#Outlander Sport

[automotivealchemy]

Mitsubishi Outlander Evolution Sport 4-door concept

What if, Mitsubishi went to the drawing board and made 2 evolution models of the outlander? one would be more catered to being a street SUV and the other would be more of an off-road warrior with more of the new design incorporated in it. In this scenario, the street version of the Outlander Evo would sit lower with stiffer suspension and a unique front and rear design. This would sport a twin turbo V6 motor and be offered in automatic with manual paddle shift mode. Shown here with some aftermarket accessories, it would be nice from stock and of course have some Ralliart influences.

[usedcarsforpennsylvania]

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[houstonautoweb]

Mitsubishi Outlander vs. Mitsubishi Outlander Sport- Mitsubishi Dealers Houston

Mitsubishi's SUV portfolio is attractive, strong, and supported by market-leading warranties. Which SUV, however, is best for you? We've detailed the main distinctions between the 2023 Mitsubishi Outlander

[sapphiressmoke]

Outlander I

Summary: She doesn’t know how it happened but they were calling to her to come closer. Touching it was never suppose to uproot her life and transport her somewhere she never thought she could see and witness. She has to try her best to survive if she wants to get back, right?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen X Modern!Reader.

Warnings: Nothing as of now but angst, romance, smut

Word Count: 2.6K

Next Part

2024 AC Kings Landing

So this was the magical Kings Landing? Once the vast and lively city was now a place of desolation, solitude and history. It had been like this ever since the burning in 305 A.C between two Queens. You read about how it was a horrible event, many innocent people lost their lives… Even the two Queens. Since that moment, no more Targaryens roamed Westeros. It was now a place of history and learning. Most teachers brought their students here to see what they were being taught. Some parents dragged their kids here to learn of their heritage.

You were here for the first reason.

Being in your second year of Vale University, you were studying History and Literature. What were you going to with that degree? You have no idea but at least you were enjoying yourself… For the most part. “The Red Keep took many years to complete. Three reigns to be exact. What started on Aegon’s High Hill names Aegonfort. King Aegon the First used this fort as his seat during the conquest, housing the impeccable Iron Throne. Though it was destroyed in the battle of Kings Landing, paintings portrayed this throne as huge and intimidating.” Your group followed your professor as she guided everyone at the base of what the humongous Keep used to be. You looked around, red brick scattered over the floor. You mind raced as you thought of how these bricks were over 2000 years old, millions of people have touched them and now they were scattered all over the dirt floor. “It isn’t said when but at some point after the Conquest, the King ordered the destruction of the Fort and the construction of the Red Keep began. It was said that Aegon requested the castle be built with red rock to remind people of the fire he roasted and the blood he shed of his enemies, so whenever King’s Landing looked up they’d see the price of defiance.”

Your professor continued to talk but the sound of nature around you drowned it out. The sound of buzzing getting louder in your ear, getting louder and louder. “Ugh! You don’t hear that?” You brought your finger to your ears and tried wiggling it around to see if there was anything there.

“Hear what?” Your friend, Talia, said as she leaned in.

“That stupid buzzing sound. It won’t stop.” You groaned as you continued with your ear.

Your friend gave you a weird look. “I just think you’re going crazy. There is nothing.”

The buzzing softened and turned into a soft whisper, softer than wind. “Y/N… Darling… Y/N.”

You whipped your head back, trying to find the source of the noise. “Please told me heard that!” Before Talia could respond, your professor spoke faster. “Is there something you would like to add, Miss Y/N?”

Your face went beat red from embarrassment. “No ma’am… Sorry.” You said sheepishly.

“Thank you. Now where was I? Ah yes. The start of the fall of the Targaryens, it started when…” You started to zone out and looked back behind you, trying to figure out where the whisper came from. From the bottom of the hill, you spotted a man sporting an eyepatch, long silver hair and cladded in leather. He had his arm extended out towards you, as if he was waiting for you to come and grab it, calling you to run away with him but just as fast as you spotted him, he disappeared.

You felt your arm being grabbed and a hand stroke your upper arm. You turned towards Talia, who wore a worried look. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shook your head and ran a hand through your hair. “Yea… Yes. I’m good.” You grasped her hand that was on your upper arm. “Let’s just get this tour over with. It’s giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“You got that right.” She agreed. “But I heard that the Kingswood, which is just behind the hotel, is just as creepy. Maybe even haunted!”

128 AC Kings Landing

“Mother, please tell me I do not need to go to this hunt. There are better things I can do with my time.” The One-Eyed Prince has been trying for days to stay at the Keep, not wanting to waste a morning travelling to the Kingswood just for a hunt that he did not want to participate in.

The Queen sighed at her son, pushing a silver strand away from his stoic face. “Aemond… ‘Tis for Jaehaerys and Jaehaeras name day. Your brother wants to do a grand celebration for them. Especially for Jaehaerys.”

He rolled his one eye. “We all know that it’s an excuse for him to drink away… With reason this time.” He looked up at his mother. “Will father be coming?”

“The Maesters will assess The Kings health before letting us know but I do doubt that he will be able to join with the amount of pain he has been in.” The Queen replied. It has been no secret that The Kings has been declining the past couple of years. Decaying flesh, rotting teeth and constant pain. Drunk day in and out on milk of the poppy.

“If he does not go…” He tried to think of a reason to stay but was stump. “If he does not go then I shall stay here and watch over him.” Lies.

Alice by let out a chuckle. “You are quite the convincing liar, Aemond, but the Maesters will be here to aid your father in anything.” She walked away from her son and looked at the window, looking upon the people of Kings Landing. “I know you would much rather be here, reading in the library and training outside but it will do you some good to be away for a bit. Breath the good air of Kingswood.” She turned around to face her third child. “Plus, Ser Criston Cole shall be joining us if you ever do need to scratch the intense to train.”

Aemond rubbed his face and groaned. “I guess you are right, mother. But I will not ride with Aegon in the carriage. He’s an imbecile and will most likely throw up from all of the wine he has drank.”

“Thank you.” Alicent smiled. “You may ride with with me and Ser Criston. Halaena will be with the children and nurse while Aegon rides with Ser Arryk and Erryk as it seems they are the only ones that can deal with his shenanigans.”

“As I mentioned before… Imbecile.”

The night passed swiftly and once the sun started to rise and was on the horizon line, the Royal Family begun their travels to the Kingswood. Even though Aemond was never a talkative person, worsening after the incident with his eye, he seemed even more lost in his thoughts than usual. He stared out the window, sitting across from his mother who watched him intensely. “What is on your mind, sweet son?”

Aemond continued to look outside the window but sighed. “I had this weird dream. Was just flashes of images. Nothing clear. There was this woman… She seemed lost, searching for help. It sounded like she was calling out to me but the way she dressed did not seem normal.”

The Queen stayed silent for a moment before speaking. “Are you a Dragon Dreamer now?” She joked, causing a small smile to break on the princes face. “Dreams have many meanings. Perhaps it’s just a bad dream from the stress you put on yourself. Free your mind for the next couple of days. Perhaps even participate in the hunt.”

The hunt that went on in the Kingswoods happened every couple of years, usually to celebrate a names day for a royal child. The White Hart was usually the main goal of the hunt but any animal was game. “And if I were to meet the White Hart, would that not be a sign that I should be the King over my buffoon of a brother?” It was quite well known that Aegon did not desire to be King, fought against everything Even fighting with his Grand Father and Mother saying that it was his Half Sisters birthright but all of his complaints were going to a deaf ear. Aemond wished to rule. He was fit to rule and it was simple: he rode the largest dragon in all of Westeros, he excelled in combat and studied on the history and politics of his family and of Westeros but it would not go to him unless everyone in front of him died.

This was a conversation he had with his mother too often but his question was answered with silence. That was how the rest of the carriage ride went. Silence. The dream kept replaying over and over in his mind. Who was this girl? What was she doing? Who was she to him?

Within the next couple of hours, Lords and Ladies and the Royals arrived in Kingswood. The air still cold with the mornings breath. Everything was set up for them to place clothing, tables… Everything. The children were running about, screaming playfully with each other. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera came running towards Aemond, crashing into his legs. “Hi Uncle Aemond!” They squealed.

He looked down at his niece and nephew, rubbing the back of their heads before pushing them back on their way. “Hello you two.”

“Time travels back and is protected by the White King.” Helaena whispered into the cold air of the morning, staring at Aemond from across the way.

Aemond looked up to make eye contact with Halaena, seeing her lips move but not making out what she had said. He cocked his head to the side, deciding to walk towards his sister to see what she had said. She didn’t seem to realize that Aemond was by her side before he squeezed her hand. “What was that, good sister?” Helaena looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Only Time can tell you… Only Time.”

The rest of day went on eventfully. The men prepared for the hunt while the women gossiped as they ate cake. Of course Alicent chose not to participate in the gossip. She could not bother to hear anymore about Rhaenyra, her bastard sons and how great they are. She decided to watch her grand-children run about. Aegon was nowhere to be found, most likely already drunk in his tent, Helaena chose to rest in her tent as the carriage ride took a lot out of her and Aemond sat with Criston Cole as they sharpened their swords, getting ready for the hunt. She stared around her and for a slight moment, she would think her life was perfect. She had her children and her grand-children around her but then she remembers that she is practically ruling the Seven Kingdoms, her husband was dying and she was alone in the world.

2024 AC Kingswood

You slipped on your black slip dress, continuing to argue with your friend in the hotel room. “You don’t get it, Talia! There is something calling to me out there. I’m not insane. I’m not crazy. It’s been going on ever since we entered Kings Landing.” The buzzing was constant, the whispering was constant and the flashes of that man were at every corner.

Talia sat on the bed, her eyes following you as you continued to pace around the room. “I’m not saying you’re crazy but you sound crazy, Y/N. A silver haired man with only one eye? Listen to yourself!”

You groaned and you pulled yourself into a ball. “I know what I sound like!” You stood back up and waved your arms around. “But this… This place is weird. There has been so many deaths and apparently fucking magic. There is something going on.” You grabbed your black shawl from your luggage and pulled in over your shoulders. “And I am going to figure it out.” You pointed to the woods. “I’m going to go in those stupid woods and try to find something. I don’t what I will try to find but I will know what it is when I see it.”

Your friend gave you a shocked look, standing up quickly and grabbed your arm. “Okay now I’m saying that you are crazy! There’s boars… Bears in those woods! You could die! What would your mom do if you die?”

You ripped your arm from her grasp. “Well she always knew I would die in a stupid way. Tell her I love her. And before you ask, no you can’t come. You’ll be the person to let the teacher know that I’m gone. If I’m not back before the next tour tomorrow morning, you can go all out and tell everyone I’m missing. Okay?”

You saw the perplexed look she wore in her face before answering. “Fine. Fine! If you die… Ugh!”

You put on your pair of shoes, grabbed your flashlight and placed it your bag before heading out. You stood in front of the forest and sighed, were you really this stupid? Yes, yes you were. You took one last look at the hotel before you made your way into the dark, insect infected forest… Gods you were dumb.

It had already been a few hours at this point, you were tired, you were hungry and you still had no idea what you were looking for. You kept hearing animal noises surrounding you and you were terrified. What if a wild boar chased you or a bear mauled you to death? What if you died of dehydration. How many days does it take to die or dehydration or hunger?

Suddenly the aura around you shifted and the whispering begun again. ‘You’re so close, Y/N. Continue.’ It was a man’s voice. It was so clear. ‘Continue straight, My Love, we’ll be together soon.’ The buzzing began and it only got louder as you continued walking straight. The further you walked, the higher the grass got. It was tickling your calves. It was as if a flash of light opened your eyes when all of the sudden a bunch of tall stones stood tall in front of you, being illuminated by the direct moonlight. The aura surrounding it was calling to you to come closer. “This is what I’ve been looking for.” You beamed with excitement.

The buzzing only got louder as you approached the Stones. The high grass tickled your calves, leaving tiny water droplets on your skin. The buzzing sounded as if it was whispering your name, soft as wind. “Y/N… Y/N…”. It only drew you closer.

The Stones had this silver and golden aura surrounding it. Were you the only one that could sense it? Were you the only one that could hear it? See it? Your thoughts were racing as you stood in front of the tall Stone. You raised your right hand to touch it, as if that was what it was telling you to do. The only thing you could do. For a moment you hesitated, wondering what you were doing, why were you here but it just kept calling out. “Y/N… Y/N…”

You let out a long breath and pressed your palm flat against the rough texture. Within the moment, all sound seized to exist around her, life was dark and as soon as it disappeared, everything reappeared.

128 AC Kingswood

You blinked your eyes fast, letting out a shaky breath. You stumbled backwards and the world wasn’t as you just saw. There were more trees surrounding you. The woods seemed to be more lively than before. “Oh Gods, what did I do.”

From back at the camp, Helaena felt the shift in the air. “Welcome home, Time.” Helaena smiled.

———————————————

SOOO what do we think? It’s only getting started and I’m so excited to see where this goes.

[daincrediblegg]

... Let me put it this way: the beard would only be a feature, not a bug. no matter which way you slice it they wrote those boys with some queer coding and you got THEE queer coding actor to play Stanton. there's no escaping the implications, beard or no beard (though honestly I kinda wish there was a beard. I wanna see tobes all crepe bearded up)

Follow up question for Lincoln/Stanton shippers because I am genuinely interested. This is not judgement I promise, I just want to know for science. Would you still ship them if Manhunt had included Stanton's historically accurate beard? (Stanton was pretty much heavily bearded his whole life and ESPECIALLY at the time of the assassination and it bewilders myself and several other people that the show just was like 'nah' to the beard.)

Hmm, good question. I’m also not sure why they didn’t include the beard, unless it was just to keep Tobes’ iconic face lines in the clear? So I guess that’s the next question—is Tobias Menzies still playing Stanton? Just bearded? Truth be told though, for me, the way the show is written makes it hard NOT to ship them regardless of who played them.

[mortalityplays]

Hi! I really liked and agreed with your post on purple prose, and I was curious what books if any you'd describe as having purple prose. Not even necessarily as shorthand for calling it bad! just examples of it, especially from non-classic literature. Unless the term is entirely subjective lol. Feel free to reply to this ask publicly or privately; I don't mind either way

Have some Conan the Barbarian (sorry about! the racism):

TORCHES flared murkily on the revels in the Maul, where the thieves of the east held carnival by night. In the Maul they could carouse and roar as they liked, for honest people shunned the quarters, and watchmen, well paid with stained coins, did not interfere with their sport. Along the crooked, unpaved streets with their heaps of refuse and sloppy puddles, drunken roisterers staggered, roaring. Steel glinted in the shadows where wolf preyed on wolf, and from the darkness rose the shrill laughter of women, and the sounds of scufflings and strugglings. Torchlight licked luridly from broken windows and wide-thrown doors, and out of those doors, stale smells of wine and rank sweaty bodies, clamor of drinking-jacks and fists hammered on rough tables, snatches of obscene songs, rushed like a blow in the face. In one of these dens merriment thundered to the low smoke- stained roof, where rascals gathered in every stage of rags and tatters—furtive cut-purses, leering kidnappers, quick- fingered thieves, swaggering bravoes with their wenches, strident-voiced women clad in tawdry finery. Native rogues were the dominant element—dark-skinned, dark-eyed Zamorians, with daggers at their girdles and guile in their hearts. But there were wolves of half a dozen outland nations there as well. There was a giant Hyperborean renegade, taciturn, dangerous, with a broadsword strapped to his great gaunt frame—for men wore steel openly in the Maul. There was a Shemitish counterfeiter, with his hook nose and curled blue-black beard. There was a bold- eyed Brythunian wench, sitting on the knee of a tawny-haired Gunderman—a wandering mercenary soldier, a deserter from some defeated army. And the fat gross rogue whose bawdy jests were causing all the shouts of mirth was a professional kidnapper come up from distant Koth to teach woman-stealing to Zamorians who were born with more knowledge of the art than he could ever attain.

Conan is an interesting example imo because it displays a lot of the highs and lows of pulp. Robert E. Howard could also write very punchy, straightforward action, and often did - but part of the selling point for the emerging genre fiction of the era was that it was lurid and lascivious. While the extract above is. Well. Bad. It is worth recognising that within its context it was also kind of experimental.

Howard wrote these drooling, sort of bewildering, sensory passages for the same reason Marvel movies punch you in the face with saturated colours and rapid cuts and a billion VFX. You see it in the work of H.P. Lovecraft too, and I will grudgingly acknowledge that that's something worth recognising about his literary impact. I also think Lovecraft was a pretty bad technical writer, personally, but that's a whole other soapbox.

My point is that a lot of truly purple prose today (in the sense that it is extraneous, distracting, undermines its own function) traces its legacy to this era of pulp where there was a distinct secondary purpose to overwhelming the reader with ornamentation. It was self-consciously indulgent, and strikingly distinct from the more genteel floridity of equally bad literary novelists. For instance, compare the above with the even purpler prose of the famously awful Irene Iddesleigh:

On being introduced to all those outside his present circle of acquaintance on this evening, and viewing the dazzling glow of splendour which shone, through spectacles of wonder, in all its glory, Sir John felt his past life but a dismal dream, brightened here and there with a crystal speck of sunshine that had partly hidden its gladdening rays of bright futurity until compelled to glitter with the daring effect they soon should produce. But there awaited his view another beam of life’s bright rays, who, on entering, last of all, commanded the minute attention of every one present—this was the beautiful Irene Iddesleigh. How the look of jealousy, combined with sarcasm, substituted those of love and bashfulness! How the titter of tainted mockery rang throughout the entire apartment, and could hardly fail to catch the ear of her whose queenly appearance occasioned it! These looks and taunts serving to convince Sir John of Nature’s fragile cloak which covers too often the image of indignation and false show, and seals within the breasts of honour and equality resolutions of an iron mould. On being introduced to Irene, Sir John concluded instantly, without instituting further inquiry, that this must be the original of the portrait so warmly admired by him. There she stood, an image of perfection and divine beauty, attired in a robe of richest snowy tint, relieved here and there by a few tiny sprigs of the most dainty maidenhair fern, without any ornaments whatever, save a diamond necklet of famous sparkling lustre and priceless value.

Christ. Hopefully you can see the depth of the scale here - the Conan extract is muddy and difficult to read, but this is near incomprehensible. Part of the reason this passage is so much worse is that there is even less intent behind the author's use of language. Here, she is working overtime to evoke a kind of dramatic-intellectual style borrowed from writers like the Brontë sisters (imo at least - not an expert, that's just the sense I get as a reader). The further these flourishes get from lending purpose to the meaning of the prose, the harder they are to parse.

BUT my other point is: far fewer writers these days set out to emulate Irene Iddesleigh's arch, roundabout, society conscious voice than they do the hallmarks of classic pulp. We're inured to sex and violence, sin and debauchery in fiction today, so extracts like the Conan example feel even more bloated than they did in their time. And that creates a real pitfall for amateur genre writers: the instinct to pay homage to the stylistic choices of the classics can lead them right into Irene Iddesleigh territory.

Too often, the purpose of these overwrought, leering descriptions isn't calculated to thrill the audience, but to establish a piece in the company of older works the writer admires. And that's what leads to truly purple prose in contemporary genre writing, which makes readers scoff and laugh, which makes authors self-conscious and timid, which leads us here to a point where wordy description is inaccurately identified as the problem. It's not. The problem is excess - and when something has purpose, by definition, it's not excessive.

[sgiandubh]

It's me, Park Anon

I knew from the beginning that Steve wasn't a troll. His account is typical of a normal guy, with a family and who plays sports. It wasn't a newly created account, and his followers were normal people. I looked at the list of who he followed, and in common were only Sam, Valbo, and EDA, nothing reported to Outlander, or that could indicate he wanted to cause chaos with his comment.

Dear (returning) Spring Morning in the Park Anon,

I also knew from the beginning neither you, nor Steve were trolls. Even without a 📸and even without a screenshot.

Many people from across the dash came to this Anon submission box or in DMs, with hundreds of messages. Tones ranged from envious and patronizing to pure nastiness. I regret nothing.

Thanks to your hints, I took half an hour to corroborate info and I am now down to 4 names . Three of those accounts are now private and I think we both know why.

I never engage with strangers like this and I will never understand why people do. However, I think you did the right thing. And yes, I think I know who Steve is - a profile pic is enough. I will never disclose that to anyone.

If you need to chat in DM, I will always be available for you. And I always protect people's privacy.

You pushed many buttons and triggers, but let me thank you again for your honesty, Anon.

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Broken Birds

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Next (Coming Soon)

____

The Outlands, Years Ago:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother…

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

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

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

SCRATCH, SCRATCH…

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

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

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

SCRAPE, SCRATCH…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmhm!"

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

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

Vitani blinked, "What? Why?"

"Why what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait." she finally said, eyes open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vitani nodded rigorously, anxious beyond belief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"OW! Agghh! Makini, what the —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little Zira sniffled, "Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's wrong, my little Moonlight?"

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

"It's open." Kiara said flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiara smiled nervously, but tears still welled up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

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

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

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

She lit a torch and said her summoning phrase:

"Roho ya Moto!"

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

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

"No danger, here." Vitani deadpanned.

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

"Nuka..."

"You know how much energy it takes to —"

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

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

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

"Um... not recently?"

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

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

SIZZLE

"OW!!" Nuka cried.

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

"Nuka, what's happening?!"

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

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

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

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

POOF!

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

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

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

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

____

Not too long later, the rain had mysteriously stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, you good?" asked the Fastest.

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

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

"Hmm..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, o-okay."

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

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

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

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

Makini dropped her staff, "Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____

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

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

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

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

Fun Facts:

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

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

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

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

[rhaenella]

Fic Masterlist

Updated August 24, 2024

❦ Smut | ✿ Fluff | ❥ Angst

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ YOU (Netflix)

You & Me – Rhys Montrose (Series Masterlist) ❦ ✿ ❥

└▸ Summary: Rhys Montrose x assassin!reader. What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. ~ONGOING~

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Outlander

As Luck Would Have It – Stephen Bonnet & Brianna Fraser ❦

└▸ Summary: Stephen Bonnet x Brianna Fraser. Brianna just broke up with Roger and she finds herself drinking alone, in a crowded pub on St. Patrick’s Day, trying to drown her sorrows in solitude. But when a downright creep starts harassing Brianna and won’t seem to leave her alone, a charming Irish stranger comes to her rescue.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ F1

CL16 – Is It Over Now? (SMAU Series) ❥

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

└▸ Summary: Charles Leclerc x singer!reader. You and charles have been everyone's fave couple on the grid, but when you somewhat unexpectedly break up, you turn to songwriting to cope with the pain. ~COMPLETED~

MV1 – Season of Champions (SMAU) ✿

└▸ Summary: Max Verstappen x pbr!reader. You and max are each other's biggest supporters as max tries to secure his 3rd world championship title, whilst you're fighting for your 1st in a previously all male dominated sport

LN4 – Challenge Accepted ✿

└▸ Summary: Lando Norris x non-driver!reader. It’s been five years since the last chinese gp, so when you and lando are set up to race each other on the shanghai circuit on mclaren’s state of the art simulator, anything is possible…

CL16 & MV1 – Charm Offensive ✿

└▸ Summary: Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen. Max missed Charles terribly over Summer break and does everything in his power to talk to him

Other:

Requests open! | AO3

[madlori]

Can I ask you what you feel/think about real person shipping? And if you know anything about it, kpop shipping? Thank you! I appreciate your experience and knowledge about fandom spaces <3

I think RPF has been a cornerstone of fan experience since there was such a thing as fan experience. People have been speculating/writing about the fictionalized lives of public figures since...well, they were probably writing fic about Plato, is my guess.

Two huge fandom genres are bandoms and sports fandom, and there's nothing BUT RPF in those. There are also some fandoms that just lend themselves more to RPF, or where the fandom vibe has leaned that way (LotR and Outlander, for example).

Now. Writing/discussing RPF is one thing. Allowing it to impact the actors in question is quite another. A good faith effort should be made to insulate RPF from the people being written about (not tagging them, for starters). The Outlander fandom has grossly failed at this, with the actors having to address the issue repeatedly (also William Shatner has somehow gotten involved in that discourse, but that's another story). That's not ok. Like anything else, there's nuance and context. Sharing your fic with your friends or fandom is one thing. Berating the real people involved and attacking their actual family members is quite another.

[brian-in-finance]

This quote from FvF Director James Mangold can be added to the one you posted:

“Whatever had been said to me before I met Caitríona — ‘She’s in this hot TV show, huge following, former model’ — this is often the kind of thing that turns me off. But what I was confronted with was a simply remarkable actress—present, fearless, emotionally vulnerable, and smart.” - James Mangold, Director FvF

Thanks for the message, Anon. 😃 Your Mangold quote is from Vanity Fair and follows Brian’s recent post with video of Jamie Dornan’s and Orlando Bloom’s, and a tweet screenshot of Mangold’s, talking about working with Caitríona.

James Mangold and Caitríona Balfe attend the Le Mans ‘66 /Ford v Ferrari premiere at the 2019 Toronto International Film Festival at Roy Thomson Hall on 9 September 2019 in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

Thanks for your message, Anon. 😃

What do I think “based on reviews in everything she's done in and outside Outlander?” 😂 How To Attract Unwanted Attention Without Really Trying…

I think Caitríona will be just fine, regardless of her age (45 in October) and Outlander’s ending (filming in the next few weeks, Season 8 promotion sometime before 2030…).

It’s nice to step into the unknown and see what the possibilities might be. — Caitriona Balfe, 6 September 2024

Video 📹 from Twitter

I’d argue if every other role is typecasting, every other role is something different. 😉

Let’s look at her work released since Outlander premiered in August 2014, supportive wife/mother wise:

2015 The Price of Desire ❌

2016 Money Monster ❌

2019 Le Mans ‘66/Ford v Ferrari ✔️

2019 The Dark Crystal: The Age of Resistance ❌

2019 The Christmas Letter ❌/✔️

2020 Angela’s Christmas Wish ✔️

2021 Belfast ✔️

2024 The Cut ✔️/❌

2025 The Amateur TBA*

*Will she play the murdered wife? An American CIA agent or diplomat? A foreign agent or assassin? The Amateur’s version of Mrs Kravitz? 🤷🏻‍♂️ What we do know is she had her own dialect coach who is “passionate about coaching accents,” and, according to someone who attended the film’s screening in Pasadena last month, “(Caitríona��s) talent and range is bigger than anything we’ve seen.”

Does she have something bigger than small parts lined up?

As you mentioned, she typically doesn’t talk about, much less name, a project until it’s announced officially. 🍿🍿🍿

I think she’ll be offered roles, big and small, and do only what appeals to her and suits her family’s** lifestyle. She still owns the rights to Here Is The Beehive and now has some experience directing. She’ll never be bored, between time spent enjoying her family** and her interest in travel, art, music, film, fashion, literature, sports, and people.

**her actual family

You didn’t ask, but I’ll offer my humble opinion, just the same. I don’t think they’ll move abroad, regardless of her having lived for several years in New York and Los Angeles. Her and Tony’s parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews all live in Ireland and the UK. As she and Tony have done for years, I see their staying abroad for long periods during filming, but not setting up a permanent residence. I think they’ll continue to make their home and raise their son in Ireland/UK… JMHO.

Photos: FarFarAwaySite (cropped by BIF), Wimbledon, 8 July 2019, London England

Remember… as long as I keep getting cast, I don't care if it's typecast. — Chris Pratt

[katzenmas]

Outlander

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── This idea came to me in a vision while i was rewatching the show. This first chapter is more of an introduction because the reader (SPOILER AHEAD) hasn't travelled back in time yet. I wanted to get this chapter out of the way as soon as possible so i can start writing the more interesting ones hehe. This fic will be a Johnny Soap MacTavish X Reader, but you are technically married to Graves in this chapter. He won't really show up after this unless you're talking about him.

Warnings : Some suggestive dialogue, implied sex. No use of Y/N, Female Reader ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

PART 1 Inverness, 2018 People disappear all the time. Ask any policeman. Better yet, ask a journalist. Young girls run away from home. Children stray from their parents and are never seen again. Housewives reach the end of their tether and take the grocery money and a taxi to the station. International financiers change their names and vanish into the smoke of imported cigars. Many of the lost will be found, eventually, dead or alive. Disappearances, after all, have explanations. The little inn did not look like a place people would disappear in. Mrs. Baird’s looked like any other run down Highland bed and breakfast. With peeling paint and near dead flowers, the smell of cigarette smoke stuck to the walls in the rooms. Mrs. Baird herself almost looked like her inn. In her late sixties, always bustling and talking, still she made no objections when Phillip turned the room she rented us into a second office. His laptop and papers strewn around the desk, walls now had something akin to maps tacked onto them. It was your husband’s great idea to take a second honeymoon trip. Inverness was a strange choice, the setting so different from the one you were used to in Texas. But when Phillip came to you with two plane tickets and news that a one month break was needed, you wouldn’t even dare to turn him down. Walking down the rickety stairs of the inn, you found your husband sitting in an armchair near a fireplace, a book about the Jacobite rebellion in his hands. He looked so peaceful sitting in the maroon chair, the flames from the fire basking him in a soft glow. “How long are you going to stand there and stare at me Mrs. Graves?” your lips quirked up in a smile as you walked over to your husband. He set his book down on a coffee table and beckoned you to sit across his lap. Your hands found their home looped around his neck and he smoked into your collarbone. “I don’t know Mr. Graves, you make a fine subject for staring, maybe I’ll never stop” you giggled and ran your hands through his hair. The sudden quietness behind you two told you that Mrs. Baird has put down her broom and was covertly watching you. While golf and fishing are Scotland’s most popular outdoor sports, gossip is the most popular indoor sport. And when it rains as much as it does in Scotland, people spend a lot of time indoors. “She’s staring again” You mumbled and Phillip donned a devilish grin. Suddenly he hoisted you up and ran the length of the stairs to your room. The sudden change made giggles erupt from your mouth as you clutched tighter to him. ‘“What in god’s name are you doing!” You yelled at him through fits of your giggles and your husband threw you down on the bed, before getting on it himself. He was halfway sitting up, with his knees digging into the mattress and he smiled at you. “I’d hate for the dear old thing to be disappointed in us,” he answered. Sitting up on the side of the ancient bed, he bounced gently up and down, creating a piercing rhythmic squeak. The footsteps in the hall stopped abruptly. After a minute or two of bouncing, Phillip gave a loud, theatrical groan and collapsed backward with a twang of protesting springs. You giggled helplessly into a pillow, so as not to disturb the breathless silence outside. Phillip waggled his eyebrows at you. “You’re supposed to moan ecstatically, not giggle,” he admonished in a whisper. “She’ll think I’m not a good lover.” “You’ll have to keep it up for longer than that, if you expect ecstatic moans,” You answered. “Two minutes doesn’t deserve any more than a giggle.” “Inconsiderate little wench. I came here for a rest, remember?”

“Lazybones. You’ll never manage the next branch on your family tree unless you show a bit more industry than that.” Both of you chuckled as Phillip moved to lay next to you, bringing his hand around your middle and squishing you closer to his chest. That’s how sleep found you, being held close by your husband’s strong arms as his rhythmic heartbeat slowly lulled you into sweet sleep. The rustling sounds of your husband getting dressed stirred you from your dreams. You slowly sat up in the bed and stretched, the downpour outside has finally stopped which meant you two would be walking around town tonight. “ Let’s stop at that pub from yesterday. That might’ve been the best salmon I’ve ever eaten” Phillip noticed that you woke up and started making plans about today’s escapades. First you were going to meet some tour guide that would drive you two to some historical sites and then back to Inverness. “I distinctly heard the barman at that pub last night refer to us as Sassenachs.”

“Well, why not?” said Phillip. “It only means ‘Englishman,’ after all, or at worst, ‘outlander,’ and we’re all of that.”

“I know what it means. It was the tone I objected to.” Phillip searched through the bureau drawer for a belt. “He was just annoyed because I told him the ale was weak. I told him the true Highland brew requires an old boot to be added to the vat, and the final product to be strained through a well-worn undergarment.”

“Ah, that accounts for the amount of the bill.”

“Well, I phrased it a little more tactfully than that, but only because the Gaelic language hasn’t got a specific word for drawers.”

You reached for a pair of your own underwear, intrigued. “Why not? Did the ancient Gaels not wear undergarments?”

Phillip leered. “You’ve never heard that old song about what a Scotsman wears beneath his kilts?”

“ No and I’d rather not hear about it now. Off to the bath you go, the stench of the fire still clings to your hair” You playfully messed with it and your husband smiles, cupping your face in his hand and kissing your brow.

“Only if you join me”

The walk to the town square was a bit hard, dull ache between your thighs after Phillip decided to fuck you senseless in the shower, was making itself known. Taking small steps you idly window-shopped. Your husband was on the phone, talking to the tour guide when your eyes caught sight of a vase. It looked tacky, the colors were bright and the shape was a bit lopsided but the drawing depicted on the vase itself was beautiful. A myriad of large stones in a valley, the sunset drawn behind it was basking the stone in a soft glow.

Soon you found yourself meeting Phillip at the crossing of the High Street and the Gereside Road and you turned up the road together. He raised his eyebrows at your purchases.

“Vases?” He smiled. “Wonderful. Perhaps now you’ll stop putting flowers in my books.”

“They aren’t flowers, they’re specimens. And it was you who suggested I take up botany. To occupy my mind, now that I’ve not got nursing to do,” You reminded him.

“True.” He nodded good-humoredly. “But I didn’t realize I’d have bits of greenery dropping out into my lap every time I opened a reference. What was that horrible crumbly brown stuff you put in Tuscum and Banks?”

“Groutweed. Good for hemorrhoids.”

“Preparing for my imminent old age, are you? Well, how very thoughtful of you.” You two laughed as suddenly a small green car stopped in front of you. The man in the driver’s side seat looked no more than fifty. Big rimmed glasses sat atop his small nose, wild curly hair had bits of gray in it and you noticed one golden tooth as he sent a smile your way.

“ Mr. and Mrs. Graves! Pleasure to meet ya, I’m Colm I’ll be takin’ ye to Craigh Na Dun”

[devilsrecreation]

Outlander drawing prompts I got from Wannadraw

- Jasiri gardening

or as Deadpool

or as a model

- Madoa as a warlock

or as a popstar

or steampunk

- Janja drawing a picture of himself

or chibi style

or as a popstar

- Chungu as an evil queen (king)

or wearing an outfit made of flowers

or as an artificer

- Cheezi made of cheese (hehe…CHEESE-i)

or playing with fireworks

or skydiving

- Nne riding a dragon into combat (a komodo dragon lol)

as a demon

or as a puppet

- Tano adopting 50+ cats (bonus if they’re all disney cats)

or dancing in a music video

or as a bard

- Mzingo chibi style

or as a cowboy

or if he was one of the mean girls

- Mwoga as a lego character

or going to prom

or as a ranger

- Reirei as a bard

or rocking a ballgown

or at the Olympics

- Goigoi going to highschool (new au??)

or on Valentine’s Day

or traveling the desert

- Dogo if he was a disney prince

or sporting a giant anime sword

or as a superhero (SUPER JACKAL)

- Kiburi wearing 50’s clothing

or dressed like Nicki Minaj (WHEEZE)

or gardening

- Tamka as a model

or drawn in hayao miyazaki’s style

or on Valentine’s Day

- Nduli as a barbarian

or flying on a magic carpet

or as a Mortal Combat character

- Neema as a rogue

or running from a bear

or surfing

- Shupavu as a llama

or as a druid

or as a character from your fav video game

- Njano as a plant person

or as a wizard

or stranded on an island

- Kenge as a druid

or as a pirate (PIRATE AU?????)

or made of cheese

- Sumu going to a Ren faire

or stranded on an island

or as a ballerina

- Ushari climbing a tree

or drop dead gorgeous

or wearing a bikini (ig as a human-)

Bonus: Vitani’s guard

- Vitani falling in love with an ice cream

- Shabaha as a warlock

- Kasi cooking

- Imara in Lady Gaga’s clothes (bonus if she wears her meat dress)

- Tazama as a character from your favorite video game

Double bonus: Makuu and Hodari

- Makuu if he was two inches tall

or in a Halloween costume

or as an angel

- Hodari at comicon

or as a paladin

or wearing an outfit made of flowers

[sapphiressmoke]

Outlander IV

Summary: She doesn’t know how it happened but they were calling to her to come closer. Touching it was never suppose to uproot her life and transport her somewhere she never thought she could see and witness. She has to try her best to survive if she wants to get back, right?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen X Modern!Reader

Characters Mentioned: Criston Cole, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen

Warning: Vulgar language (ass, whore, cock) mention of sexual acts briefly

Word Count: 3.9K

Previous

a/n at the bottom 🫶🏻

With the moon passing over Kings Landing, Aemond did not dare to take his eyes off of you as you slept. The young prince didn’t think you came to realize that you were in his room, but nonetheless, it didn’t matter to him. Anyone would say it was improper for an unwed lady to be sleeping in a man’s room but they didn’t know the full story. Well, neither did he but he wanted… No he needed to know you were safe. He watched as you chest raised with each breath and then deflate once you breathed out. Breath in. Breath out.

He had this fear that if he, himself, fell asleep that maybe you would disappear. Every so often, he would walk up to you to just study your face. The candle that burned next to his bed illuminated your face perfectly. He saw how your long lashes laid against your upper cheek, how your lips were slightly separated when you breathed out, how your eyebrows creased just slightly… Every little thing about you was perfect. You stirred for a moment as Aemond brushed a piece of your hair out of your face. He would shush you back to sleep, as if trying to sooth a crying babe.

Suddenly, the air in the room shifted and Aemond felt the hairs on back of his neck rise. “You must protect her.” A voice spoke behind him. Aemond stood up abruptly, turning to try and see who had entered his room.

He walked a few steps ahead, keeping your sleeping figure behind him so he could keep you out of harms way. He unsheathed his sword and looked around to see if he could spot anyone in the surrounding area. “Who goes there. How did you get in here.” His voice boomed, commanding.

A glowing violet eye shimmered in the darkness, a glimmer of blue went and gone “All is well Aemond, at ease.” The figure walked in the shadows but never steps out to reveal himself. “I come with a warning.”

Aemonds eyes followed the eye hiding in the darkness, ready to attack if needed. He watched as the figure stared at you with a longing look. Despite not seeing the perpetrators face, the eye held strong emotions. “What could you warn me about? Show yourself.” He tried to not yell as he did not want to wake your sleeping figure behind him.

“Your own downfall will be your anger and ego. Those who are family will try to put you down and take her away.” The voice explained gently, calmly, as if trying to not scare an animal in the wild. “Hold her close to your heart and do what your gut tells you to do.”

He dropped his sword to his side, still keeping a strong grip upon the leather of the hilt. “And what is that suppose to mean? You don’t even know anything about me.”

He watched as the figure stepped out of the shadows, the face first appearing to be a man with a stoic face and short hair silver hair, wearing the conquerors crown, then morphed into a softer featured man but still sporting the short silver hair until the last face was his. His hair was untied and his eyepatch seemed long gone. “We are you.” The rest of his body stepped from the shadows and walked towards the bed to sit next to you. “Life is cruel to those who love with big hearts. We are familiar with heartbreak. It wrecks you from the inside out. Every soul is bound to another and some may get lost along the way but they are always bound to find one another. She has found her way back to you.” Aemond watched himself sit next to you, they were both watching you sleep peacefully. “You must be careful with who you call family because they will try to use her to their advantage. Keep her close.” His hand skimmed over your cheek before he stood up and looked at Aemond. “You love her greatly and she loves you greatly. Don’t take it for granted.” And with a blink of an eye, he vanished from Aemond sight.

He stood there in disbelief, trying to process what had just happened. He knew he has seen those faces before and would this mean that there were such things as reincarnations? Was he apart of a greater story than he was aware of?

“Aemond? Are you okay?” He hadn’t realized that had woken up while he was lost in his thoughts. He turned to see that you were sitting up while your right arm held you up, your eyes still full of sleep and your hair disheveled.

You couldn’t quite see his face in the dark but you could see that something was bothering him deep within his mind. He strides before you and stroked your head. “Yes, yes I am Y/N. I’m alright. How are you feeling?”

You felt him place his hand against your forehead, searching for any heat. You took his hand by the wrist and placed it down. “I feel alright. My head feels a bit heavy but that’s all.” You played with his fingers, trying to figure out what to say. “What are you doing up? Have you slept.”

“Of course I have.” He lied straight through his teeth and you knew it. “A noise from the hall woke me up not too long ago.”

You laughed softly. “You are a terrible liar, Aemond. You are still fully dressed and you have your sword scabbard still attached to you.” You watch Aemonds gaze fall to his hip and you could only imagine that his cheeks were red from being caught in a lie. You scootched over a couple of inches and patted the spot next to you. “It seems to still be late in the night so I request that you undress into your sleep attire and join me in the bed for the rest of the night.” You smiled a bright smile that he could not refused.

“I-It’s improper.” He stuttered. He wanted to accept but he knew that it was wrong to lay with a woman when he and she was unmarried.

You thought back to your history lessons of royalty family and you remembered learning that everything was improper before marriage. No touching, no sleeping together, not even being alone and this must be breaking every rule that the prince was taught. “If we do not touch, would it still be improper?” You asked.

He looked at you and sighed. If you were a sin testing him, he would gladly accept it. “Fine.” You turned over so your back was facing him as you let him undress. You heard the sounds of laces being untied and hooks being let go. You felt the bed dip in as you assumed he was removing his boots. By the end of the undressing, he was left but just in his chemise intimate clothing. You turned over to face him when you felt him lift the sheets to go under. “You know, you’re on the side that I usually sleep on.” He jested when you finally faced him. “But I don’t mind sharing this one time.”

He felt your gaze looking at his face. More specifically his eyepatch that still laid upon his face. You went to grab the leather strap to take it off but Aemond was quicker to grab your hand and bring it back down towards the mattress. “Not yet. I can’t.” He shook his head. “It is not a pretty sight that I am ready for you to see.”

You brought his hand to your lips and placed a simple kiss on the skin of his knuckles. “I will not rush you, Aemond. I will gladly look at your one beautiful eye for now.” Despite knowing you for less than 48 hours, he has felt more love with you than with anyone else in his life. His heart felt as if it was tied to hers and wherever she went, he must go. “I hope this isn’t too improper for you, Aemond. I don’t want to cause you too much stress.”

It was his turn to play with your fingers as he tried to figure out a way to respond. “Despite was the Faith says, I do not care in this moment nor ever while you are here. What happens in here is for us only. Now, hush up and close your eyes. It’s time too sleep.”

You feigned offence with a small gasp. “It is not me who lied about being asleep this whole time. You must close your eyes and find sleep yourself, young prince.”

For the next part of the hour, Aemond and Y/N spoke about nonsense while never letting go of the hand that they previously held.

‘We are you’ were words that plagued the one eyed prince for the rest of the night.

We are you.

A knock on the door was what woke up the young princeling from his sleep. He rubbed the sleep from his eye to try and fully wake himself up. He heard you stir next to him as you dug yourself deeper into the pillow, trying to stay asleep for as long as possible. When sitting up in the bed, he bent down and grabbed the pants that he previously wore and pulled them then striding towards the door. He pulls open the heavy doors to be greeted by Ser Criston. “Good Morrow, my prince.” The Knight bowed. “Your mother, the Queen, requests an audience with the Lady Y/N. Alone” The knight peered into the room to see you sleeping in the princes bed still. He cocked an eyebrow at the scene but stayed quiet.

Aemond nodded, looked back at you and then back at Ser Criston. “Of course… Let me wake her and I will bring her.”

The Knight shook his head. “I’m sorry, Prince Aemond, but she requests the audience to be alone with her. She requests that I bring her up myself, the Queen advises that you must have greater things to tend to.”

He looked back once more upon your sleeping figure and sighed. “Okay… Okay. Give me five minutes and I will get her up. Did mother tell you what she needed?” The knight shook his head saying no. What would his mother possibly want with her? He closed the door behind him, leaving Ser Criston on the other side of the door. He approached your side of the and started stroking your exposed cheek. “It’s time to wake up, Y/N.”

You groaned and raised your hand to Aemonds lips, shushing him. “5 more minutes please. Shhh.”

A smile played on his lips. He took your hand in his and placed it back down on the bed. “I wish I could give you more time but my mother… The Queen… She’s requesting an audience with you, alone.” You head snapped up at the statement he made. He brushed your hair behind your ear to have a better look at your sleepy face. “I’m not sure what she needs but Criston, the knight that was with me when I found you, is outside the door waiting to escort you.”

You slowly sat up in the bed, your mind was racing at the thought of meeting the Queen. Was she going to banish you back to the forest? Question where you came from? You had no idea how you could answer that question. ‘Oh yes my Queen, I’m from, what seems to be, the future and I have now travelled to the past. It also seems that your sons ghost guided me to the stones that brought me here.’ She would certainly think you were insane and send you somewhere.

“O-Okay.” That was all you could muster. “I guess I will put the clothes on from yesterday and go. Yes, that’s the plan.” You shakily stood up from the bed and all Aemond could do was watch you. He felt the stress role off of you but he didn’t know how to protect you from this.

Those who are family will try to put you down and take her away. Hold her close to your heart.

Alicent watched her father sit in the chaise in her room as she paced the floor, picking at her cuticles. “This could mean so much more for us, Father. This could help our cause of putting Aegon on the throne as the rightful ruler.” She continued to ramble on until Otto butt in.

“My dear daughter, please explain what you mean.” He demanded.

Alicent stopped her step and stared at her father. “The girl! She was found by being guided by the White Hart. Ser Criston can vouch for this, father.” She took a seat next to Otto and placed her hands in her lap but continued the picking. “We all know the symbolism behind the animal

is royalty and it appeared to her and Aemond.”

“And who is this girl?”

Alicent took a deep breath before continuing. “We have no idea. She was found at the Stones of Many a Moon being guarded. There is something about her and she will be our key.” The Queen took her fathers hands in her own. “We must treat her as one of us, as if she is family. Whatever she wants, she must get. Same goes for Aemond. We need them on our side. We need them happy.”

Otto looked at his daughter with a pleased look, knowing that what she was saying was right. “You are right my daughter. They are the key to success for the realm. We will treat her with respect but we must keep a close eye on her.” He tapped her hands and proceeded to place them on her lap. “I’ve heard she has roomed with Aemond last night.”

“I heard the same… It’s highly improper but if it is what they want, they shall receive it. The news of her becoming must be kept within the council. It must not reach the ears of Rhaenyra. She will try everything to take her.” The Queen thought back to her childhood friend but quickly shook the thought away as the doors to her chambers proceeded to open.

Ser Criston Cole bowed before introducing you to the room. “My Queen, Lady Y/N has been brought as requested for an audience.” The Knight made eye contact with the Hand of the King before nodding his head towards the elder man who took to his feet and left the room to leave the two of you alone. You couldn’t help but notice the look that the man and Alicent shared with each other. As if they could speak telepathically.

Alicent stood up and walked towards you and brought you into a quick hug that you couldn’t even return from the speed. “Lady Y/N, I hope you are feeling much better.” She took a look at her Kings Guard and thanked him for the service and to wait outside the door.

You weren’t sure how to react to the sudden affection, causing you to stumble over your words. “Yes yes, thank you, Your Grace. The rest was quite needed.” You smiled at her. You remembered seeing her quickly at the campsite. The longer you stared at her, you more you could see that her eyes held emotion the same way Aemonds did and facial manoeuvres were quite similar.

You felt her grasp your hand and guide you over the lounge area to sit with her. “Please, when it is just us two, call me Alicent. Drop the formalities.” She smiled, still grasping your hand. Her thumb grazing over your knuckles.

“If that is the case, please call me Y/N. Drop the Lady, it makes me feel higher than I truly am.”

“Of course, Y/N.” The Queen continued to smile but there was more meaning behind the smile that she let on. You watched as her deep eyes eyed you up and down, looking b at what you were wearing. “I see that you are still in Aemonds garb from yesterday. It seems that you have no clothing here… I shall request for a dressmaker to come for measurements for you at once.”

A sudden wave of uncomfortable took over you. You weren’t use to be getting doted on, especially by a mother figure. Your mother took care of you, yes, but she could not find the time to sit down with you and just talk. “I can’t accept that. Are you sure, your Gra- Alicent.” You corrected yourself.

All she could do was give you a motherly laugh, basically saying that she would do what she needed for you. “Of course, sweet girl, I can’t have you running about in my sons clothing.” She gave your hands a light squeeze. “If you need anything and I mean anything, you come let me know. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

A small smile played on your lips played in your lips but your eyes kept fleeting back to the door where you saw the older man. Was he the king? “The man who was here just before, was he..?”

“The King? No.” She shook her head and a solemn expression took over. “That is my father, the hand of the king. Currently, his grace is bed ridden as he has been sick for quite some time now but I assure you that once he is up for some visitors, Aemond and I shall bring you to meet him. He would be very pleased with you.” Perhaps meeting you, hearing how you were found would surely persuade the sick king to change his mind of the heir. He himself believed prophecies and symbolism more than anyone. She held your hand tightly, scared that letting go would put the green cause 10 steps back from where they were heading. “Now, let’s talk about dresses.”

Perhaps she was the mother you always dreamed of but to her, you were just a pawn in her game.

Aemond roamed the halls of the Red Keep, his mind continuing to play out what he had seen last night. He knew the faces he saw were familiar, he must have seen them depicted somewhere before in his studies. The words said by himself kept playing through his head ‘Those who are family will try to put you down and take her away. Hold her close to your heart.’ He hadn’t realized that he walked towards his sister room until he heard her soft spoken voice call him. “Aemond.”

He turned his head towards the open door to see Helaena embroidering as the twins played on the floor. “Helaena.” No matter the mood, just seeing his older sister made him smile. Perhaps it was because it was her innocence and kindness he admired or the way she was soft spoken but he always smiled. He entered the room and took a seat next to her. “How are you, sister?”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m quite alright. The twins are eager to fly out with you.”

He loved his niece and nephew and would protect them any cost. They had been asking at least once a week to fly out on their dragons but the Dragon Keepers have agreed that they are not quite there yet. “Has Aegon not offered to bring them on Sunfyre?” As the questions rolled off his tongue, he thought that he already knew the answer to that. “Nevermind. The time will come for their turn to be in the sky.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked up at him. “Time is suppose to move forward but it seems that it chose to move back this time. Time can be stalled by greed.”

He looked down at his sister, trying to understand what she was trying to tell him. He knew she would have moments where her phrases would make no sense to anyone but herself. “What do you mean?”

“Time is being kept in place by emerald. Cut the cord and let time move freely.”

The silence that was left after her voice was broken by the booming voice of their elder brother. “Aemond! There you are!” Aegon stumbled into the room, his own legs causing him to trip here and there. At the sound of his voice, the twins nurses had decided to take the twins out of the room, muttering something about the twins needed time outside. “If I heard correctly, you have soaked your cock in a whore!”

Helaena could feel the tension beginning to rise already at his words. “Aegon, please stop.”

Aegon came up behind Aemond, placing his hands on his younger brothers shoulders and giving them a harsh squeeze. “Come on Helaena! Have some fun. Our dear brother here has had a stick up his ass for such a long time. Getting his cock wet will definitely lighten him up.” Aemond started to tense under the words of his brother. “It may not be a proper whore, from what I’ve been told though. I’ve heard that you had to go deep in the woods to find her. Was she tight? Did she gag and spit all over your cock? She must be good since you brought her back here and have her sleep in your room!” Tick Tick Tick. “Maybe when you’ve had enough, you can pass her over to me for some fun.”

Tick.

Aemond stood up faster than anyone could see and had his hand wrapped around his brothers throat. “If you speak of her that way one more time, my hand will be my sword and your head will be rolling on the floor… dear brother.” At the end of his sentence, Aemond pushed his brother backwards, causing him to fall down and cough from the pressure on his throat. “I’m sorry, sister.” He gave a quick nod towards his sister and rushed out the room to try and control his temper.

He rushed towards his mothers quarters, hoping to find you and just be with you as you were the only person he wanted to see in this moment. As he rushed towards the stairs, he thought he heard a voice from the Gods themselves call out his name.” Aemond!”

He looked up and the biggest smile reached his lips as he practically skipped steps to see you. It seems that you were being escorted back to his room after speaking with his mother. “Y/N.” He grabbed your elbow, allowing himself to feel grounded. He looked to your behind left to see his mothers loyal knight. “Ser Criston, I can take her from here. Thank you.” He heard the cornish man say ‘you’re welcome’ as he bowed and headed back towards the royal quarters. “It is weird for me to say but I missed you in your absence.”

You brought your arm up to squeeze his hand. “I can say the same.” You both stared into each others eyes, not bothering about the world around you.

SOO we are introducing more lore to the story. If you know who Aemond saw… shhhh he doesn’t know. I have such plans. Next chapter, I’m going to dive into more of the readers adaptation to this time period since it’s only been one day since she’s been found. We can also already see what’s brewing with the Hightowers.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

TAGLIST

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[jiubilant]

insp: [x]

In the third hour of Vistha-Kai’s long watch, someone coughs in the Corprusarium.

This, in itself, is not unusual. The wards of Tel Fyr’s caverns, he thinks, often cough—and rattle, and moan, and scream. But they rarely wander so close to the entrance-door. And no longer, now that the wizard is—away—does Vistha-Kai allow seeking, sneaking thieves into the Corprusarium. They upset Uupse.

“Peace!” he calls, the proposition belied by the searching point of his spear. “I am Vistha-Kai. The Corprusarium and its wards—”

“Are under your protection.” Something moves in the damp and the dark. A skitter of stray stones; the flicker of an eye; a dry, wheedling voice like the wind in a tibrol tree. “But who protects a humble healer, armed with nothing but”—a muffled clank, as of several implements shifting in a bag—“a speculum?”

Vistha-Kai stares at the darkness.

Then he sighs through his teeth and, with a lash of his tail, lowers his spear. “Come out, naheesh.”

“You’re sure?” More clanking. “I also carry a tongue-depressor—”

“Come out.”

A pause. Then, with a flick of his own tail, the stranger steps into the light: a lukiul like Vistha-Kai, bent by a healer’s bag.

“Peace,” he agrees, raising his empty hands in demonstration. His lean raptor’s face splits into a long, sour smile. “I am poor sport for a sportsman. I’ve come to compare notes with Uupse Fyr.”

Sarpa, thinks Vistha-Kai, studying the stranger. Not for many years has he met a quilled cousin of his own scale-armored kin. The healer’s plumage had probably been striking, once, thick and tawny as a faeder’s; now he’s bald on top, and the sickly feathers of his tail have faded to the color of dust. He’s tied up his road-stained robes like a peasant’s skirts. The bare legs beneath are like a chicken’s. The sickle-claws curving from his feet, which at first glance look deadlier than knives, are blunted and capped with brass.

Poor sport for a sportsman, Vistha-Kai concludes—but confident enough to brave corprus. Or foolish enough. He leans with some suspicion on his spear.

“You came with the diseased one,” he says. Alfe had told him that much over supper last night, hands calm and still around her cup, while a trembling Beyte spilled the rice. “The outlander. I was told that she and you would not venture here until tomorrow.”

“What nefarious intent”—the healer ducks his head, his eyes clouding over, and stifles another hoarse, hissing cough—“do you suppose of me?”

Not of him. The arms of his companion had been like pillars. “Where is the outlander?”

“Resting,” says the stranger, tilting his head this way and that—twitchy as a bird, thinks Vistha-Kai with mingled fascination and disapproval. He watches the man’s feather-duster tail sweep an impatient line through the dirt of the cavern floor. “She is diseased, as you say. It taxes one.”

“Then you should tend her, healer,” says Vistha-Kai. “Or go and cure your cough. If that is beyond you, Uupse Fyr”—who would possibly, he thinks with a guilty twinge, welcome the distraction—“will have no use for your notes.”

He’s made an enemy, he thinks, watching the healer. The man’s eyes flash in his arrowy face.

“You won’t,” he says, his voice an ingratiating scrape, “escort a humble healer—”

“The door,” says Vistha-Kai, and nods at the passage from which the healer had come. Then he smiles with all his teeth. “May I walk you to it?”

* * *

Outside, in the dewy light of a Zafirbel dawn, the damned dirty cliff racer accosts the healer in the garden. Again.

“Ech,” he spits, throwing up his arms to shield his face. “No! Shoo! Do you”—he swats aside a wing and the thing’s jingling jesses, then fumbles with plaintive desperation through his bag—“do you want a pilchard? Eh?”

“Are you letting him bully you, Surriwit?” The voice resounds through the maze of decorative stones—no hedgerows on the Black Isle, of course—like the clang of a brass gong. “He’s but a puppy—”

“He’s a kite with teeth,” the healer snaps over the clamor of hunting-bells. “Call him off—ha!”

He whisks from his bag the jar of brinefish he’d bought in Sadrith Mora. When he flings one across the garden, it gleams for a moment in the morning haze before the cliff racer streaks after it like a javelin. The gust of its wings buffets the healer’s robes. He watches with feathers abristle, dipping his hand back into the jar, as the beast chirrups with glee and tosses the fish back into the air.

The voice of his traveling companion rolls, amused, from behind a plinth topped with two truncated legs. “He only wants to play.”

“Yes, yes.” Surriwit rounds the plinth, giving the cliff racer a wide berth. “Life’s but a game, says the Nerevarine, so why worry?”

She’s made a liar of him, he thinks, crunching with aggrieved impatience on a pilchard. He’d left her lounging on a sheet in the shade. He’d told her not to exert herself. Now, instead of heeding his advice, she’s moving through the tiresome spear-drills that eat up half the day: a hewn block of a woman, corprus-bald and blistered, hulking from shadow to light like a dancing guar.

Madwoman. He should have left her in Sadrith Mora.

“What did you think,” she says, and skewers some imaginary foe, “of the Corprusarium?”

“You might come to like it,” says Surriwit with his surliest smile. “Perhaps that brute warden will spar with you. If your arms don’t fall off.”

The Nerevarine looses her enormous laugh. “He didn’t let you in!”

He tries not to look too ruffled. “The kena was busy with her wards—”

“He didn’t let you in!” Three more hypothetical adversaries find themselves in need of sewing-up. “Your friendly overtures, my Wit, are worse than your bedside manner.”

“They’ve no liking for Guild mages here.” He comes no closer. He’s studied corprus; to stray too close to a sufferer is a death worse than flux, than lung-rot, than putrefaction of the living flesh. “And you were right, I think. He did kill the wizard.”

“Not him,” says the so-called Nerevarine with satisfaction. Her spear whips through the air like a war-wasp. “The daughters.”

The divine disease, thinks the healer, has not yet touched her reflexes. It will. He gives her a look of bitter skepticism. “But you, of course, they’ll save—”

The fire in his chest flares again. The coughing-fit that seizes him is so severe that he staggers, wheezing, retching with every lungful of fungal spores and dust; something hard nudges his side, and he grips it like a railing to steady himself. Then he realizes, regaining his breath, what it is: the extended haft of the Nerevarine’s spear.

He leans on it. It doesn’t wobble. The dying woman, a safe spearlength away, holds him up.

“Why worry?” she asks, unsmiling.

He’s too winded to answer. He takes a difficult breath. Then another. The little cliff racer, with an anxious chitter, twines around his leg.

“Oh, puppy,” he rasps, and scratches its horrible chin.

[sgiandubh]

What makes a very mature and educated woman confuse the charisma of Jamie and Claire and fall behind the illusion of Sam and Cait?

Look at this picture and many others, look at Cait's smile and the happiness in her eyes

Look at the color of Tony's lips, I don't need to continue

Below this picture are many pictures of them from many years ago

This man has been a reality since 2015, so let us accept reality even if we do not like it

Note: I would love to read everything you write aside from Outlander and S&C

Dear (b)Itchy Anon,

Ah, yes. You folks are definitely a very predictable bunch, because you simply cannot help yourself and just have to do it. Every. Single. Christmas. Eve. For reasons transparent enough to make you & your kin instantly unlikeable.

I was just thinking, the other day, believe it or not. I was thinking of the disingenuous way you - or someone like you - engaged with @cb4tb on another Christmas Eve and told myself: 'I bet the farm this year it's going to be me'. And here we are, with a rather long - and also, rather curious- comment. What am I going to do with you, Anon? Just write a rather long and ironic answer to your delirious rant, what else?

Calling me 'very mature' made me spit my Pepsi - always better in Romania than the eternal Coca-Cola - and I have to dubiously and cheaply congratulate myself, too. In about six months, you were forced to transition from 'Christ, shippers are stupid' to 'Golly, some -if not most - of them really are educated people'. An apparent paradox that never made you question your surroundings.

For instance, I do not need to wear a turban, sport a cigarette holder, rent a garish tent and call myself Miss Cleo, in order to tell with eerie precision English is not your mother tongue, either. You still do have a big problem with phrasal verbs, because you couldn't have possibly meant I 'fell behind the S&C illusion', but rather that 'I fell for that illusion'. You see, falling behind is 'failing to do something in time' or 'being late with a due payment' or 'being unable to make the same progress as one's peers'. We, shippers, naturally have this kind of superpowers. And seasoned bullshit-o-meters, too.

For your information, I haven't. I explained it at length. There is no possible way to do it if one uses common sense and street smarts only. What I did see, along with thousands of other people, mind you, had absolutely -forgive me, Father, for I am about to sin again - fucking nothing to do with Seamus and Sorcha. I mean, d'oh - is this your best argument, Anon? That sad, wilted talking point? Wow. Just wow.

Then, you totally lose control and take The Scarecrow out of the closet (yes, pun totally intended), in the hope you'll make me screech with dread & horror, I suppose. Exactly which one of the five to ten max Tait pics am I supposed to look at? The one at the marathon, where he checks her pulse? The one in Australia, when he pitifully dangles that stick on a beach? The one with the flute? The fist-in-hand one? The one at this year's IFTA, where she looks through him and he begs for a smile? I shall never know, because you do not add any picture and since I am not Miss Cleo, there's no way I could ever guess. Instead, you describe Neverland in Technicolor, lips included (so help me God, I never looked at McIdiot's lips: I take pride in being mentally sound). Indeed, there is no need to continue, Anon, lest you would insist to ridicule yourself.

This man has been a (questionably) useful prop since 2016, in order to give credence to a narrative. You all know it. You all deny it. You live in a parallel reality, currently embraced by PR. Amen. That does not give you the right to police this fandom and no, your derailed zeal will not get you any Brownie points from C.

Speaking only for myself, I will tell you one last time: I will never blindly accept a convenient compromise fiction just because TPTB and/or PR tell me so.

Note: I doubt my writing interests you. I really do, because I don't deal in fanfic. And even if I am an Oriental, know flattery never worked with me. In fact, I can't stand it.

It's Christmas. Take a break from all this pathetic hatred, Anon: if you have but a cell left of humanity in yourself, you can't possibly be proud of this message and there are far more interesting and meaningful ways to spend this special day. He came for you, too. And that is the most important thing in the world, right now.