hand and inhaling the vapors with a moan before swinging it back. He slammed the empty cup on the wooden table, grinning like a madman at the burn in his throat. You could tell he loved the feeling, a blush creeping up his neck to his ears from the heat.

"And how would the lady like it?" Carmilla asked, gesturing to you.

"I-" you began to stutter, but Aegon came to your rescue.

"The classic way. We would not want to scare my sweetling off from the drink, now, would we? She is not as well versed in The Fairy as I am." He playfully nudged your shoulder, making you giggle. You were sure your skin matched Aegon's, heat covering your entire face and ears with embarrassment. After you just went and said something to Mila, he said something like that.

The brunette grabbed the fancy silver spoon, placing a sugar cube as she poured the Absinthe over it, the liquid running through the holes and into the glass. She repeated the same process as she did with Aegon, grabbing a wood stick but lighting the sugar cube instead of the drink. You watched it carmelize, burning the alcohol off for a few seconds as she slowly poured water over it, careful not to go too fast. It was so beautiful, so mesmerizing, watching the browned sugar slowly melt into the cup. Drip, drip, dripping down until it was dissolved.

Aegon paid no mind to the show before him, staring intently at your whole face. Watching your mouth, brows, and nose scrunch up as your eyes danced across the scene, taking in the unfamiliar experience.

Once all the sugar was gone, you looked at Aegon expectantly, waiting for him to tell you what to do. The realization that you were looking to him-- him to guide you, made his cock harden.

Oh, his little dragon. The things he could show you.

"Drink it, little one," he urged, eyeing you with a jerk of his head. You gave him a half-hearted grin, unsure about the drink. You've, of course, had alcohol before. Most of the time, water was unsafe to drink unless collected from wells or the skies. You had it for almost every meal. Still so young, you did not like the taste but knew the necessity of it. You brought it to your nose, taking a whiff and recoiling your head in disgust, grimacing.

Aegon studied your face, watching your thoughts show themselves. It smelled like madness, reckless abandonment traveling inside your nostrils and bursting into your head, yet it was cool, calming, like the steel of a blade unsheathing from its scabbard. It is... an extraordinary thing.

Adorable.

He repeated the same motion, wordlessly telling you to try it anyways. Well, if Aegon could drink it without so much as a reaction, you could, too... probably.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself as you flung the glass into your mouth, gripping the stem as the alcohol burned your tongue and throat. At first, it wasn't bad, a savory flavor hitting your taste buds, like the herbs a tavern would smell of, but then, everything else came crashing, nearly making you spit out the liquid. Your body heated in embarrassment, tucking your chin to your chest as you tried to hide. Everyone at the table laughed, the two women who were less than enthused about your presence shrieking, gaining the attention of the other patrons in the main room.

Aegon refused to let you wallow in shame as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you up as he cheered. "She's done it," he yelled, looking at the several dozen pairs of eyes trained on you. "Well done, little one!"

The others couldn't help but gather in the celebration, walking closer to the group of you and congratulating you on whatever. Most were too drunk to care, just happy to be around the excitement. You could not help but laugh along, enjoying the attention, something you never got with Madam.

"Another," Aegon shouted as the women repeated the same ritual.

What felt like moments later, you found yourself lying between Aegon's legs on a private bed, your back to his chest, his fingers playing with your frizzy hair and tracing up and down your arm. The room was hazy, but you didn't care. You were too far down in the feeling of his touch. You sighed into him, your glass replaced by some Dornish wine instead of The Green Fairy. You could not feel the burn anymore, tipping back the red drink, some slipping past your lips and down your throat. Your motor skills were sluggish, but your senses were heightened, hearing, feeling every sound and touch, nerves of fire through your body.

Serval women lay next to you, sleepy from the festivities or drunk like you were. Aegon had the tolerance of ten men. You found out after ignorantly challenging him to a duel of cups, which of course, you lost, much to your chagrin.

You hummed softly as Aegon slid his fingertips up your bicep to the base of your throat, wrapping them like a necklace. It tickled that area of your body unfamiliar with touch as you leaned your head back on his shoulder. The whites of his eyes were nearly bloodshot, staring down at your face with blown pupils. You had not realized how attractive he was until now, the yellow light from the torches shining behind him like a halo. He looked ever the prince. You lifted your arm sluggishly, trying to reach for the crown of light but stroking your fingers through his short curly hair instead. It was an acceptable replacement, you decided, closing your eyes to feel the strands between your digits.

Aegon leaned his head closer, resting his forehead on your furthest cheek, his nose poking into the other. You were content with the connection, nearly falling asleep until you felt his hand slide up your neck, gripping your jaw to be level with his. Your lips parted, struggling to breathe through your nose at this angle. His eyes flickered at the movement, then back to yours as you blinked slowly.

You realized too late that he was kissing you, his wet mouth pressed against yours, his tongue feeling it. It felt so lovely, a pleasant tingle traveling to your stomach as you slid your hand further into his hair. Aegon could feel the hot air leaving your nose faster, tightening his grip on your jaw. You whimpered into his mouth, the slight pinching uncomfortable but not unwelcomed.

Everything felt... heavenly. Aegon's touch was a gift from the Gods, one you accepted with open arms as he trailed his free hand down the front of your dress, pressing into the small space the fabric dipped between your legs. A jolt of ecstasy went through your body, causing you to part from him as you hiccuped a moan. He repeated the motion, pressing what felt like a button harder, making your eyes roll back into your head.

You knew there were ways to pleasure a woman other than penetration but did not understand the anatomy of it; perhaps this was what they were talking about?

Aegon continued pressing, now rubbing in tight circles as your humid breath covered the vellus hairs on his face, moving your hips to seek more friction. You were raised in a brothel. You knew about sex, practically an expert by the time you were ten and one, but the logistics were lost. As a child, you had a curious mind like any other, sneaking peaks through keyholes at the working girls at Madam's before she would grab you by your ear and haul you to your room. It was natural how your body reacted to Aegon, and you did not mind it.

"Aegon," you breathed against his skin, your eyes half-lidded as he kissed your neck. He hummed, nipping at the skin as you squeaked.

"You sound heavenly," he whispered, rubbing himself against your back.

"It feels..." You trailed off, losing yourself in the pleasure.

"Tell me, little one, tell me how you feel." Your back arched as a loud moan filled the small room, causing some guests to stir.

"It feels so... so good," you cried, rutting your core onto his fingers. He chuckled into your shoulder, nipping your collarbone as his free hand laced with yours.

A woman opened her eyes, disturbed by your loud noises, but she didn't seem to care, rolling onto her other side and going to sleep. You bit your lip, embarrassed that something so intimate, which was supposed to be done in the privacy of only two people, was in the middle of an audience.

"Do not silence yourself, my little dragon. Let them hear you roar."

You were lost, lost in the sea of alcohol and ecstasy Aegon had rowed you out too. The brackish waters pulled you under, and you struggled to fight them, running out of the will to do so. A tear leaked from the corner of your eye, running down your temple and into your hairline. He kissed it away, licking his lips and groaning at the salty taste.

Gods, he wanted to come so badly. He wanted to sink into your virgin cunt, tearing your maidenhead as your blood coated him, spilling his seed inside you. But despite what his family said about him-- despite what everyone said about him, he could be a good man—a good man for you.

"A-Aegon, it is happening." You knew what was coming, but not the name for it, not what this little death was called. "It-it's happening."

"Shh, shh," he brushed the strands of your dark hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, squeezing your hand in reassurance. "Let it happen," Aegon soothed, "let it happen."

You shrieked, allowing the waves to drag you under, consuming every fiber of your being with pure, unfiltered pleasure. Your crushed his grip, your hips moving wildly and burying your face in his neck while you cried. Having your senses heightened and stoked simultaneously was too much to handle. Aegon held you the entire time, pulling you out from under the ocean as air finally filled your lungs.

Your body shook, soft mewls escaping as the aftershocks wore off. You hated it but loved it. You wanted it again. You finally understood Aegon, why he sought out pleasure the way he did, for if it always felt like this, you would too.

"How are you, sweet thing," he asked, moving his hand between your legs and your face, cupping your cheek.

You couldn't respond, only groaning as your eyes closed. Aegon laughed, pulling your body on top of him as he laid back down on the sheets, head resting on the pillow. You felt yourself falling asleep.

"Thank you," he spoke quietly. You had never heard a man thank a woman for giving her pleasure. You turned your head, questioning his gratitude. He gently placed your head back on his chest, and you did not protest, too exhausted from everything that had happened.

Aegon's cock was in pain from the denial of your touch, silently begging for you. It had been problematic throughout the entire day, never ceasing the constant pumping as you explored the city. He had no idea how he managed to control himself for so long. Self-restraint was not his strong suit, but you changed him. You made him different. Aegon wanted to defile you when he saw your sticky fingers steal a bracelet off a noblewoman's wrist. 

But you were precious, his little dragon, and you could not force a bond with a dragon no matter how much one willed it. It must be the dragon's choice. 

Master List of Series

I hope y'all don't hate me for this chapter...

Thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlyka, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

A horned protector

Warning ⚠️ ; Cursing, mention of past character death, abuse of alcohol, blood.

Pairing; none, reader is inside a male body

Summary; You don't enjoy it, and neither do the brothers, but the three of you are stuck together because of their father. John Winchester outsmarted you, binding you in a deal to watch and protect his sons. Well, only Dean. And tonight, you are doing just that.

Ps; I did not mean for this story to be this long. Hope y'all like a long read!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Being a demon wasn't always easy or fun. For example, you were stuck with two hunters who despised your existence and wanted nothing more than to kill you! So why stick around? Because their father had outsmarted you on a deal. You were still mad about it.

You had known and tormented John Winchester for years. You used to have fun stalking him during his hunts or just following him and messing around. You could remember that time you followed him on a vampire hunt, exaggerating everything; the sneaking around, the search for clues. You even put on a Sherlock Holmes costume!

Oh, how John hated you! He even once tried to run you over with the Impala. It was good memories. Well, until that night when John summoned you specifically on a crossroad. It was shocking and unexpected.

You could still remember the seriousness and solemnity in his eyes as he made his deal with you. That upon his death you would watch and protect his sons against Azazel. Well, mostly Dean. For some reason, John had put an emphasis on protecting his eldest boy. But there had been a trick; that he could still make a deal with another demon if its meant protecting and or saving his sons.

You hadn't believed it would happen. It was so precise!

And then it did.

John Winchester had died and the deal had to be followed.

It had been a few years and you had failed not once, but twice. Sam had been stabbed to death and Dean had made a deal, ending with his soul being dragged into hell. Yes. You had failed miserably and it was pitiful. You had given your all even when the boys had tried to kill you, you stayed around to watch over them, but it was as if an outside force had been against you.

It intrigued you, especially now that you had learned about the so-called ‘prophet’ the brothers had met and who was a writer. That Chuck had written about their life, even about you, which had been both a surprise and shock with how accurately he had been describing some events. It also made you wary. What other capacity did that man have? Could he hurt Dean and Sam?

Those thoughts were on your mind as you walked toward the brother’s motel room. The Impala was parked in front of it, guiding you in the right direction. The boys were hunting something, you didn't really pay attention to what, for the past week. They were lost in the middle of Texas on a full moon and you could tell it impacted them differently.

Sam, bless his heart, stayed happy and festive researching their monster restlessly. You hadn't seen him for the past two days but knew he was fine thanks to Dean.

Dean who was the one taking it the worse. While he kept smiling for his little brother you saw the emptiness behind his eyes, the way he clenched his jaws and how his nights were filled with nightmares. Dean didn't know you knew as you came only when they slept by fear of either getting shot or stabbed.

Well, except tonight.

You had gone out of your way to get the boys more supplies for their hunts after seeing they were getting low. Silver bullets and knives, salt and you even braved the Church to get some holy water, burning your hand on the process. But it was a small price to pay if it could help keep the Winchester brothers alive.

The bag hanging on your shoulder, you moved your free hand to unlock the door the the brothers’ room, calling for Dean.

- “Hey pieface, guess what I got for y'all!”

You barely finished your sentence when a shadow mover in front of your eyes. You barely had the time to duck, dropping the bag, before pain exploded in your face.

Hand clenched tightly around Dean’s wrist, your demonic eyes stared at the eldest brother with both amusement and pride. You chuckled as you forced Dean to remove the knife from your cheek. A few inches more and you would have dropped death.

- “My, my! Look at the mess you are making Dean.” You said, your demonic eyes turning to the blade as blood poured out of your opening cheek. You could feel the flesh hanging against your jaw, exposing your teeth. “Better clean it up before Sammy comes back.”

- “What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean asked, snatching his wrist out of your grip.

- “Bringing you some gift!”

You bowed down, grabbed the bag and shoved it in Dean’s arms. You watched him walk to the table and drop everything on it. You could smell the scent of alcohol clearly, almost as if you had the bottle right under your nose. You frowned, watching closely as Dean examined everything.

The eldest brother was clearly tipsy now that you watched more attentively. You clicked your tongue annoyed with how careless Dean was. You knew how he had a lot on both his shoulders and mind, but the bottle wasn't the answer. Yet, you said nothing, your eyes looking around to see the bottles of beer and other alcohol around the room.

With a wave of your hand, you moved them all together before proceeding to clean. You felt Dean’s gaze staring holes in your back and almost laughed, but didn't. You just remembered what day it was.

Today was the anniversary of John Winchester’s death.

You sighed softly as you put the last bottle in the trash back before turning your attention to Dean. He had dropped down on the bed, feet hanging from the mattress and his back turned to you. For a second you imagined him as a small pouting child, which he kinda was. You didn't want to know just how bad the situation would turn out when Sam would come back…

You left Dean pouting on the bed and went to take care of your face. Grabbing a needle and some thread you stitched your cheek back together before taking off your shirt and washing it in the sink. You didn't want to trigger Sam with the smell of your blood, knowing how hard the boy had worked to get ride of his addiction.

Clean, you walked out of the bathroom to get ride of your blood that had fallen on the ground. Still on the bed, Dean stared at you, eyes clouded by the alcohol. You clicked your tongue like a disappointed father before looking at him.

- “You are on a hunt, Dean. Why are you drinking like that?”

- “Fuck you. Get out of our room.”

You rolled your eyes and threw away the blood-soaked tissues before making a knot in the bag.

- “Yeah, I will. For five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

Carrying the trash bag, you went outside. The air was heavy and humid and there was no breeze. You saw no one else outside and yet still felt like you were being watched. Frowning, you hurried to throw away the trash. Looking around you, you couldn't see anything alive. Not in the trees or on the ground nor in the sky.

But the feeling was still there.

You weren't alone out there.

Grinding your teeth, you went back inside and locked the door. The sound had Dean sitting on the bed staring at you angrily.

- “What the fuck are you…” Dean tried to ask before you interrupted him.

- “Shut up. We are not alone and something was outside watching me.” You said, grabbing a shotgun and throwing it at him. “Get ready, I bet its about to get messy.”

That was enough to sober up Dean who grabbed the gun and got up, joining you in the middle of the room. Your eyes were glued to the window even if the curtains were closed. Next to you, Dean was calling Sam to tell him to come back as quickly as possible.

He didn't mention that you were there.

Outside you heard the gravel crunching as something walked around in front of the door and window. Immediately Dean raised his gun, ready to shoot if anything tried to enter. You waved your hand, turning off the lights, trying to make you two as discreet as possible. You could still see clearly, unlike Dean.

The sound of footsteps became quieter until then silence was all that was left. Dean’s breathing was the only thing you could hear and neither of you moved nor dropped your guard. It wasn't over, you knew it. Whatever was outside had watched you and saw where you went.

It knew you were in there.

You moved, ever so slightly, keeping Dean behind you. Whatever that thing was, you didn't want to take the risk for Dean to be hurt. Not only because of your deal with John but also because Dean had been drinking. His reflexes weren't going to be as fast as normally.

- “Oi fucker, what are you doing?” Dean asked, voice barely audible.

- “Honoring my deal with your father, pieface.” You replied with a chuckle.

The next seconds passed in a blur.

The sound of broken glass filled the room as a growl broke the silence of the night. A shadow jumped between the curtains ready to pounce on you and Dean. Without thinking you raised your hand and sent the thing flying against the wall. Dean didn't lose a second and immediately shot at it.

The monster moved before any bullet hit it.

Knowing what was to come, you turned your attention on Dean. With the same trick, you sent Dean flying out of the room by the broken window. The young man screamed and you smiled as the creature tackled you to the ground, fangs and claws digging in your flesh. You didn't scream, fingers finding the thing’s eyes and pushing them deep.

Warm blood pulsed and rolled down your hands and wrists as the creature howled in pain. You didn't let go and kept digging, feeling the eyes break under your fingers and nails scratching the bones.

You gasped and coughed as blood and brain matter splashed all over your faces. The sound of a gunshot echoed in the room and the corpse fell on top of you. Groaning, you pushed the carcass off top of you and sat, disgust painted all over your face. You turned your attention toward the window where Dean stood, shotgun still pointed on the dead creature.

- “We need to go, now. Cops won't be long to get here and I don't want to have to explain this mess. Grab everything, I’ll get the car ready.” Dean said before walking away.

Not questioning him, you did as told. Within a minute you had gathered all the brothers’ belongings and the things you had gotten for them. The next, you sat next to Dean as he drove you away to go get Sam. The silence was heavy and even you didn't dare say a word. There was something, like a fragile balance, between the two of you. So fragile that a single sound would brake it and make Dean snap.

Which happen even if you didn't said a word.

The eldest Winchester hit the break and before you could ask what he was doing, his fist collided with your already injured jaw. Then another fist followed and another. It took you a few seconds to realize that Dean was crying, his whole body shaking with each sob. You couldn't make out what he was saying, but guessed he was cursing you like always.

You didn't defend yourself, allowing Dean to just let it all out until you finally caught a few words. Your fault. Didn't do enough. Abandoned us.

He wasn't hitting you.

He was hitting what you represented.

No.

Who you represented.

His father who hadn't been present. His father who had been so hard and rough on him and who, in the end, had died before they could talk about everything. John had died leaving Dean without ny closure.

Dean hadn't been drinking because he was sad, but because he was angry.

After a few minutes, you gently grabbed Dean by the shoulders and he stopped. In your hands, you could feel his body shaking with every sob. If you could still feel emotions, the sight would have broken your heart. But you were a demon. You had lost your humanity a long time ago.

You both kept quiet. Dean by shame, you because you didn't know what to say. Dean drove away until you came across a familiar car; the one Sam had used to go to the library. You stopped again and Sam jumped in, abandoning his car. The door was barely closed that Dean was off again.

- “What the fuck happened to you?” Sam asked you, leaning between your and Dean’s seat.

- “Got a visit from your friend. I don't think he loved me much!” You said jokingly, waving your hands to show your wounds. “Sorry for the smell sweetheart.”

- “Anyway. What are you doing here?” Sam asked after a few seconds of silence.

- “I came to give y'all a bag of ammunition and other things y'all could use during your hunts. I saw how low you were on your inventory.”

Sam looked at you in surprise and suspicion. Of course, the youngest would wonder if you were doing it for another reason than to help. He looked at his brother, expecting Dean to deny what you said, but when his brother said nothing, Sam simply nodded and thanked you.

Slowly, they were learning to trust you. After all, you never lied to them, not even once. And in the future, you would be the only one to do so. Unknown to you three, there would be even more tragedy and danger to come, but you would be there, always.

You would be their horned protector until it killed you.

[qiu-yan]

16, 17, 22, 23 for the ask game?

choose violence ask game

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

answered here!

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

there's a decent amount of this sort of content already, but i'm always happy to see more content revolving around jiang cheng, jin guangyao, and qin su's coparenting adventures.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

honestly, i feel like all the parts of canon i enjoy have no shortage of other fans, due simply to how big and diverse this fandom is. that said...

canonically, the yiling patriarch was op as fuck. wei wuxian was not some uwu unfairly maligned defenseless innocent, he was one of the most powerful, genius, and dangerous people of his generation. wei wuxian is not weak! wei wuxian is a once-in-a-lifetime genius who invented entirely new modes of violence and cruelty, and being afraid of him is in fact an entirely understandable response!

one of the things i really appreciate about MDZS is that, from their own flawed and half-informed point of view, the public turning against wei wuxian was not entirely unreasonable. it's very easy to write a story in which The Evil Society turns against the Poor Maligned Protagonist for no good reason, thereby making it look like your fictional universe is inhabited purely by morons, but MXTX did not write that story. MXTX actually put thought into her story, so the internal logic guiding the public's actions, while flawed and morally corrupt, is still something the reader can logically follow. even if we disagree with their conclusions, we can still logically understand how the mob got from point A to point B.

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

xicheng. for precisely one reason: it would make lan wangji really mad.

i already really enjoy the massive haters-forced-to-become-BILs relationship between lan wangji and jiang cheng. and now you're telling me there's a way we can add even more BIL drama to the mix? we can give lan wangji a reason to beef with jiang cheng that's entirely unrelated to wei wuxian? we can have someone provide snarky asshole commentary on how lan wangji ding dong ditched lan xichen at the end of canon? sign me up. i am already on board.

there are a lot of reasons to ship xicheng, and there are a lot of reasons not to ship xicheng. the xicheng that exists in my mind is just as much of a problem-causing ship as it is a problem-solving ship (a post for another day). but listen. i don't care about any of that. none of that matters to me. the one and only thing that does matter to me is making lan wangji seethe.

i've also come around to lan qiren x jiang cheng for similar (identical) reasons.

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

so you made a post about hand movements that the ninja need to do but what about wu garmadon lloyd (with gold) and skylor do they need to do anything also for jesse what hand action does he have to do for each ability he has

Wu and Garmadon have had their powers for nearly two hundred years; they're both at a point where they can just think and thus do. I think there's a post that explains that Garmadon's hand motions are mostly for intimidation factor, but he can literally just look at something and burst it to pieces if he wants to.

Wu, meanwhile, also has the habit of 'thinking' things into existence (usually cups of tea), but in more serious situations (such as against Pythor during the unleashing of the Devourer), he's more likely to rely on hand motions for precision reasons, though "What" hand motions he uses are entirely dependent on what he's trying to create + the effect he's trying to accomplish.

As mentioned, once Lloyd fully taps into the Golden Power properly, he doesn't really need to rely on his hands much at all. He takes after his father in this regard, only relying on hand motions for the intimidation factor nksnksnk (though again, that's only on the case of GP; GE is a different kettle of fish)

Skylor is an interesting case, because prior to S4 she doesn't have much of an opportunity to test to fully limits of her powers, let alone the limits of anyone else's elements. Essentially, during the tournament, she's learning the elements on the fly, and despite being an absurdly skilled fighter and remarkably naturally adaptive to begin with, still getting a foreign element to do precisely what she wants is a steep learning curve. Thus, her first time using elements are either sloppy or merely rely on basic maneuvers (like simply thrusting forward and shooting out the element), OR mimicked from what's she's observed from other fighters (and part of why Kai's one of the first she copies the power of; as he is one of the first she gets to witness fight firsthand).

(But once she goes good and becomes a ninja associate, training with the others + getting access to Miranda's Compendium does help her become the refined badass she is –and DESERVES to be— come Crystalized time)

...And now for Jesse:

*claps hands* With his Element being Surprise, technically Jesse could do *any* hand motion and get any Effect; i.e. something granted by his NRG Ability (which he currently doesn't have). And, this would probably be a more effective use of his powers, as that's one more way his opponents would be less able to predict his movements.

HOWEVER

With a) Jesse currently not having full control over all his powers to begin with and b) him being so RELIANT on the hand motions to even get them to work at all, Jesse generally "assigns" a hand motions to each Effect for him to easily remember and readily call upon as needed.

Finger Snaps: Sound* (one hand finger snap, loud boom happens)

Hand Claps: Nature (obvious is obvious), Light* (like clapping to turn on one of those fancy lamps, except with any/all lights in the room)

Finger Motion: Ice (traces ice mirrors), Lightning (two fingers forward for Paralyzer; also requires direct contact with target)

Arm Raise (Vertical): Fireworks (both arms cast upwards to fire off fireworks); Form (one arm cast upward to conure up an after image)

Arm Raise (Horizontal): Smoke (both arms cast out to conjure a smokescreen cloud), Poison (one arm forward for Laughing Gas)

Arms Behind Back: Shadow (clasps his arms behind him before sinking into his own shadow)

Hadouken Pose: Earth (lmao hear me out, he puts his wrists together and shoots outward to charge other elements with Surprise)

Other: Surprise (any hand motion can be used to generate base sparkles), Speed (starts off requiring a two-handed finger snap, but eventually becomes something Jesse can do just by thinking with more practice even pre-Full Potential), Mind (technically the only base power that doesn't require hand motions at all, as it's literally telekinesis), Metal (doesn't technically require hand motions as Jesse just channeling surprise into the metal of his weapon to change its shape), Gravity (Hover activates with a small hop and/or flip first, also no hand motion required) , Nature (...can also be activated via coughing)

*(Sound and Speed also alternate hand motions with each other depending on scenario)

...and Miracle Make (Effect of Energy) can only be achieved post-Full Potential anyway, so only hand motions wouldn't be enough to cut it regardless