#-so i 'inherited' a lot of the old ways and stuff)

[stellylee]

"These days, you're probably more likely to have paper plates passed down," although they weren't sure what the likelihood was of those things sticking around for generations. Still, it seemed to be more used than fine china, which a lot of people couldn't even afford. But there were other things that you could inherit, or memories that you could keep with you, and those counted just as much, if not more. At least to Stelly. "Okay, that's fair," they laughed, nodding their head, "because then it becomes a liability if they get hurt. Or if, god forbid, anyone else gets hurt," which was even worse, since it wasn't their fault. Not to mention the cleaning, and that wasn't really fun, either. "I'm happy with thrifting other peoples nice glass, though. I don't want to purchase more of it, I want the good, old fashioned stuff that was actually worth something," and not made cheap and on the fly the way that so many things were those days. No, they wanted the real stuff. That wasn't so much to ask, they didn't think. "Although I'm not against finessing some free gifts out of people, either," even if they probably would end up feeling bad eventually… but eventually, not right away. "Nope, but it's a winner, anyway," they struck a cowboy pose before laughing. "Come on, I think we need to gather some yee-haw friends and go dosey-do or drink whiskey or something."

“People tend to be really protective of their possessions, especially their prized ones. I mean, I feel like the fine china being passed down from generation to generation doesn’t happen anymore. We’re good with the less fancy stuff but for them it’s special,” she admitted. She definitely could understand if they were passed down for several generations and were special that they might be something that someone wanted to protect. At the end of the day, it was just a plate though. “I’m glad no one has ever fussed at me about breaking a plate,” she said with a shrug. “Though I have had to have a strongly word conversation with a person or two at the bar for breaking liquor bottles. We all have our things.” There was also a safety thing there though. Broken glass meant having to really clean up since giving someone a shard in their beer probably wouldn’t fly with the Health Inspector. In her personal life, she wouldn’t have been a fan either though. It was definitely always better to reuse than throw something in the trash. “Maybe you’ll be the one to bring back the fancy dishes in your family. Maybe you and Mandy can make a faux registry and let people buy you nice things. She can get them one week and then you’ll get them the next for now.” That was definitely an idea. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Poser Cowboys wasn’t on my Wedding bingo card.”

[addicted-to-the-knife]

I finally had the chance to watch the Boston panel.

and I'm starting to think that a lot of you either haven't watched it yourselves, or were so set on specific opinions you personally have, while also having clear expectations of what their answers will be, that with their answers (or what are talked about as their answers) made you so unhappy that now you're just bashing them; especially Hugh.

why, though? none of the things I've seen people complain about were actually said like that or fully implied. so... what? doesn't make sense to me why some of you are so upset about this panel. it was so much fun and just lighthearted entertainment. panels like that are the reason these things exist and are usually so much fun in the first place.

[marnz]

thinking about how wealth is relational, it cannot be understood or defined without understanding your relationship to others, and how this feeds perfectly into Marx’s three types of alienation, primarily the alienation of the worker from their fellow workers, as well as the concept of class consciousness.

if you ask someone if they are rich and they say “well it depends on what you mean by ‘rich.’ what is your criteria? how much do you make? what is the cost of living like? what kind of wealth are you measuring?” it sounds like they’re talking around the issue. They aren’t. You cannot even begin to comprehend your place in the world, your relationship to power—your class—without understanding the vast gulf between you and everyone around you and the billionaires of the world. everything else is a distraction designed to work in the billionaires’ favor.

[beescake]

i am in love with your sollux i think

sollux love party :]

if you’re interested heres some of my personal fondness thoughts on him.. big warning for the mega long read ahead aye

as we alr know sollux's rejection of participation somewhat mirrors dave's rejection of heroism, but even without getting cooked to completion i still find sollux's character v compelling beyond the fourth wall

as someone who doesnt get a pinch of that Protagonist Sparkle to begin with, he can openly say he wants to leave anytime…. and unlike dave, he actually Can leave the scene anytime. but he can never be truly Free from the story via permanent character death like the other trolls.

his irrelevancy is indeed relevant - he’s there so u can point him out.

while his image is intended to be a relic of past internet subculture, his role is not only about hehehaha being a Chad or a 2000s cyberforum 2²chan haxxor ragequit gamebro.

his continued existence also happens to add a Bit to the overarching themes of homestuck! a Bit that gives him longer-lasting thematic relevance compared to the trolls who could’ve had more character potential but didnt get to survive beyond the main story.

the Bit in question:

his defiance contributes to the illusion of agency (treating characters = people with autonomy). he’s “aware” of it, and that recognition is worth noting enough to forcibly keep him alive as both reward and punishment.

considering how his personality & classpect is designed its definitely a very haha thing for hussie to do LOL. he’s made to be op asf so he's resigned to doing dirty work, gradually deteriorating along the way but never truly dying. as fans have mentioned before, him openly rejecting involvement after a while of grim tolerance is like if the sim u were controlling suddenly stopped, looked up and gave u the finger while u were step six into the walkthrough for Every Possible Sim Death Animation.

but since he’s just a sim… the more he hates it, the more you keep him around. if ur sim started complaining abt your whimsical household storyline you’d definitely keep that little fuck.

but yeah i like that sollux is just idling. the significance of his presence being that one dude who's always reliably Somewhere, root core Unchanged, no individual ambitions (possibly due to fear of consequence?), and design-wise: a staple representative product of his time.

compared to dirk's character, who has aged phenomenally well into the present (themes of control + AR + artificial intelligence, clearer exploration around navigating relationships/sexuality, infinite possibilities of self-splinterhood and trait inheritance), sollux's potential is really... contained. bitter. defeatist. limiting and frustrating in the way old tech is.

the world continues moving on to shinier, brighter, more advanced automated things - minimalist and metaverse or whatever but sollux is still here 🧍‍♂️ going woohoo redblue 3d. (tho personally i imagine his vibe similar to what the kids call cassette futurism on pinterest mixed w more grimy grunge insectoid influences eheh)

conceptually-speaking,

at the foundation of it all, the rapid pace of modern development was built off the understanding of ppl like sollux in the past, who were There actively at work while the dough was still beginning to rise

thats one of the cool things abt the idea of trolls preceding humans! the idea that trolls like sollux excelled back when lots of basic shit still needed to be discovered, building structures like networks and codes from scratch, and humans will eventually inherit and reinvent that knowledge in ways that become so optimized it makes the old manual effort seem archaic, slow, and labour-intensive.

but despite information/resources/shortcuts being more accessible now, much of the new highly-anticipated stuff released on trend still end up unfinished, inefficient, or expiring quickly due to cutting corners under severe capitalistic pressures

meanwhile, some of the old stuff frm past generations of thorough, exploratory and perfectionistic development still remains working, complete, and ever so sturdy.

those things continue to exist, just outside our periphery with either:

zero purpose left for modern needs (outdated/obsolete)

or

far too important to replace or destroy, bcs of its surprisingly essential and circumstantial usefulness in one niche specific area.

which are honestly? both points that sum up sollux pree well.

dramatic ending sorry. anw are u still on the fence or are u Sick abt him like me </3

[signanothername]

Was listening to “The Court Jester” before I thought of something.

Does your version of Nightmare have like, a will of some sort? Like, if Nightmare were to die because if Dream had won against him and like, killed nightmare or nightmare just died cause he old and crusty (/hj), would Killer get his things?? Like his mansion/castle, clothing, throne, prized possessions, etc. .or would Killer just mourn over Nightmare, wander around the castle and like, get nothing but help himself to things inside of it? Finding his secrets and stuff like that?

Interesting question >:)

Ok so i feel like it’s pretty much clear Nightmare does own a lot of things, his castle one of them of course

But I feel like had Nightmare died Killer wouldn’t inherit anything after, cause to inherit something you need to be a family, which Killer isn’t, and tbh, I don’t think Killer would ever care enough to want to inherit Nightmare’s possessions regardless, he certainly wouldn’t care if Nightmare died either

Nightmare’s death would negatively impact Killer, but not in a “Killer would feel sad and mourn Nightmare” kinda way, more like “Killer had been a bit codependent on Nightmare to find purpose that now Nightmare’s dead he doesn’t truly understand what to do with his life” kinda way, but even then, it’s not like Killer truly understood if he had any purpose at all anymore other than to be someone’s killing machine, so i feel like he’d move on to do whatever the fuck he wants anywhere he wants

Killer would simply abandon the castle and go somewhere else, especially with the fact that the one who kept him trapped there no longer exists to continue keeping him there, and it’s not like Killer holds any attachment to it or Nightmare, Killer can’t feel anything most of the time anyway, and even when he does (stage 1) it’s not like he holds Nightmares in high regard (especially with how Nightmare treated him)

Know who’d actually inherit Nightmare’s possessions tho? Dream, and unlike Killer, I can see Dream actually genuinely caring about inherenting every little thing Nightmare ever owned, cause Nightmare’s possessions are the only things left of his now dead brother, Dream would heavily mourn the loss of his brother and I can even see him taking care of Nightmare’s possessions for the rest of his ageless life, making sure the castle is spotless (spring cleaning if you will) he’d take all Nightmare had, from paperwork, to photos, to books, to the crescent golden crown and keep them somewhere safe, making sure they never wear down with time

Dream knows Nightmare actually cares about keeping things prestine and he aims to keep it as prestine as he possibly can (and maybe it’s cause of the crushing guilt weighing him down about how both their lives had been, and how he couldn’t ever fix it)

And who knows, maybe Dream would start healing when he realizes that there’s a tiny part of Nightmare that still cared about him even after his corruption in the process ;)

Part 2 (of sorts)

Part 3 (a lil bit)

Part 4

[maxwellatoms]

Hello Mr. Atoms, I'm an animation student in college and fan of your work. I got this assignment in which I need to ask questions to a professional in the area. Could you pretty please answer them? It'd mean a lot to me.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

Okey dokey.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

Not really, in that there seems to be no career left.

The animation industry swelled its numbers greatly before 2020. Almost immediately after that, corporate greed synergized with a pandemic to reduce animated programs and the number of people working on them to almost zero. It takes almost a year from beginning to end to make a single episode of an animated show (by the modern standard). There was nothing being made in 2020 and four years later, we''re not in a much better spot. It's going to be a long drought for (especially) Kid's TV Animation.

Recently, many of my former co-workers have hit the financial wall and can't continue, moving away after (sometimes) 20 years in the industry. I begin to wonder if I'm very far behind.

A "bounce back" a year from now would need to start today. There are still some animated shows being made now, but those are almost universally "library" properties. That means it's an existing I.P. (Intellectual Properties like Garfield/Mario/Batman/Star Wars) so as an artist you're immediately in that box. Depending on the property and the studio, it can be an unpleasantly tight box. I grew used to holding and maintaining the vision for a show, but it's less fun when it's not my vision. It's even less fun when you can't inspire someone to follow your vision because they've been so ruthlessly abused.

I'm pretty sick of how big media corporations treat their employees. If I inherit one more burnt out crew due to mismanagement, I'm gonna lose it.

Over a decade ago I fought hard to get board artists story credit for the episodes they were actually writing, and felt like I'd won a big victory for everyone. The second my back was turned, it all reverted.

Mostly... what is the point now? My career is/was developing ideas, crafting those ideas into a workable show, then managing teams of thirty to seventy people to produce a couple of dozen episodes per year. Studios actively do not want new ideas right now, and are actively searching for ways to eliminate what artists from the process. I'm not sure what my job would be under this new system, but it feels like they decided to hang onto the anxiety-inducing deadlines while removing anything remotely pleasurable from the experience.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

It's the only way to get anything done, currently.

The current state of the industry is not sustainable. I (along with a lot of other animators I know) are trying to decide what's next, and pretty much everyone agrees that "you just have to make something".

It is (in that very specific way) a great time to be a young animator. The system was never going to treat you well anyway. If you can get something like a Hazbin Hotel happening without studio help, you can currently write your own ticket. I'm super proud of Vivsie, because that's a LOT of stuff to handle. I never had to handle my own marketing or drum up money to make Billy & Mandy happen.

There are opportunities there, but it's definitely "Hard Mode". The best idea is probably to team up with a few other people you like and like to work with.

Hopes? I hope that the young animators take over and make something new on top of the bones of the old industry, rather than just allowing that industry to patch its rotting hide with their collected works.

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

I suspect true AI might just peace-out like ScarJo in "Her", but we're not there yet. What we have now isn't Artificial Intelligence at all (though I do believe it may be the underpinnings of the Artificial Suconscious of what may one day become an actual Artificial Intelligence.)

The LLMs and "Generative AI" are (so far) a big dumb waste. They consume tons of energy and aren't great for doing anything creative. If you've sat down with Chat GPT for a creative writing session, you've probably run into the "out of the box" limitations which prevent it from talking about sex or violence-- which happen to be a major component of most stories.

Still, the technology has come incredibly far in an incredibly short amount of time. I imagine we're going to hit the point where we're being hazed by artificially generated political ads way before Generative AI can produce a consistent and usable character turnaround, so that'll be the test. Whatever the legal fallout is from this stuff over the next few years will set the tone.

Still, studios have a vested interest in pleasing their shareholders. Generative AI potentially has the capability of not only replacing swaths of money-eating artists, but handing that control directly to the billionaire studio heads. Mark my words: We're headed straight for billionaire-generated content.

I don't think the public at large will want to watch Elon Musk's fever dreams, so there's that. So law and general distaste might stave it off for a while, but I think there's just too much impetus for studios to continue to try to please their investors. "AI Art" is here to stay.

Eventually that will lead to millions and millions of bots generating millions and millions of songs and paintings and movies all day every day. Most of it will be utter trash. Right now (so I'm told) viewers are already burnt out, and will generally only click on what they already know. On Netflix, where there are twenty things you've never heard of and one you have, you're more likely to pick the thing that gives you comfort and gives you a guarantee you're not wasting your time. With exponentially more A.I. trash, how would you even begin to filter it out?

You'd need absolute control of an already existing distribution system. We currently have a few of those, and all of the media companies are desperately trying to merge with them to insure their own survival.

To me, the post-Gen-AI landscape looks a lot like old-school Cable, but with endless I.P. and fewer masters.

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

The real question is, maybe, "What am I even doing?" These days I try to do a lot of gardening. I'm trying to learn new art skills, because suddenly twenty five years of experience managing, drawing, and writing isn't worth much. I recently worked on Jellystone until Zaslav lost 2.5 billion in the wash and had to find justification for his new yacht. The show before that? Also culled midway through to save money. The days of multi-year gigs seem to be over, and if I'm going to scrape by doing freelance, maybe I can do that somewhere else.

I'll always make art. I can't seem to help it. Ideas aren't my problem-- it's executing those ideas without the help of a structured pre-existing system. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to pull that off. My strengths are great, but were always supported by friends I worked with.

Can I start an indie cartoon with all of these cool friends? Sure, maybe. Most of those people have gone on to have other careers of their own and got used to being paid. Now nobody is getting paid and no one can pay anyone else. My immediate circle are all now middle-aged people with families and no jobs. Convincing them to give up a large chunk of their day for an idea that's not guaranteed to pay off is going to take some real effort.

I technically have fifteen years until I can claim my "retirement", assuming that still exists by then. That's a pretty big hole to fill with... I don't know what.

The difficult "What comes next" discussions at home are really just starting.

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

There are a lot of cool animation people out there. I already mentioned I was proud of Vivsie. I was also reminded recently just how great C.H. Greenblatt and Mr. Warburton are. I know they're my friends. They're both just really upstanding, creative people who take good care of their crews.

The treatment of animation industry professionals by the studio system has been one of the most demoralizing and heartbreaking parts of this demoralizing and heartbreaking time.

---

So there ya go. If you want to look for someone whose attitude is a little more upbeat, I won't blame you a bit.

Wherever you are, I wish you the best of luck. For me, just climb up there and crush it. I would very much like to add you to #5 someday.

[rqbossman]

Hiya Sir Alex, sir.

May I ask how old are you? Sorry, if it came out too strong. Because you act/sound like you're in your mid 20s but out of nowhere you just say stuff like "Ah, yes. When I was a younger man, I used floppy disks and wrote with quill and ink". I mean you still look fairly young in my opinion. My working theory is that you're an immortal being or you moisturize to have a younger looking face.

Sorry, if this is too personal, no need to answer.

Lol you might be the only one who thinks I look younger than I am! So I am 35 meaning I grew up in the early 90s inheriting hand-me-downs from the 80s. (hence the floppy disk talk). I remember living pre mobiles, pre internet and even pre-computers in that I only knew one family that had one and they were all doctors. I also had a very "traditional" upbringing that even included ettiquet lessons from my father. (not joking). That said I have been online for most of my life and been making memes since before a lot of our audience was born. I also have a lot of younger relatives which helps. Lastly I think people in the creative industries just tend to give off that vibe in general. I have this theory that it's because none of us allow oursleves to act like adults until we've properly "made it" but since none of us actually achieve that we are left as perpetually adolescent in some respects.

Also I can't stress how immature I am in certain ways. I think I behave like a pompous teenager but look like a 45yr old dad with body problems!

[vaokses]

I worked the blade to make it deeper

Series Masterlist / General Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Nearly two years have gone by since you left with your mother for Dragonstone, and yet your absence is as sharp as the first day. Rumors spread through King's Landing about how a Tyrell knight has captured your heart, and these rumors haunt Aegon, from the Keep to the taverns, leading him, drunk and reckless, to a brothel in the Street of Silk. Not in search of comfort, or in search of some illusion of you to keep him company through the night, but in search of something else.

Word Count: 4.4k 

Warnings: 18+. Smut (slight). Prostitution. Dubious consent. Drunkenness, alcohol consumption. Voyeurism. Self-harming or self-destructive actions/thoughts. Aegon's head is not in a good place at all. Descriptions/Allusions to panic attacks. A lot of angst, just a lot of it. Hurt and no comfort. Allusions to bad BDSM practices. I write this with sub!Aegon in mind, by the way, I don't know how explicit it is in this work, but it's there, and I'm warning you in case it's not your cup of tea. If I missed any warning tags, I apologize, and please let me know.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Same universe as How long this love can hold its breath and the Pirtir series. This takes place nearly a year before the beginning of the story, around four or so months before the other Aegon PoV chapter. You don't need to read either to read this tho.

A/N: So, I couldn't get this idea out of my head. It mixes some of book!Aegon's approach to intimacy/sex because I find it really interesting. This is just a lot of angst, but his character is so fucking sad, I can't help myself. I'll write some fluff for him at some point, I promise.

Title is from "Love opened a mortal wound. In agony, I worked the blade to make it deeper." by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.

All of this would be easier if he could just forget, Aegon gathers. If he could just forget about you, about what he lost and what he didn’t have, then everything would be easier. The quiet of the Keep wouldn’t feel so deafening, the future ahead of him would be a tad less unbearable. 

And he wouldn’t be sneaking around like an idiot, eavesdropping on his mother and his grandsire’s conversation because he heard your name. 

“That boy will hand the Blacks the Reach if we do not step in,” Alicent argues, voice laden with worry. “His father is old, and he hasn’t inherited his judiciousness, his restraint.” 

“Lord Alisdair might still bend, once the Princess leaves Highgarden and his blood cools. Nothing makes a man as bold as a woman’s smile.” 

“Her smile, or the promise of her hand?” 

Aegon feels as if a weight had been dropped on his chest, and yet he does not even think about tearing himself away from here, about ceasing in his listening for any news of you. The closest he can get to you, nowadays. 

“No arrangements have been made yet, and if t-…” 

“My lord husband will approve if Rhaenyra asks this of him, you know this. He will wed her granddaughter to the Tyrell boy himself if it is her who asks.” 

“Has she asked?”  

A few beats of silence, the seconds before an executioner’s sword finds a neck. 

“It is a matter of time.” 

___ 

It is as natural as breathing, to Aegon, to escape the confines of the Red Keep by now, to evade his guards and sneak into the city.  

Now he sits alone -he shrunk from his usual company, he isn’t sure even why-,  nursing yet another jug of mead and chasing languidly for the welcome stupor of a stiff drink, and finds that not even here do you stop tormenting him. 

“My sister was there for the tourney in Highgarden,” A woman comments, carelessly loud as she speaks to the group of people sitting with her, a table away from Aegon’s. “She said the eldest of House Redwyne gifted the Princess a mare.” 

“As dragon food?” The man she sits on the lap of asks, prompting her to laugh. 

“I would like a mare as a gift,” One of the girls argues, at another’s scoff arguing, “What? What is wrong with that?” 

“The Princess rides Vermithor. What is a fucking horse against the second largest dragon in the world?” 

The wench that is sent to refill Aegon’s drink presses against him unnecessarily, and her hand traces over his shoulders as she moves away. He feels her gaze on him, watching raptly to see if he follows her with his own gaze, if he wishes to play along. 

He mislikes this, these games, playing pretend at seduction. It feels even more false than it already is, fucking a woman, if she likes pretending she wants something beyond the tenuous oblivion they can find in one another. 

“You gather she’s coming here anytime soon?” The man from the other table asks, diverting his attention to them -to you- once again. 

“I don’t think so. Everyone would be scurrying about in preparation. Whenever there’s something brewing up in the Keep we have more work months ahead.” 

“I hear she’ll summer in Highgarden.” One of the younger girls comments. 

The old woman’s laughter is shrill, grating. Gloating, almost. At least that is what it sounds like, to him. 

“Of course she is. Alasdair Tyrell has returned from the Shield Islands, and victorious at that. Made them swear to her cause, apparently.” 

“To Rhaenyra’s?” 

“No.” 

Silence follows the simple answer. Aegon motions for the wench to refill his drink, which she doesn’t do quickly enough. 

“Oh,” The man breathes. Short little chuckles escape his chest, and he praises, “Clever lad, eh?” 

“‘Tis quite a wedding gift, is it not?” 

Aegon takes fast, perhaps hurried, gulps from the flagon, but the mead isn’t enough to drown out their voices. 

“So she has agreed to it?” 

“She is a young girl, and he a knight who has more than proven his devotion. He doesn’t have her hand yet, but I’d bet he has her heart.” 

“So it isn’t just Vermithor she wants to ride,” The man boasts, followed by what sounds like a slap. “Ow!” 

“‘Tis the future Queen you speak of, you fool.” 

He should stop himself, but he doesn’t want to. Aegon turns to them and asks,  

“And the future wife of Lord Tyrell, no?” 

“My Prince.” One -or a few, he doesn’t really care- of them greets, and a few heads bow, but he motions their empty platitudes away. 

“It is a…a joyous thing, a betrothal. And one made for love, at that,” He smiles at them, but they don’t smile back. They look at him like he’s seen hunters look at cornered beasts, they look at him as if they’re afraid of him. “We don’t see much of those nowadays, do we?” 

“No, my Prince.” The older man agrees, still cautious. 

He isn’t an idiot, he knows that he wasn’t…that you don’t feel for him what he does for you, that you don’t think about him as often as he thinks about you. But some part of him, foolish and perhaps more than a little masochistic, still hoped the truth might be another. 

Still hoped, against hope, against reason, that you might one day return, that you might still choose him. 

“A cause for celebration then, isn’t it?” He asks, standing up and swaying slightly on his feet. Their faces are guarded, careful, and though he makes his best attempt at another smile, shameless and debauched, it seems they see through it. He pushes on, “Drinks for all! On me!” 

He plays along, he plays his part, for a while. The mead keeps flowing, and when it ceases, he switches to wine. Watered down and tasteless, but it washes away the ashes the memory of you leaves on his tongue. 

And the loud voices and cheers of the people in the tavern drown out even his thoughts for a while, but he finds that tonight the wine does not make his thoughts any easier to bear. It seems instead to make them louder, to make the ache deep in his chest sharper, worse. 

As the night goes on, his thoughts get louder and the crowd around him quieter as they return to their homes, and Aegon refuses to return to the quiet, the solitude, of the Red Keep. 

___ 

Long ago, years ago, he would come to places such as this and ask them to be soft with him, to hold him and treat him gently, to be what he imagined you would be -what he glimpsed at, what he had, for however short a while it was-, to grant him what he supposed he might have had, were you to have stayed. 

But he understood fairly quickly that it just made everything worse, that it made the absence much sharper, the emptiness gnaw at him with renewed strength; and so he started refusing them whenever they tried to offer anything gentle. They did it wrong, anyways, it just made him feel brittle and cold and alone, and he prefers the distance, and the oblivion it provides, over the hollowness that their false warmth leaves him with. 

The months and then the years went by, and you never returned, not even a glimpse of you and Vermithor on the distant skies, not even a short visit with your family, not even a fucking letter; and Aegon can no longer hold on to the fantasy that you might have wanted him, that you could have loved him. 

He gathers that it was for the better, that the illusion has shattered. It makes it easier, to find oblivion buried in some whore or another, to have his nights away from the Keep be the reprieve they ought to be. It makes it easier to make things quiet again, to lose himself when he can force his useless heart out of the way.  

But he often trips on it. His heart, that is. 

And sometimes his yearning overpowers his reason, and he finds himself searching for a shadow of you, a version of you that still wants him. Despite the ache and the absence, he still can’t bring himself to ask any of the women to pretend to care for him, to pretend to love him, anymore. 

He tells himself it is enough that they look like you when the lights are dim and wine clouds his senses, that they don’t say anything when it is your name he calls out. He tells himself it is enough to have this, and that to ask for more would be to ask to be torn open. 

But the absence remains, the hollowness remains, a void gnawing away at him, hungrier and hungrier the longer he indulges in foolish illusions, in tricks of the light.  

At his weakest, he asks them to prove to him what he already knows to be true. That you, fantasy or real, illusion or not, do not care for him, do not love him. That you, upon knowing what he has made out of himself, aware of what they will ask him to become, have come to hate him. So he asks them to hurt him, to refuse him, to turn away from him.  

He doesn’t understand why he does it, why he still chases after that when it leaves him just as empty as asking for anything else does. He doesn’t understand the part of him that finds comfort in his own ruin. 

He doesn’t understand why he comes here, why he is restless as he crosses the doors into the familiar brothel, why he feels his throat close up at the sounds and scents of this place, why his chest feels tight with something between desperation and dread as he sets out to…to do what it takes to make his thoughts stop, to make himself understand that he must forget. 

He finds the one he’s looking for fairly easily, long silver hair and deep red dress amidst a sea of heads of dark hair and half-naked bodies. Her back is turned to him, and the wine makes the sight resemble a familiar dream for a moment, and his breath catches. 

But when he reaches her and she turns to face him, the face isn’t a familiar one, the eyes are wrong, and the smile is a mockery of yours. 

He still extends a hand, wordless, to ask her to join him. 

It’s almost funny, that for all he despises his ancestry, what he has inherited; in the eyes of any of the patrons of this establishment he is but another Targaryen man, looking to get it wet only with the ones that, real or no, reflect the blood of a lost world. 

It is preferrable that they don’t know any better. He’d rather be his father’s son than the fool that yearns for a woman he cannot have. 

Aegon isn’t sure why he’s doing this, why he has come here, why tonight the wine has made the pain only sharper, more unbearable. He isn’t sure if he’s punishing himself, for being as stupid as to allow himself to hope you’d return to him; or if he’s just resigning himself to the truth that is, forcing himself to shatter with his own hands, before his very eyes, the fantasy of what could have been. 

But he wants this, he…he needs this.  

“And you,” He calls out, pointing to a well-built young man with warm eyes and chestnut hair. Quite close to a knight. Quite close to a Tyrell, even. Aegon offers him a smile, wide and lecherous. It is a lie, but it is one he himself believes, and the false merriment keeps him safe. “You will join us.” 

The man takes Aegon’s free hand, and he lets them lead him to a private room, of dim lights and of air heavy with incense. In the midst of the hanging curtains, the many candles, and the huge bed in the center of it all, Aegon feels for a moment as if he’s suffocating. 

“What can we do for you, my Prince?” The woman asks, voice low, sultry, dripping with false sweetness. 

A nauseating blend of anxiousness and dread rise within him, and though he reaches for the glass of wine on a nearby table, downing the drink in two gulps in an attempt to chase these feelings away, they linger. 

Aegon watches, numbly, as the man reaches for a pitcher and refills his cup without a word. It is welcome, almost a comfort, the weight of a full glass in his hand. 

“I…I want to watch,” Aegon admits, voice hoarse in what he absently hopes they confuse with lust. “The two of you. I want to watch the two of you.” 

There’s a chair near the bed but far enough, aimed towards it. He has the absent thought of how many must come here not for participation but for a show, and Aegon tries clinging to that small observation, amuse himself to thoughts of what others come to do in these places; but his mind, anticipating and yet dreading what is to come, lingers on the present. 

His gaze, unfocused and staring at nothing but the faint memories he wishes would leave him, cannot look at them as the man and woman undress and sit together in bed, looking at him.  

He cannot look at them, and yet he feels their gazes on him. He feels as if he were the one naked, the one on display, asked to put up a show. 

“My Prince?” The woman calls out, forcing his eyes to focus on her. 

She awaits instruction, and he finds he can’t give it. 

It is a painful reality, a mortifying truth, that he does not know how to offer softness, gentleness. Or how to receive it. Or how to witness it, even. 

In losing you, he gathers he also lost the part of him that knew of the softness of a gentle touch, that knew how not to shatter at the thought of warmth. 

And now he can’t even make this…this pretender, already a poor mimicry of you, portray your warmth, the gentleness of your affection; and Aegon cannot even witness a glimpse of the warmth and the softness that you surely now give freely to that fool on the far end of the world. 

It dawns on him then, that he has forgotten pieces of you, that he has lost part of you to time and to distance. And realization isn’t a weight dropped on his chest, or the ground giving in under his feet, no; realization is a slow pressure, a shrinking tunnel, an exhale that left him too late to realize he wouldn’t be able to inhale again. 

He grabs for the cup with shaking fingers, grips it so tight he fears it might crack, and downs the rest of the drink. But the numbness is escaping him, slipping like sand between his fingers, and the haziness has given way to something much worse, to a quickly-beating heart and thoughts chasing themselves in circles. 

And all the wine does now is make him feel as if he’s only further drowning, further losing whatever grasp he has at himself. He still drinks. 

What can he tell her? That he wishes to be hurt, punished, for his weakness, for his faults? That he wishes to see what he has lost, what he never had, what he never will have?  

That he wants for the thoughts to stop, for the pain to stop, and he only knows how to escape them with this, with sex; but the memory of you lingers too close, a knife wedged next to his heart, for him to even consider enduring another’s touch tonight? 

He tells her the truth instead, and if instead of a command it sounds like an accusation, he does not care. 

“You love him.”  

It is all the instruction he can give. He does not know what love looks like, what love feels like, so even if she doesn’t either and the act is a poor one, Aegon won’t know the difference. 

The man and woman fall easily into the parts they must play, pressing their bodies together and sharing a deep kiss, letting their hands explore each other slowly, with the pace of two people with all the time in the world, with the calm of those who have promised each other a lifetime. Aegon watches, and the nakedness of their bodies does not seem lewd, instead it betrays an intimacy, a warmth, that makes the void in his chest awaken with an oppressive sort of longing. 

Aegon’s gaze lingers on him, on the ‘knight’. He finds he cannot look away, and it isn’t jealousy that overwhelms him, or anger; instead, all that fills his him at the sight is dread, and morbid fascination.  

The man’s fingers are buried within her, his lips at her throat, and Aegon feels as if a knife were slowly embedded somewhere within his chest. With each breath, the knife digs deeper, tears further at an old wound, and yet he doesn’t look away. Instead, his breath quickens. 

And he knows it’s an act, that they’re playing at sharing a love they do not know or have, but he doesn’t know it or have it either, and sitting here he only feels more alone.  

But he cannot join them. Because you do not want him. 

After what he isn’t sure if it is a moment or an eternity, darkened gazes flicker to him, awaiting his permission, his command, to go on, with quickened breaths. Though for a moment Aegon finds himself staring back, unmoored and uncertain, he quickly recovers and stutters a response to go on with it. 

The man grunts a curse against her breasts as he enters her in one swift motion, and she sighs at the feeling, hoarse little moan rumbling past her lips as she adjusts to having him inside her. 

They start moving together, and though the sight before him is an objectively alluring one, and if nothing else he should be able to focus on the sounds leaving their lips, on the sound and scent of sex filling the room, Aegon finds himself not even slightly aroused. 

Then again, he didn’t expect to. He might enjoy pain sometimes, and perhaps even seek it, but seeing a mirror -however muddied, however imperfect- of the woman he loves making love to someone else is something out of a nightmare, not something he might enjoy stroking his cock to.  

He didn’t think it’d hurt like this, though. He feels useless tears stinging at his eyes, and his breath hitches, because he expected it to hurt, but he didn’t think it’d torture him like this. 

And yet he can’t bring himself to stop them, feels undeserving of intruding upon their -your-, however false, love. With a breathed little laugh that only further blurs the lines between the reality of two paid whores acting out what he wants and the mirages of two people on the far end of the world, the woman switches their positions, straddling him. 

Unprompted, the man sits up, mouths at her neck as she aligns his cock with her cunt again. Slowly, sensually, she starts riding him. 

Aegon sniffles, tries hiding a stuttered breath, and leans forward. What he means to sound like an order, like an instruction, is voiced instead as a plea,  

“H-…I want you to hold him, while…while you ride him. Hold him against you.” 

She does as he commands, and the sight of their embrace is enough to force Aegon to look away, flinch away from pain as sharp as a hit. He reaches for the pitcher of wine, movements hurried and jittery, and pours himself another glass, uncaring that it spills. 

He gives another order, another command. One after another. He tells the man, for he is naught but a lucky fool that doesn’t even see the fortune bestowed upon him, how to touch you, how to make you feel good, how to make you his.  

They lose themselves in each other, waiting for no further instruction, exchanging caresses and kisses and breathed moans as they move together, as one. 

Aegon feels his composure, weak and brittle as it was already, begin to crumble. His hands grip at the armrests of the chair and tears burn at his eyes. He’s trembling, but neither of them stop, because neither of you notice, because you have each other, and he does not matter. 

He shakes his head, tries thinking clearly past the daze of alcohol and grief, and reminds himself it’s them. They’re strangers, they’re pretenders. He clings to that reminder. 

And yet each whispered word that they share, each shared breath, each tender touch, it feels as if it’s mocking him, taunting him with what he cannot have, what he can only watch from afar. 

The effect of the wine and the tears spilling from his eyes blur the edges of his vision, making the already stifling room seem smaller, the air thicker. Each breath feels pulled from his lungs, his body at the command of someone else, because he still cannot look away. 

He understands better than ever why Helaena presses her palms to her ears when the crowds get too loud. He wants nothing more than to cover his ears, close his eyes, hide himself and get away. Why is he here, why is he doing this? 

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t want this to happen. And yet he can’t stop watching, why can’t he stop this? 

She’s close to the edge, he can tell, and while he needs for this to be over, he cannot stand the thought of it at the same time. 

It is unbearable, and he stands from that chair, not to approach them but to step away. The room spins around him, his balance fails him, his voice fails him. 

She clings to him, hides her face in the knight’s neck and away from Aegon’s view. She looks like you, and she sounds like you, and he lost you he lost you he lost you. 

“Tell him you love him.” The voice is his, but not really, and he hears it from far away, from somewhere beyond the panicked cadence of his breaths, from a dream in which it is your love for him that Aegon asks to hear. 

You bring your knight closer to you, hand tangling in short tresses of chestnut hair. Your mouth is close to his ear, your voice a breath, a promise Aegon knows he shouldn’t be allowed to hear,  

“I love you.” 

You shatter, and so does Aegon. 

Her cry of pleasure and the knight’s mask the horrified sob that leaves Aegon’s chest at what he has done, at what he has tainted; and in their shared ecstasy they thankfully do not see him squeeze his eyes shut and cravenly look away, face crumpled in agony. 

He stumbles back onto the chair, some absent voice in the back of his mind reminding him it is unfitting of a prince to fall on the ground, that the people cannot see him on his knees. 

He thought he’d be in control, that if he commanded them, if he was… 

His thoughts matter not, what he expected matters not. The fantasy, painful as it was, has shattered, and the jagged pieces of it dig into him like glass. 

Aegon slumps in the chair, his body exhausted and worn. He feels used, wretched, and despite the weariness consuming his very bones, his mind remains restless, agitated. 

And the silence that lingers after they are done is worse, almost. He cannot bear to look at them.

“You…you can leave,” He tells them. A breath, two, and with a rush of energy he doesn’t have, Aegon stands up instead. The movement feels uneven, exaggerated, and he grabs at the back of the chair to keep himself from falling over. With his free hand, he gestures at them to stay where they are, and corrects himself, “I-I will leave. I’m…I’m the one intruding, am I not?” 

They don’t laugh, so he does. Or he tries to, but what leaves him is this manic little sound, this choked sob. 

He moves to leave the room, but he stumbles over his own feet, and thankfully catches himself on a nearby pillar. He needs to get out. 

Everything is too much, too bright, too loud, too painful, and he cannot escape it. In his head still resonates the breathed I love you. 

Why would you say that to him? He…he’s nothing, he doesn’t… 

No, no. Aegon squeezes his eyes shut and reminds himself that it wasn’t you, it was her. The impostor, that…that poor mimicry of you.  

And he instructed her to say that. Why did he do that? 

He wanted to fill the emptiness inside him, to…to quieten it all for a few moments, he didn’t want…he didn’t want this. But the void within him grows, and it hungers, and it tears away at pieces of him, breath by breath. 

He stumbles out of the pleasure house on trembling legs, but doesn’t make it far before his labored breaths become too quick, too uneven. The air that enters his lungs hurriedly, stutteringly, over and over, still isn’t enough for him to breathe. 

Aegon staggers into a nearby alley, clawing desperately at the brick wall in an attempt to keep himself grounded, to keep himself from breaking, from falling. 

He still does, between labored breaths and memories that taste of ash, he crumbles under the weight of his disgust and his hatred at himself, at what he does, at what he failed to do; and falls onto the cold ground. 

Back against the wall of the empty alley, Aegon brings his knees to his chest, and hugs them close to himself, head bowed and eyes shut tight as he tries forgetting.  

I would love to hear your thoughts on this! My askbox is always open for questions or comments, and soon I think I'll be taking requests.

I should have waited to post this (I posted the first chapter of Pirtir today) but I couldn't help myself. This was so fun to write. I find these themes really interesting, and I want to delve into them again in the future. I have some stuff planned but they're still a bit further ahead in the posting schedule.

Thank you for reading!

[mer-acle]

Do you have any athena hcs?

Uhhh

How much time do you have lol

I'll try to list the short ones so this post doesn't get too long. Due to writing about her a lot I have a lot of lore lmao

1. Athena is the eldest child (Hephaestus born shortly after her). Nobody who's spoken to her once would expect anything else honestly

2. At the time of the Odyssey she's about 4000 years old (No reason or proof I just decided) Her first 200 years give or take were spent with Triton (read: Pallas)

3. She only got assigned with Warfare as her domain after officially joining Olympus

4. Her emotional distance with her siblings is partly due to Pallas trauma, and partly due to Zeus liking to "keep her to himself" (read: isolated as the favorite). She gets along best with Hermes and Hephaestus (yes, I refuse to accept Erechtonius happened) bc the former is just as chaotic as herself and the latter shares her creativity and both don't ask for a big commitment from her (again. No Erechtonius and no arranged marriages in my plotline let me have this)

5. Dislikes being touched. Her siblings learn to accept it, Zeus does not. She doesn't try to enforce it with him. (Yes in every iteration of her that I will ever write, there will be a touch-starved to hug plotline sue me. I need therapy)

6. Never braids her hair. She used to have braids when with Pallas, but since then she has never worn her hair this way again. She also wears it quite a bit shorter than she used to back then.

7. Her grey eyes are inherited from Métis. They also glow in the dark. She has perfect night vision.

8. Perfect memory. Also she has bird's eye view versions of even her own memories (hc that one of her domains is history so that's why) It's how she found out that Zeus interfered with Pallas's death.

9. Used to have an Oceanic themed armor before joining Olympus (Métis made it for her) She allows Hephaestus to make her a new one, shedding the Ocean symbols in an effort to please Zeus.

10. Connected to her status as a virgin goddess but in contrast to Artemis, Athena dresses pretty covered up, doesn't undress even for bathing (in ancient Greece sometimes you'd keep your chiton on as a sort of bathing suit almost, but being naked was more common) (also this is not 'purity' stuff btw I just get that vibe from her, Artemis, literally go off queen you're doing great)

11. Classic but good, cocks her head like an owl like all the time. Also says "hmm" a lot (intonation may vary)

12. (Remember, my hc, you can do whatever you like) I think all the virgin goddesses are acespec/arospec in some capacity, but Athena is the cut and dry aro/ace/repulsed one. Like... It's a big fat no from her (I'm projecting hard btw)

Anyway twelve seems like a good number I hope you like them :) I picked those that aren't specific to Epic and can be applied to myth!Athena too

[octuscle]

I’d like to know if you could help me! I want to be a professional open bodybuilder (just like Nick Walker, Derek Lunsford), but, at the same rate my muscles grow, so do my male musk (specifically sweat musk from my armpits and cock) - no shower, deodorant or anything else will clean/cover my strong smell - until the point people around me get dizzy with my musk, start to complain and ask me to leave the places. With more muscles and less body fat, more sweating and musk until it reaches a strong level that people start to avoid me from fear of my muscles and my intense gym musk! Could you help me with that? Thanks a lot!

It's always the same people who are unhappy. You're rich, you've inherited, you don't have to work. You look dazzling, you know the right people, you're always invited to the best parties. And you don't feel like it anymore? You want to change that? Do I have a free hand? Then I'll get started!

You're sitting with a few friends in your favorite bar and tell them about your plan. More out of politeness than anything else, everyone says it sounds very exciting. You loosen your tie knot and undo the top button of your shirt. Phew, that's how you get your breath back. But you still need some fresh air, it's too crowded and stuffy in here. And somehow you don't feel like going back to the sissies. You feel more like going home, maybe doing a few more press-ups and then going to bed. After a few steps, you take a deep breath. And the top button of your shirt is blown off your chest like a projectile. The seams of your suit trousers are dangerously taut.

In the stairwell of the magnificent old building next to the city park where you live, the first seams crack. Thank God you don't meet anyone. By the time you get back to your apartment, your slim-fit tailored suit is in tatters. Somehow you're not even surprised. You tear off what's left of your clothes and stuff everything into the garbage can. Even your underpants no longer fit properly and are thrown away. You go naked to your dressing room and do a few push-ups, then squats, then a round of sit-ups until you're drenched in sweat. You stand in front of the mirror. Yes, you've gone through a growth spurt. And you stink. Sweat and musk. Delicious. But you still take a shower. The towel smells awful after drying off. And you don't feel a bit cleaner.

When you wake up the next morning, your cleaning lady has opened all the windows and is airing out the apartment. When she hears your footsteps on the way to the bathroom, she comes around the corner and is about to ask you where this unpleasant smell is coming from. You almost collide. You are still naked, scratching your hairy balls while still half asleep. Your cleaning lady turns bright red with fright. Then she holds her nose. You smell your armpit and say with a grin, "Excuse me, Maria, I'd better go and have a shower". In the bathroom, the laundry basket smells like a football team's changing room. You jump in the shower, but it doesn't seem to do any good this morning either. Damn, you might as well go to your workout. At least everyone there smells of sweat.

Damn, that was a really good workout. You pose in front of the mirror. Your sweaty tank top on the floor. During the workout you were incredibly focused on the weights, only now do you realize how disgusted the other customers are looking at you

You check your reflection again. Holy shit, you look really good, what's wrong with them all? Probably just jealous. You pick up your tank top from the floor. Somehow it smells a bit. You hold it up to your nose. Yes, it's sweat and musk. Maybe a little intense. You love it. The smell makes your cock hard. The sweat stains on your sweatpants are joined by precum stains. You need to take a shower now. And wank.

When you check out, the receptionist looks at you in disgust. He puts some ointment under his nose and puts on a face mask. He informs you that the studio requires a minimum level of personal hygiene from its customers. Several customers have already complained. He asks you to come showered and with fresh clothes next time.

Yes, you smell bad despite the shower. You walk back home because you don't feel like complaining again on the subway. Normally a pleasant walk. But for one thing, your legs are really exhausted from training. On the other hand, you feel that you easily weigh 20 pounds more than you did yesterday. You look in the mirror of a shop window as you pass by. Fuck, yeah! You see the reflection of a serious amateur bodybuilder.

You're too exhausted to climb the stairs to your apartment. You get into the elevator. Mrs. Spencer from the floor below you shouts for you to hold the elevator and barely slips through the closing door with her daughter. She holds her nose in disgust. And her daughter, perhaps four years old, asks why the big man smells so bad. Phew, the elevator isn't big anyway. Today it feels even narrower.

That was all a few weeks ago now. You left your impressive apartment because the stuffy neighbors were getting on your nerves. The nagging was unbearable. You thought that the cheap apartment building where you were staying temporarily was really just a temporary solution. But there are a lot of guys living here who are like you: fuck the opinions of others, the main thing is that you grow up. Really big! When you walk through the front door, you take a deep breath. It must have smelled something like this in a Neanderthal cave.

Since you've been banned from your hairdresser, you cut your hair yourself. You like it, it looks even more brutal and masculine. Even in your hardcore gym, your stench stands out. But here the other musclemen envy you for it. Hehehe, and there's always someone who will even pay money to press his face into your armpit or suck your cheesy cock. Your life is great!

Pics found @antoinepaul and @maxx-magnum

[meazalykov]

the younger morgan

alex morgan x morgan!USWNT!reader

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six

Growing up in the Morgan household, I was always known as my own individual person. Y/n Morgan. I am described by my peers as someone who’s kind, sensitive, and humble. However, to some of the public and people who barely know of me, I am known as  "Alex Morgan's little sister." 

It wasn't a title I despised while growing up. Being born 14 years after her, I was adopted by the Morgans at birth. My sister and parents have been my family for my entire life, even if we aren’t blood. They’ve surrounded me in a blanket of love while supporting my athletic, famous sister at the same time.

Alex won her first World Cup in 2015 when I was eleven. I remember sitting in the stadium, the air electric with cheers and chants, watching her lift that trophy high. Having my sister as my idol while growing up was a blessing that most girls would dream of.

The pride I felt was immense, but it was always mixed with a yearning.

I played as a striker while growing up, just like Alex. My feet scored goals in every match i’ve had minutes in. By the time I was old enough to transition into taking soccer seriously, it was clear I had inherited the Morgan soccer genes, even if I wasn’t blood-related. 

With the best coaches in the country guiding me, I quickly became one of the best U21 strikers in the world, just like Alex. Success in high school championships, the USYNT national team (before my senior team call up in November 2022), and in my first year of college landed me a spot on the San Diego Wave alongside my sister. I forfeited my college eligibility so I can jump into taking soccer seriously, which I did.

Yet, I hide the fact that the inevitable comparisons to Alex bothered me. Anytime I made a mistake, I had people on social media saying that “Alex at your age would’ve never made that mistake!” and more that were way harsher and mean. I felt a hollowness inside me because I had to accept that San Diego wasn’t the club for me. Something I didn’t realize until half-way into the season.

This wasn't about the love or support I received from my family or the fans. It was about forging my path, I wanted to be my own person away from Alex. I love her so much, but I wanted people to see me for who I really am. I needed a moment which would give me the reassurance that my career was truly mine.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling training session, I collapsed onto my soft beige colored couch for a nap. I knew I had plans with Jaedyn, Naomi, and Maria later— but I knew I could fit in a good three hour nap before I had to get ready for the night. However the ring of my phone jolted me awake after an hour into my nap. My eyebrows knitted at the sight of my agent's name, Maggie, flashing on the screen.

Usually, Maggie never calls unless we are discussing deals or contract negotiations. However, I asked her two weeks ago if she could contact SD Wave about putting me on the transfer market. Maggie said that wasn’t needed since there was something else that would excite me– but she didn’t explain what. 

"Y/n, I have some exciting news!!!" Maggie began without giving me the chance to say hi, her voice brimming with enthusiasm as I clicked on the speaker option. I rubbed my tired eyes trying to pay attention to what she’s gonna say.

“What happened?” I ask, sitting up from my laid down position and sitting criss-crossed on my couch.

"You know how you asked about a possible transfer? Well I already had a few offers coming in for you before you asked—'' Maggie started as I heard a few clicks on her side of the call, I’m assuming she's clicking stuff on her computer while on the phone with me. 

“So– *click*--- *click* — okay! There are a lot of NWSL clubs that have put in an offer for you. Houston, Gotham, Orlando, Kansas, and Washington have sent in their offers— but I understand that you wanted to go to Europe, is that correct?” Maggie says as I bite the skin around my nail beds. Growing up, I’ve always admired European clubs and the different cultures  Europe has. Playing in Europe would expose me to a better challenge that I’ve wanted in my career. A good chance to (hopefully) play in the Champion’s League too, another thing my sister won in 2017.

“Yes, that is correct.” I say, trying to sound as normal as possible. I am nervous, knowing that this call could change my life. 

“Okay- well that's amazing because several European clubs are interested in you. You have many clubs to choose from— Chelsea, Manchester City, Arsenal, Tottenham, Real Madrid, Madrid CFF, PSG, Wolfsburg— those clubs in particular all offered you a contract. Barcelona showed interest too but you’re not a free agent and due to their financial struggles, they cannot sign you unless you were free. However—- Bayern Munich in Germany offered you a very great deal– a four year contract with add ons—the salary they’re offering along with the add-ons is way better than all of the others. I feel like you would love this club." Maggie commented. Outside of work, Maggie and I had a somewhat good relationship for people who try to remain professional. Maggie had a good intuition and can read people, which means that she knows how I work and how my personality is in detail. 

Hearing about the clubs– my heart pounded in my chest at Bayern Munich. The name alone sent a feeling inside of my body that I couldn’t explain. I placed my hands on my forehead as I felt overwhelmed from the amount of clubs I could choose from. However, my curiosity and intuition wanted to look more into the Bayern Munich offer. 

“Maggie— I can’t lie—Bayern Munich is sticking to me right now.” I say, dragging out my last words as my voice breaks into a yawn. Training was intense today. 

“Okay! Okay! Here’s what we can do— I can come over now and drop off the documents to you— you can look over them and we can have an in-person meeting on your day off from training next Thursday at lunch, deal?” Maggie said. I can sense her smile through the phone call as I felt relieved from having to make such a quick decision. It's Friday so I have six days to make a final decision. 

"Deal," I said, barely able to handle the fact that my nervousness turned into small excitement. I couldn’t tell anybody about this but that was okay with me.

Thursday came and I chose to move to Munich in June. I can spend the season, before the olympics, with San Diego then i’ll move to play for Bayern on the four-year contract afterwards. I couldn’t tell anybody the news until I got the green-light to do so from Maggie. 

Keeping this news from Alex and my friends was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Alex was not just my sister but also my mentor and my rock. But I knew I had to wait until everything was finalized before telling her. She should understand that part. Meanwhile, rumors swirled online, speculating about my potential move to Europe in the month afterwards.

One evening as I played with Charlie, in Alex's living room, I could feel the weight of my secret growing heavier. I look at my niece with a light smile as she colored in a fairytale themed coloring book I got her last christmas. I am going to miss seeing her every-week when I move to Germany.

Eventually, Alex finished what she had to do in her kitchen and picked up Charlie. The little girl complained before her mother explained that it was late and it was time for bed. Its 8:30 which wasn’t late in my eyes but Charlie is a child so— 

After Alex put Charlie to bed, and after I cleaned up after Charlies crayon mess, she joined me in the living room and sat beside me on the couch, her expression serious.

"Y/n— we have to talk.” Alex said. My nerves were on fire hearing Alex say that. I knew she was going to mention Bayern— I can’t hide it anymore. The rumors on social media are increasing and everyone knows my move to Munich is inevitable, even if I haven’t addressed it yet. 

“I know.” I respond, my right leg is crossed over my left one as I cross my arms together.

“Are the rumors online true? You know I don’t like to search the media for answers, but the rumors are increasing and everyone is positive that they’re correct on their suspicions— Are you leaving here to play for Bayern?" Alex asked, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I couldn’t lie to her "Yes, Alex, they're true. I'm going to play Bayern Munich in June."

After saying this, I thought Alex would be happy for me right away. 

However, her concern was palpable. "But why, Y/n? Why are you moving so far away? We have everything here."

"That's why, Alex," I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I need to do this for myself. I want a new challenge and seeking something new has been my goal for since the off-season. I need to know if I can make it—-- without always being compared to you." I struggled to say the last part.

The argument that followed was heated but subdued, mindful of Charlie sleeping nearby. Alex didn't understand my need to step away, to find my own path. 

“Everyone knows you’re a great player, you have a higher record than me this season!! You don’t need to leave the country.” Alex argued. 

“Well you played for Lyon and Spurs at one point, which is outside of America—- the NWSL isn’t the only league in the world and I need to grow. If your concern is about safety, I promise i’ll be able to take care of myself. I need this Alex— You know I am a responsible person!” I stood up from the couch. Alex followed and looked at me with concern.

“You are– I’m not saying you’re not responsible– but you’re going to leave everything behind!” 

“No I am not? I will always come back during International breaks!” I argue. 

“Okay– but you shouldn’t “need” to move to Germany. You’re going to leave your friends behind too Y/n!” Alex continued to argue. My blood boiled at her words. 

"You know, Why can’t you just be supportive!!?? I can’t do this anymore–” I say as I ran to put on my shoes by the door, grabbing my tote bag with all of my items inside. 

“I'm glad I'm moving away Alex. Maybe they'll respect me as a good player and my own person– and not just Alex Morgan's sister!" I stormed out of her apartment, the rift between us widening.

We didn't speak after that night. Even at training with the San Diego Wave, we maintained a professional distance, our conversations limited to the bare necessities or anything related to Charlie. The silence was deafening, but I was resolute. This was my decision to play for Bayern, she needs to respect it.

When the SheBelieves Cup came around, Alex and I both made the roster, as usual. This was my last international break as a San Diego player. Since i’ll be living in Germany by the time the Korea friendlies happen in June. 

On the national team, I found solace in my closest friends Jaedyn, Sophia, Trinity, and Mallory. Jaedyn plays at San Diego with me so she has a better understanding about the situation. I told her that I am moving to Munich and we had a bittersweet moment, at least she was supportive of my decision. All of the other girls sensed something was wrong but respected my need for space, assuming that they shouldn’t come in-between family business. Especially if one of their captains is involved. 

On the pitch against Japan for the first she-believes game, my performance was excellent on the pitch. In my mind, I knew I wanted to do good so Bayern fans would be excited about my transfer to their club. 

After scoring twice against Japan, we were now in a penalty shootout with Canada. This is the second-time we’ve gon into penalties this year together. Once in the gold-cup a few months back. 

Emily Fox made the penalty against the Canadian goalkeeper, and the next Canadian kicker’s shot was blocked by Alyssa (Secretary of Defense). Everyone looked in my direction as the ball was passed into my hands. If I make this shot, I win the shebelieves cup for the United States.

My hearts pounded like a drum in my cheat as I looked ahead at Kailen, my San Diego teammate and friend who plays for Canada. She knows how I kick, and I know how she blocks shots coming her way. 

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside of me. I had practiced penalty shots countless times throughout my time in soccer, but this was different. This was the final. This was for the win.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling it was time for me to shoot. My body stepped forward, and my mind was clear. As I closed in on the ball, I locked eyes with Kailen, who was poised and ready, her eyes fierce with determination.

My foot struck the ball cleanly, sending it soaring through the air. Time seemed to slow as the ball arced towards the goal, the world holding its breath. Kailen dove to her right, stretching out in a desperate bid to stop the shot.

But it was too late. The ball sailed past her outstretched fingers and hit the back of the net with a satisfying thud. The crowd erupted in a roar of triumph, the sound crashing over me like a wave. I scored the winning goal!

Before getting a chance to process what had happened, my teammates rushed towards me. All of their faces showed joy and relief. They enveloped me in a jubilant embrace, lifting me off her feet as we celebrated the victory together. I looked around, taking in the ecstatic faces of my friends, the adoring fans, and the sparkling lights of the stadium. I looked to my right and saw my sister’s bright smile looking towards me, this made my heart warm up a little bit. 

After everyone broke away from me, before the trophy celebration and the part where I’ll be rewarded as SheBelieves MVP, Alex approached me. Her expression was softer than the last time i’ve talked to her at her apartment. Her eyes reflected a mix of hope, sadness and understanding.

"Y/n, can we talk?"

I nodded, and we found a quiet spot away from the rest of the team on the pitch.

"I'm sorry," she began. "I was selfish. I was thinking about how much Charlie and I would miss you, not about what you need."

Her words broke the dam of emotions I'd been holding back. "I know. But Alex— I just want to be seen for who I am, Alex. Not just as your little sister."

She pulled me into a hug, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of peace. "You will be, Y/n. You'll be amazing, and I am so proud of you and that gorgeous penalty kick." Alex squeezed me and I laughed at her gesture. 

“Thank you, Thank you! I have the best sister who showed me what good penalty kicks are.” I smile. 

As the middle of June approached, after the Korea friendlies, I prepared for my move to Germany with a mix of excitement and nerves. Alex and I grew closer again, our bond strengthened by the fact that this new routine will give us a chance to miss eachother. 

The day I boarded the plane to Munich, with three suitcases and one carry on bag with everything I need for my apartment I found while spending a week in Munich last month—  Alex was there, cheering me on. 

“I’ll miss you sweetheart.” Alex hugged me. I hugged her back before hugging my smaller niece who stood beside us. "I will miss you both the most." I respond.

Later as the plane took off, I looked out the window, my heart full of hope. This was my chance to prove myself to the world and to the fans that I am more than just my sister. 

-----

part two here

<3

[burningcheese-merchant]

Wake up, BurningCheese/GoldenSpice babes, new poorly drawn blorbos just dropped

They look cooler in my head, I swear.

the images didn't show up the first time wtf lol

The kids are finally here, yay. I promised I'd show you them, and I finally stopped being an asshole and followed through. Almost got 200 followers and I'm very grateful for it - really, I'm nobody. I'm just some clown who says dumb stuff and makes dumb memes and writes cringey stories, and yet I convinced almost 200 people to tune in. Thank you all so much, users on here and anons in my inbox alike. As a token of appreciation, you can all endure my rambling about my OCs and witness a person in their early 20s draw like a 12 year old.

The boy is Pepper Jack (or Pepper Jack Cookie). He's the firstborn and older than his sister by a few years. He takes after his mother in a lot of ways, primarily in her appearance (save for nabbing his father's red eyes). He's incredibly bright (and a smartass lol), preferring to think his way out of conflict rather than fight his way out... not that he's above violence at all, if that glaive doesn't give it away lol. He harbors a deep sense of love and loyalty towards his family and his peoples, and carries the weight of his responsibilities and heritage with as much confidence and poise as he can muster. (There are/will be times where he stumbles, of course. He's not perfect. He struggles a lot more than he lets on, really. But he tries his best, for everyone's sake.)

The girl is Matar Paneer (or Matar Paneer Cookie). Again, she's the younger one by a few years. She was all but made in her father's image, save for inheriting her mother's eyes. She's a little firecracker: lively and fun-loving and stubborn as a mule. She doesn't ask "can I have/do this thing", she tells you "I'm going to have/do this thing". Golden is proud as anything to see her daughter be so greedy... until that greed comes into conflict with her and Spice's authority lol. But she's a good kid, despite being such a handful. She has an enormous heart and is not afraid to stand up for others/what's right, and she loves her parents and brother more than anything in the world. She might doubt her own capabilities, she might secretly fear that she's not strong enough to do what she needs to... but she keeps pushing anyway, because she'd honestly choose death over quitting.

Your eyes are not deceiving you, Pepper Jack's wings are blue lol. There's an actual reason for that. And that USO (Unidentified Sitting Object) in Matar Paneer's hair is a lotus (the cheese one in the GCK decor set lol). There's a reason for that, too. I thought it would be cool to give Jack a glaive and swap out the normal blade for that of a khopesh sword (glaives are not Egyptian, they only saw use in Asia and Europe, but I just HAD to give him a glaive), to add that Egyptian touch. Paneer's supposed to be wearing a pattu pavadai, it's a traditional Indian dress for young girls. It's a blouse plus a skirt. She's holding katar, Indian knives (Cilantro Cobra has them, too). And her hair's supposed to be in a low ponytail.

Merchant thinks that if they explain what their terrible drawings are supposed to convey, people will understand their intended vision and the pain will stop

I sat down and did research into both Egyptian and Hindu mythology for the sake of drawing inspiration for them both. I'll explain in detail in another post, but basically: both of them take after one Egyptian god and one Hindu god each. Golden takes after Ra and Spice takes after Shiva, so I figured I'd follow along that line.

Please flood my inbox with questions about them now. I've really been dying to talk about them for ages now. I've drafted extensive character sheets for them both, I even made up in-game descriptions for them lol. They're my little fankid blorbos and I love them :') I hope you all come to love them, too

(Also, I'm sorry they're on lined paper. I'm visiting family rn and that's the only paper my grandmother has in her house. I'd have to drive to a stationery to get printer paper and I'd really rather not drive in this particular country lol (shit roads, even shittier drivers). I'll doodle them on printer paper whenever somebody remembers to bring me some)

[lakesbian]

here's every way wildbow accidentally made pre-meiosis "russel" thorburn transgender that i can remember. if you can think of any reasons i forgot please add on

his parents named his younger sister "ivy," as if the obvious grandmother-pandering name "rose" had already been used up. blake theorizes that they used a male version of "rose" for PMT, but this is nonsensical--there is no male form of the name rose, and everything he comes up with as a possible option (in other words, everything wildbow came up with as a possible option) is a major stretch. most don't sound even tangentially like the name "rose." it makes far more sense to assume that PMT was afab and had the deadname rose. (this also makes sense on a thematic level wrt how rose thorburn jr is supposed to be the Real heir that grandmother is forcing blake to die for, but that's getting besides the point)

rose has memories of being harassed over the inheritance by her female cousins, and the idea of these memories just being wholly pulled out of thin air when basically everything else involves memories either being split btwn blake and rose or erased altogether is weird

blake is friends with, like. a lot of gay people. textually runs in poor gay artist circles. the idea of them adopting this weirdly cool cis straight guy is funny but it makes a lot more sense if PMT was trans + gay and only got turned into a straight guy (and a straight girl) yesterday, due to the homophobia demon

PMT literally thinks "Besides, why devote any more attention to your son, when you could just start over?  Have that beautiful baby girl you wanted, right?" which is also like one of the only pieces of internal narration we get from PMT in the entire story. first girl they named rose ran away and did some shit with their gender so now they have a second girl they can't name rose but can still try to raise to go for the inheritance

in the same chapter as when pmt says that, callan is like ohhh you think youre going to worm your way in-, implied sentence ending being "-to the inheritance," which is, like. the family knows it's going To A Girl. so.

PMT was childhood friends with paige, who is The Gay Cousin. it is deeply sensible to imagine them bonding over this, regardless of whether or not PMT (or even paige) knew at the time

it is, like, fully possible for a cishet dude to get sick of living with his shitty toxic abusive family and abscond at the age of 17, but also homelessness is an extremely prevalent issue among transgender kids in abusive families. the narrative of a transmasc kid growing up in an abusive, catholic extended family where girls are pressured to compete for a very gendered inheritance + leaving at the age of 17 & finding a new home among a bunch of gay artists is Significantly more compelling than the cis dude alternative. it just is.

okay i think im running out of, like, logical errors that make sense only if pmt was trans prior to the Obliteration, so as for the thematic stuff. like i said, rose being the half grammy decided was supposed to be "real" and blake being the half that's supposed 2 die for her 2 exist, rose just being unhappy and disconnected by nature of existence while blake is the parts of pmt that escaped from the constraints of the family + found happiness, so on and so forth. "catholic grandmother literally obliterated her transmasc nonbinary grandchild by splitting them into two binary gendered halves & expecting that the man they could've been die to allow the acceptable woman--literally forced to dress in grandmother's clothes--live on and do as grandmother wished" is Everything, doing the same thing but to a cis man grandchild is significantly less compelling

Others who r very old/operating on what are explicitly stated to be oppressive and antiquated gender roles as per the book's themes about inherited/traditional forms of harm keep mistakenly calling blake she/her and rose lmao

??? probably some other thangs im forgetting

[electrozeistyking]

Even more questions:

What if Tessa met Beanie? How would she react to N being a father?

Does Beanie hang upside down using her tail? If she can of course.

Does she like reading? If yes then what's her favorite book?

What if J met Beanie?

What if Uzi didn't have to die?

Does she play with her dad's hair?

How does V spend time with Beanie?

What if Beanie somehow found out about what happened to her mother?

Does Beanie have any fears? Like things that make her uncomfortable, scared and ect.

What does make Beanie happy?

For that first question, I’m just going to say I think Tessa would be disgruntled and confused. N (and V) spent eight years on Copper-9, and suddenly he’s a dad??? As for the other questions, I have spent all day drawing stuff for.

I assume Beanie would like generic children’s books (though I assume they’d be pretty wacky, considering they’d be written by drones). However, she has once stolen and read a whole dictionary. She may be a little WordGirl in the making, but hell if she can pronounce any of them.

So I debated on whether I should unveil GD!J’s design for this, and I decided “Eh. Why not?” I believe J and Beanie’s first meeting would not go over well, which would certainly make Bea develop a hatred towards J (like mother like daughter!). In her words, J is a bum.

N definitely would not have ghost sight, and would have kept his old (if a little well-loved at this point) outfit. Seeing as Beanie was named by N when he put Uzi’s hat on her head whilst being sleep-deprived, I highly doubt that she would still have that name here. Also N still gets kisses. :D

Like a little kitty cat, especially when he’s recharging. She likes batting at his bangs a lot. Who knows why.

I like the idea V would accept the role of being Beanie’s wacky aunt. They are a force to be reckoned with, and they’re sometimes very unhelpful put together. (By the way, Bea inherited N’s dialect, meaning they both pronounce certain words the same way. In this case, they both say “Awn-tee.”)

She... probably wouldn’t take it well in the wrong context. She may like biting things, but she only bites other drones when she’s scared. The above comic features Beanie overhearing that N technically killed her mother, and terrified by the idea he could hurt his loved ones, she bites him for the first (and possibly only) time.

While Beanie is scared of strangers and freaky dark places, that’s nothing in compared to how terrified and worried she becomes when separated from her father for long periods of time, thanks to him always being around her. She could wander away from him, but she’ll always toddle back to him.

Outside of her family and turtlenecks, what I’ve taken to calling “roboroaches” make Beanie happy! She gets an extra blast of serotonin when she sees them, and she may be some kind of “cute little bug” whisperer at this point.

Thanks for the questions! Hope you enjoyed the responses :3

OH FROGS! SHE DOES NOT HANG UPSIDE DOWN BY HER TAIL BTW, I KNEW I WAS FORGETTING TO ANSWER ONE. She does open doors with it sometimes, though.

[dirtytransmasc]

ATLA! Avatar au ramblings, cause I need them out of my skull:

[Disclaimer: this is basically just Avatar, but if there were benders. there are no rules. god is dead. I wear his crown. we go by my rules now, even if they break atla canon. canon is a suggestion now]

each clean tends to be made up of benders from two of the elements, people from the clan can carry both traits, even if one is dormant.

for example, the Omatikaya are made up of earth and airbenders. both Mo'at and Eytukan were airbenders, yet their daughter Neytiri was an earth bender, and Sylwanin was also an air bender.

Humans are rarely benders, at least compared to the Na'vi, as the destruction of Earth led to the loss of benders, but when they are benders, they have only been fire benders. this includes avatars. the RDA specifically targets and recruits fire benders.

Fire benders are rare on Pandora. very few clans produce fire benders. and with the destruction the humans and the RDA have caused, fire benders are almost taboo, especially in the forest clans that faced the brunt of their efforts.

Jake is a fire bender, he is heavily disconnected from the idea of spirit, fluidity, or nature within his bending. it gets better as he lives with the Omatikaya, but old habits die hard, so he'll ways be a messy fire user, and his fighting style is messy, MMA like, the reckless assault of a soldier and not an art. he doesn't truly incorporate his bending into his day to day life either, it's like a gun to him, not a part of his spirit and being.

Neytiri is an earth bender (and in my world, they can bend plants, because fuck you). while she is known for her combat on Ikran back, she is just as deadly in face to face combat, as she is a heavily offensive fighter, and she will punch you in the throat with a dagger she pulled from the earth. but in a more casual day to day, she uses it to get around the forest, to weave and craft, to cook even. she makes something solid like stone and wood look as fluid as air, and something as delicate as plant life look deadly and jagged. and as a healer she uses it not only to cultivate and refine healing plants, and even bone bend.

a fire bender and an earth bender, have 3 kids:

Neteyam is an earth bender, he presented quite young, maybe 5 or 7, and he takes after his mommy, with the added aggression of Jake's fire bending attitude. he inherited less of his mother's likeness to plant bending, but can magma bend extremely well for his age, keeping that same fluidity. but as much of his life is taken up by combat and training, he's also a crafter and has plenty of little siblings bringing him rocks and asking him to make them beads, so he's also doing a lot of that. (he has attempted to bend a tree fort into existence and fell through it and on his ass, trust, I was there)

Tuk is an air bender. she's only presented around 7, and only in little gusts, so she hasn't cultivated an exact style, she can only really play with little gusts of air, or go gliding about on her glider, but only when a sibling is with her, in case she falls. she's also just an agile little thing.

Lo'ak (for angst value) doesn't present for a long while, he makes it to nearly 13 before presenting, and he ends up being a fire bender.... which did not help his self image, in any manner. not only is he the demon blooded son, the one that never lives up to Jake and Neteyam, who looks like a freak, but now he's a fire bender too? just shoot him now.

Kiri, the child of Grace, who was not a bender, and Eywa, is an air bender (she's already Pandora Jesus, I'm not putting her through being the Avatar as well). she presented at 5, it never seemed like a big thing to her. Neytiri found her floating and that was that. she is heavily connected to her spirit, so she can astral project, and her world, which makes her very hyper sensitive to her surroundings. she uses her air bending to carry stuff, be more spry (in the comics she tends to fall behind her siblings, even Spider, who is much smaller than her. her air bending gives her the leg up to help her keep up). even after she gains an ikran, she tends to go gliding or just. floating. for funsies.

that leaves my son, my baby boy, Spider:

I'm making him the fucking avatar because I can.

[more bullshit below, this is just very long and I'd feel bad posting this behemoth and clogging people's feeds]

he is Eywa's first Sky child, her golden boy, and he is the bridge between humans and Na'vi— he is Na'vi in all but body, and human in all but soul —so she knows if anyone can soothe the tensions ripping her world apart, it will be him.

he starts out as a fire bender.

no one is shocked, even though he gave off his first sparks as a toddler. his parents had both been fire benders— Quaritch had mastered combustion, and Paz was known to give off smoke when pissed —this gets him even more ostracized than he was in canon from the get go. no one wants much to do with the fire bending son of Quaritch. no one can truly trust him, even as a child.

who's to say when he will become the wildfire everyone assumes he will become? who's to say he's not dangerous, even as a child? especially without the help of a fire bending master to aid him (could Jake do it? yes. do I think Jake would commit to that long term? absolutely not).

despite this, the Sully kids are his siblings, from the moment they meet. he's their big brother, watching out for them, promising his flames as their shield, forever and ever. no one will ever hurt them. that they don't need to be scared of him, because he'd burn himself to a crisp before burning them. and his will is so strong, he's never accidentally burned them like he has others. his spirit knows better. it's strong enough to render the heat to nothing.

so the second Spider can leave the confines of Hellsgate and go out into Eywa's jungle, he is more than pleased to do so. he isn't judged there. the animals don't flinch away from him or stare at him like they're seeing secrets from the future.

he bends in secret, first with fire, just dancing a flame over his hands, slowly gaining trust in himself and his control, and developing his own style of bending, one similar to the airbenders of the clan, as that's the closest thing he has to go off of.

and if he has dreams of Toruk like creatures, showing him the art of fire, when he falls asleep in the grassy clearings of Eywa's world, he won't question it.

and when he hears whispers of 'try it' when he thinks of attempting to bend a different element, even just pretending, child's play, he listens, because he trusts the soft voice in his ear.

he bends air first. while not rare, those who bend air are considered special, connect to the spirit of Eywa. it's a sign. well, it would be had anyone paid enough mind to the boy to see it.

air bending comes naturally. he'd been watching those around him air bend for years. he'd mimicked their movements while playing with his siblings. it feels right. like it was what he was destined for (Eywa just needed time to manipulate his soul). it keeps him alive in the jungle, not only cause it allows him to take riskier paths and such, but also because it allows him without an exopack.

earth comes next. again. he'd watched earth benders for years. longed to manipulate the forest like them. to create instead of destroy. wanted to heal instead of heal. wanted to use brute forced over his flames, because his flames were looked at with fear, while the other boys trained their bending and were cheered on. he can work plants as if it was as easy as breathing. weaving them together into forts and hide outs and supplies.

water is last, and seeing as it's the opposite of his birth element, he has no mentor, and not even a faint clue on how it works, it is his weakest. but he has an affinity for healing, even if it only works on little cuts and scrapes, maybe a bruise if he's lucky.

by twelve he is mostly living on his own in the woods. it's near impossible to keep him in the compound anymore. he's not interested.

no one has any idea what he is. Spider can't even fully believe it himself and all's down spirals of thinking he's giving into his human greed, somehow (don't blame him, he's just a little guy, a dumb little guy who doesn't know maths, and grew up around people who all but hated him. let him have a dumb dumb complex).

the only people who have a slight idea are his siblings; he bends too much on instinct. he reached out to catch his siblings, shifting the ground beneath them just a tad, or shooting a vine around their ankle or using a swift puff of wind to stop their descent. he heals small cuts while thumbing over them, rolling a little bead of water on the broken or bruised skin. he brings them up into elaborate tree forts.

his siblings only keep from saying something because of the look of pure terror he gets on his face when he catches himself.

as time goes on, he becomes more open with them. by 15 it's common knowledge amongst them who and what Spider is, but he still won't let them tell the clan. but he has Kiri and Neteyam to help him with his air and earth bending, as they can regurgitate their own lessons back to him, which makes him stronger over all, even if he continues to use his own methods.

Jake and Neytiri only find out the night he was taken; when he gave his all to protect his baby siblings from the recoms, all fire benders, and exposed the level of power he held... and was subsequently taken for.

and then he gets adventures with his papa and the squad. that he is so so so so so happy about (kill him).

bonus info that doesn't fit into the vaguely timeline coherent ramblings above:

Spider is a healer by nature, it's in his heart and soul. so while he trains himself for combat, it's simply natural for him to want to fix things, to help people, to give himself and his power over if it means he can soothe one ache in his people. so Spider learns all of the healing arts he can. he develops his own even. refines bone and blood bending to heal people. uses the scientific understanding of things that he picked up as a human to make better medicines, etc.

speaking of blood/bonebending. my boy is going to snap at some point during his captivity and fuck some people up with that, because he knows the dogs of the RDA deserve it. perhaps it's after Neteyam's death that triggers it. or maybe the Tulkun hunt/attack on the Ta'unui. it's something, something that has him going in a carnage spree.

he will train with Mo'at and Ronal when they find out about him. Mo'at will knowingly pass him over — she knew early in he was special, but knew, in terms of his learning, the forest was not his place, for there was too much pain. but she would watch out for him as she had his whole life, in her own ways — while Ronal will become one of his footholds in life. a place where he will always feel like he can drift back to.

~~~

that's all I have for now. it's a shit ton. I have maladaptive daydreamed part this point, but I'll probably be back on my bullshit eventually. I'll have more on Q and the water tribe and what not.

[bonefall]

Cat? Gray. Eyes? Blue. Hotel? Trevago.

Design babble stuff below

BLUESTAR

Good god it's been over a year since I last drew her. I can do so much better now

I give her a wolf motif for BB, because in my mind it's about the myth of the lone wolf. Lone wolves aren't normal, they're pack animals. At first, Firestar sees her as this ideal, strong leader who stands independently of everything... but he's wrong!

She's NEVER acted fully alone! She's always been devoted to her family, even as it dwindled. Her ruling style is to protect other Clans, unlike any leader who's come before her. In BB, she even had a mixed-Clan friendgroup called the Forget-Me-Nots.

She helped to depose ShadowClan's tyrant. She sent Firestar to fetch WindClan, even against the wishes of the other two. She even fought Nightstar and Crookedstar when they tried to drive them out again.

She even takes the code SO seriously that she refused to kill Brokentail, extending a mercy that ended up backfiring.

And Firestar learns everything about leadership from her. Grace, diplomacy, fairness... and she was fair to a fault.

Both her and her apprentice would eventually face down Tigerkin, Bluestar during the coup and Firestar even lost a life after defending Hawkfrost for several books.

The only time Bluestar ever became a "lone wolf" was in her cruelty arc, when she was dragging everything she ever stood for down with her.

Her wolf motif shows up in her entire family, to connect them. It's in her nephew Whitestorm, her uncle Goosefeather, her daughter Mistystar, even all the way down into Curlfeather and Frostpaw who are descended from Reedwhisker in BB.

The scar comes from her fighting a badger to rescue Darkstripe and his sister, Cricketclaw, when they wandered off as kittens.

CROWFEATHER

He's a mix of spiky and swirly, as a cross between his dad Deadfoot and his mother Ashfoot.

He's older in BB to change that he was an apprentice on the Great Journey, and also to fix an inconsistency where his dad would be dead when he was conceived.

I think it was a huge missed opportunity that Crowfeather's bond to his mentor, Mudclaw, is barely mentioned in-canon. In BB they were VERY close and Mudclaw was incredibly influential to his personality.

Deadfoot is dead-- Mudclaw was like a father to him.

Crowfeather is torn between the influence of his mother, who was a Forget-Me-Not in her youth, and the hard ideology of his mentor. All the while, the ego boost he got from being selected to go on the Great Journey massively affected him, in a bad way.

He ended up taking Mudclaw's side in the rebellion-- not because he believed that ThunderClan had told a lie (in fact he defends his friend's honor) but because he believed Mudclaw would be a better leader.

But eventually, he found himself surrounded by cats he didn't want anywhere near WindClan. Good intentions or not, Mudclaw was willing to work with cats like Blackclaw and Hawkfrost-- people who want a second TigerClan.

Crowfeather betrayed the rebellion, running to fetch Brambleclaw and ThunderClan reinforcements. In the fight, his nose was scratched in a chevron, the shape of Mudclaw's stripes.

I like the idea that he carries it with him, but always tries to put it off his mind. He mistreats and misuses other people, ignoring the reminder that he is a fallible person that's carved onto his nose.

died of infection. Sad!

All of his kits resemble him in some way. Lionblaze inherited his tail, Hollyleaf has the spikes, Breezepelt has the build, Jayfeather is a miserable git has the ear swirls

He was head of Kitchen Patrol until BB!OotS, but I'm actually planning for him to NOT be deputy in BB. His character growth feels a lot more satisfying in realizing he really doesn't handle power very well, and should stay away from it.

He has old relationships and burned bridges to mend, and staying part of Kitchen Patrol seems like the way he should plan to do that.

I talked about him a lot in Nightcloud's summary and he's going to be coming up in the outline of Nightcloud's Pannage a lot. Much as I love taking potshots at him, he's got a very kind arc laid out.

CINDERPELT

She is the daughter of LIONHEART whY don't you people give her A MANEEEE

let her be THICK

In BB, the Frostfour are actually from two different litters. Cinderpelt and Brackenfur were in the older one.

Frostfur was head of Kitchen Patrol at the time, and very overworked lmao

So Cinder and Bracken both have an "older sibling" energy. Their mom was usually involving them in every little activity to get some help. Brackenfur is over-responsible, and Cinderpelt was always trying to help out other people and prove herself.

Of course, it also lead to her running right into Tigerclaw's trap which was set for Bluestar-- she wanted to be helpful.

The injury didn't heal right and she has chronic pain. She has severe mobility issues in the hip, and usually keeps the leg bound to her body so it doesn't drag or hurt.

She could have still been a warrior if she wanted to, but discovered while healing that she loved working with Yellowfang. I also interpret it this way in canon, to be fair, but TNP decided to remember it completely differently.

After saving Littlecloud's life they became absolute best friends. They worked on a mobility device for Wildfur together.

They style their manes in a similar way, pushing it up into that "spike" on their heads and out of their faces.

ASHFUR

Moonkitti's blonde Ashfur remains iconic, I fear

I draw him like a cheetah so he has the funky cheetah cub hair

I'm a HUGE fan of what the Erins did with the direction of Ashfur's story, with him being an obsessive spurned lover, but that's not really the sort of story I tell in BB!

So I approach his obsession on Squirrelflight as being very... Judge Frollo-esque.

Frollo's ultimate goal isn't to possess Esmerelda. He wants her, but it's a wrench in his plans to commit ethnic cleansing using his religious justifications. Hellfire is about how he finds a way to shift the blame for his own lust onto her, and offers an ultimatum; "She will be mine or she will burn (along with everyone else I plan to slaughter)"

In Frollo's mind, he "forgives" her for what she's "done to him." For what she is. He sees what he's doing as giving her an "escape."

It's not for her benefit. It's for HIS. By giving her this "escape," if she takes it, he gets to think of her as redeeming herself (and thus being worthy of him).

If she does not... then it's no skin off his back. He's Done His Part. Everything was always her fault. He is blameless.

Either way he gets to walk away feeling justified.

All that to say-- that's how I approach BB!Ashfur.

He wants to punish codebreakers. He wants the Clans to suffer for how far they've fallen from where they should be. They've become vulgar, ungrateful, unworthy of StarClan's grace.

He tried to kill The Three because he'd learned of the Fire and Tiger prophecy, and was only trying to protect the Clan. If Squirrelflight had CHOSEN HIM, then none of this would have happened.

He was righting a wrong, you see, and StarClan understood, in his eyes.

When Hollyleaf slaughtered him, violating the Code, it only confirmed he had been right all along.

And again and again and again, he offers Squirrelflight what she needs to redeem herself. He wants her. He wants her to "be better."

When she lets him down... then it's not his fault. She's forced his paw.

SO the blonde hair isn't totally just a fun reference, I also find it fitting because aside from the cheetah motif, he sees himself as angelic.

It's also why I don't portray him as "grubby" like some folks do, BB!Ashfur is much more vain than Canon!Ashfur, caring immensely about his appearance. Thinking about it, he probably won't even let his Bramblefake vessel fall into disrepair, he'd feel more grossed out than usual.

He also gets a very cool boss fight form at the end of BB!TBC which I still need to design lmao.