#i. ic interactions

[skipppppy]

So. About that new episode huh

[the-catboy-minyan]

I will never forgive goyim for taking the word for the group that was literally all about mass murdering 6 million jews in the most horrific genocide in history that wasn't even 100 year ago, and twisting the meaning to be "evil person that is so fascist and evil they're not human anymore" and then turn around and call Jews that.

the Nazi belief is literally that JEWS ARE SUBHUMAN. Jews literally CANNOT be Nazis unless they genuinely see their people and themselves as subhuman and deserving of death.

[twinge-of-cosmicangst]

The fact Jon and Theon didn’t like each other is kind of interesting, a lot of authors would’ve made them very close because what they have in common, i.e. trauma bonding about Theon quite obviously wanting to be a Stark, but is actually their hostage, and Jon wanting to be a ‘proper’ Stark but instead being a bastard Snow, but instead they both favour Robb as a brother despite being quite obviously jealous of him and his position as Ned’s heir. They both parallel each other when Jon dreams of being in the Stark cypts and thinking it’s not his place, and Theon going down to the cypts in adwd and thinking the exact same thing.

You could argue it’s more to do with their personalities not being compatible, but Theon and Robb are very different also. I think it’s more to do with the fact that both being at the bottom of the family hierarchy, or more accurately outside it, is what makes them resent each other.

Like from Theon’s perspective he he may think to himself ‘I may not be part of the family but at least I’m not a bastard’ but then he will see Jon and Robb behave like brothers, Ned treating Jon with affection, Jon getting a Direwolf, even if it is the ‘runt’. Whereas Jon may think ‘I may be a bastard but at least I am Ned Stark’s son, and Robb’s, Arya’s, Bran’s, etc brother’ but then he’ll see Theon being treated fairly by Catelyn, Robb and Theon’s friendship, and Theon being allowed to be part of the formal greetings of the King, and being allowed to sit a the high tables when they feast, and all this leading them to resent each other.

It is true that love him or hate him Theon is an asshole and downright mean a lot of the time, so some would assume that, if Theon being the elder had been kinder to Jon, then Jon would’ve liked him, but I don’t know, Jon may be kind, but he is also proud and I don’t know if his pride would’ve ever allowed him to like Theon Greyjoy.

[poritora]

Wolf girl

[skunkes]

got ya

[captain-of-playground]

-> It was early into the night and Playground was throwing a rather massive party to celebrate the long lasing rule of the kingdom's oldest ruling family! Lights and colors and sound all around! Civilians, knights and all were welcomed to enjoy in the celebration too! -> A certain yellow dove, dressed in his finest with a small, furred cloak wrapped around his shoulders and teal-colored jewelry pieces in his dreads, was pacing around outside of the castle's walls. It seems like he was waiting for someone. -> Or two someones to be exact. - @dove-conductor [IT'S PARTY TIME]

Ego wasn’t used to wearing anything besides his armor. He barely had days off and mostly just wore what was under the armor. He felt…nice.

He walked over to Egg while tilting his head. He was worried for his tiny birdie. He was dressed up in nice black, golds and yellows with golden accessories.

“Is Birdie waiting for me?~”

[bearforceone3]

cassie and tora doodles that might be connected to the guy and bart i did

[aeantizlkamenwati]

The Hound

So @the-kingshound updated and I dove headfirst into feelings and needed to get some feelings out...So I wrote a thing. As you do. A bit terrified to post outside of anon, but...2.5k words is too much for an ask and the discord...so...here we are.

Some moderate CW though, it contains depression, sexism (I know most people aren't going to want to delve into this sort of stuff because it's escapism, but I find it cathartic and validating when it's at least acknowledged how shitty it is to have a uterus at any point in time), and my Hound is not the nicest person around. (Arthur please don't give up on her, she'll get there)

OH and a part is inspired by a really old poll Kal asked about what color we'd like our dog-hounds to be and I know everyone went with the Christian Black Hound of Hell cause it IS iconic and spooky, but I was going...but a white hound would mean something to the Welsh. It makes a statement. SO I added it in the end to soften the angst.

Enjoy below the cut because I have no chill.

Guinevere stared across her small table at the King. Her husband, she supposed, though in the eyes of the court the title was not official. He seemed unable to meet her bright red eyes—not uncommon in her experience. Even in her own House people struggled to hold her gaze. More than once had she overheard whispers of the unsettling otherworldly heir, the one that must’ve been taken by some spirit or another.

Here was no different, only the terms changed. Annwn, Arawn, Mallt-y-Nos all were whispered as she walked past instead of Da Derga. ‘Bad omen that one’ was still the same though. ‘It’ll be the death of the Pendragons, letting one such as her share a bed with the King,’ in some form or another.

She waited patiently, stoically for the King to sort through whatever went on in his head. She refused to let her gaze leave him. To show any sign of weakness lest he go for her throat so to speak. She watched him as any prisoner might when face to face with their judge and executioner.

Arthur, as a person, was not…terrible. Though the most she saw of him was at their wedding, to be fair. Her hackles bristled at even the memory of the word. Wedding. It was nothing more than a celebration of her family’s downfall. The handfasting, nothing more than a shackle, a collar to show the might of Camelot.

But it was not yet a total victory.

After all, there were still more humiliations the king could bring against House Venegard. One, in particular, she dreaded more than others. She understood her duty, of course, and she would bear the torment like the cliffs do the raging sea…

That did not mean her stomach did not cramp. That bile did not coat her tongue. Her fists clenched in her lap, waiting those dreadful words, the terrible command. Her throat tightened against the rising emotions. Her skin prickled.

‘It won’t come to that,’ Saraah had told her. Radel and Ghaven had tried to comfort her as well. In their own way. Ghaven told her to use their wedding present on Arthur if he tried. It…it did make her laugh despite the crushing despair. Saraah had tried to tell her she’d be safe, that they doubted Arthur would force her to do anything.

She loved her siblings, but…she also knew they didn’t understand, not truly. They were, in the judging eyes of the law, men. They had the rights to their wives—not including Saarah of course.

They did not get the lectures from their mother about how to cut one’s own throat or womanhood should they ever be captured. They did not hear old wives tell horror stories of their first nights. They were not told tricks to get through it, how to fix themselves afterwards because their husband would just leave them once he was through—or fall asleep. They did not hope to die with the birth of their firstborn so they did not have to suffer anymore violations.

After all, what could be more symbolic of the King’s victory than breaking her in their marriage bed as his father did his mother so long ago?

Guinevere bit her tongue to keep her numbness in place. Pain forced her back into the hardened warrior her House had demanded she become. She remembered her mother telling her to never let any man see her scared, see her cry, and she refused to disappoint her.

Arthur cleared his throat. He straightened in his seat. He tried his best to look calm, but there was…some kind of nervous energy. He picked at his fingers out of reflex. His mouth opened and closed a few times. “I wished to ask you something,” he started carefully.

Her stomach twisted sharply. The slight dizziness that plagued her since her betrothal sent sparks over her eyes. She could already understand where this was no doubt going. The court had been rather loud as of late, crying that the marriage was not true. She was only surprised they didn’t demand the King show them the bedsheets afterwards.

She signed without feeling, as always, “Come to take your dues, then?”

Arthur blinked, reminding her of a puppy. “Beg pardon?”

She shrugged, each motion empty of any semblance of emotion. “I’m surprised they’ve let you wait this long. They seem quite eager for you to show me my place.” Her eyes drifted around the room. She noted the places she stashed weapons…assuming Gwyar hadn’t moved them again. They seemed exasperated every time they found a new hiding place…but they also didn’t take the weapons either.

“That’s not what I…” Arthur shook their head, as though trying to shake the thoughts into line. “I’m not—”

“So, a mistress then, that’s to be my humiliation,” Guinevere nodded to herself. “Probably for the best.” Her fingers gently traced the horrific scar across her neck, hidden by her bodice. “Wouldn’t wish to sully the Pendragon line with a wraith.” It was a stark reminder he did not wed a delicate flower, she fought and bled against him. One of his people nearly took her head off.

And the sick part was…she wished they had.

She shook her head against the darkness creeping up her spine. She figured out long ago she would never be a beautiful maiden; she would not be swept off her feet, or whatever Saarah’s fantasies were. She didn’t know why it still stung at this point.

She slowly rose from her seat. The fabric of her dress pulled and tugged uncomfortably against her movements. The neckline rubbed and scratched at the scar. Almost like feeling the rough, chipped edge of the sword again.

Her fingers were cold against her neck. She put them between her skin and the stupid Camelotian garment. Gwyar had convinced her it might be wise to attempt to acclimate to…here. Apparently, some of the court were scandalized by her tattoos. They apparently made her petite-self intimidating, like a barbarian. Or some other drivel.

Maybe they just didn’t want to admit her eyes scared them. Or maybe they were just trying to test to see if the King’s new dog would bite.

She plucked the letters from the table. The seal she was beginning to recognize as Saraah’s glared up at her in accusation. She assumed the others were from various other siblings he had corralled into sending to her. Probably sometime after the fifth letter she didn’t reply to.

She blew out a breath before placing them with the growing pile on her desk. Weight pulled at her bones. The old habit of talking to Saraah begged for her to try. Her chest hurt at the pain she must be causing them.

She drifted away before she could crumble. She had already broken in front of them; she would not do it again. She was the seventh heir of House Venegard. It was time she acted like it. Her feet took her to the window as they often did. Not to stare out over her new domain, but to the sky where birds played with the clouds.

A chair scraped over the floor. Perhaps the King grew tired of her. Or, more likely, he had other arrangements. Spending time with prisoners was hardly worth his time, but still nice of him to stop by, she supposed.

“I wanted to ask how you are,” Arthur’s voice disrupted her quiet contemplation of a flock of birds. She looked to the side as if she could see him behind her. Her back tensed. “We haven’t been able to speak since…” He didn’t say the words as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Your brother asked after you, well his husband asked, but on his behalf, I’m sure.”

Slowly, she turned, smoothing her face against anything that might show the crushing weight on her heart. “I am fine.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the simple answer. He kept quiet as he observed her carefully, as if he could pull answers from her like a sword from a stone. “If there is something I can do to make you more comfortable…”

“You cannot.” Her hands moved like swords, cutting off the line of questioning. “As I told Morien and Gwyar, I will remain living.”

Any more than that, she could not guarantee. She would pretend she was collared and leashed, sit when told, rollover as necessary, endure whatever she had to keep House Venegard alive. She would hide what and who she was, bury it so deep down it would crush her very soul into nothingness.

The two of them engaged in a strange staring contest. Her rubies as lifeless as the gems themselves against his captured-skies bright and beckoning freedom. He tapped a finger against the table. She could see him thinking and sorting through the thoughts, or perhaps he was trying to sift through the dense mist of her façade.

“Would you accompany me this afternoon?” he asked suddenly. “I was going to take Mordred, and I know we would both delight in your company as well.”

*****

Why she went was a mystery even to her. Perhaps it was strategic? To be seen with her husband and…stepchild? Show they did have some sort of relationship to keep the nobles at least somewhat complacent.

Maybe she just had a weakness for the child. Or was curious about the destination. Maybe after weeks drifting alone inside her rooms, only venturing out in the mornings to the dead training grounds or for mandatory appearances, she was going mad.

Arthur was pleased with themselves. They had a soft smile and a spring in their step as they escorted the group to a building. A kennel if the baying of hounds told her anything. Mordred’s hand tugged on their sleeve, eyes wide in either excitement or question. Arthur smiled wider. “Yes, they sent word this morning.”

And with those cryptic words, he pushed open the door and gestured for Mordred to go through. The child hesitated, but whatever was beyond the door drew them forward just the same. Arthur turned his smile to her, holding the door for her.

Guinevere eyed him oddly as she passed—well as best she could without pulling her neck muscles. She ignored the softest brush of warmth coming off him, reminding her how cold she always felt. She looked around the humble abode instead.

It did not take long for her eyes to find Mordred…being swarmed by wriggly, wobbly puppies. The mother hound watched over her litter like a queen, but didn’t appear to mind them entering her space. Her tail wagged as Arthur stepped inside behind Guinevere.

She blinked at the one, two, three…six puppies all bounding around on their tiny legs. Two were gnawing on each other’s legs, while a third played with one’s ear. One was pulling at Mordred’s tunic. Another was getting scooped by the child.

A bit of ice inside her chest cracked. It sizzled and popped at the scene. She turned to look up at Arthur. “Puppies?” she signed in confusion. “You brought me to see puppies?”

Arthur smiled. “Yes? They are cute and these ones the houndmaster said were old enough for a visit now.” He shrugged, though the way his eyes moved over the scene made her think he was up to something.

Of course, she always thought he was up to something, she supposed. Still…unless he was going to order the bitch to tear out her throat for good this time…what harm could puppies do?

“I was once told the Irish have great reverence for their hounds,” he eyed her, “even going so far as to give their great warriors and kings the epithet ‘hound’.”

She blinked at him, the nod almost involuntary. Why did he care to know that? Why bring it up? Her chest felt…twitchy under all the ice and darkness. She gave him a probing stare, trying to find answers. “Cú,” she spelled carefully, “it shows they are worthy of the loyalty hounds give.”

“I find it rather…beautiful to think a king is only worthy of his title if he is worthy of his hound first.” He smiled again, before motioning towards the puppies.

Ignoring the strange…prickle in her chest that his cryptic words seemed to conjure, she approached carefully, keeping an eye on the mother before gathering her dress to sit on the ground. The unoccupied puppy plodded its way towards her. It gave a little whine, perhaps a practice growl, before sniffing her. It was black like its mother with wavy fur.

Still, her chest clenched tightly. She made little tongue clicks at the puppies. Her hands petted the brave one that came up to her first. It wobbled and fell to the side. Her mouth parted in a soft laugh, more audible puffs of air than anything. Tiny teeth gnawed at her fingers as she tickled the soft belly.

When the puppy had its fill of her play, it tottered off to a group that gathered near Arthur. For a moment, their eyes met. Bloody red and heavenly blue. A strange pang struck Guinevere’s chest like a shard of ice had stabbed her heart as it broke away. She pulled her eyes down to his hands.

And found a tiny white ball of fur held safely against his chest.

She blinked. A glance at the rest of the litter found only blacks and a few red or fawn ones. The mother’s ears perked as the tiny bundle squeaked. She panted before sniffing the air as if trying to decide if the squeak was distress.

Arthur followed Guinevere’s eyes and gave the tiny bundle a soft smile. He shuffled over to her side, careful to keep a distance between them. He rubbed at the little puppy’s head. “This little one the houndmaster was worried wouldn’t make it,” he spoke softly, glancing up at her. “She’s the runt—and well,” he gestured to her fur.

Guinevere knew well what he meant. Pure white animals were often abandoned by their mothers, easily spotted by predators, or were otherwise ill. Runts were much the same. Her brows pinched together. She gently stroked the soft fur of the puppy’s ear. Her own white hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward.

“But it appears she’s much stronger than we thought—or just stubborn,” Arthur chuckled. “Some might say she’s a bad omen, that she’s already marked for Arawn’s pack and it is best to send her on her way…” He smiled wryly at her, like he knew the insults thrown her way. “Between you and me, I think they are just scared because they have wicked souls and fear she’ll sniff them out.”

He held the puppy out to her as another attempted to climb into his lap. The little thing was warm, soft like all babies were, but oh so still. She didn’t squirm or wriggle, just gave a dissatisfied squeak as Guinevere held her to her chest. The puppy’s tiny breaths pressed against her fingers.

Her heart twisted again. The bubbling need for this thing to survive choked her breath. She rubbed her thumb against its ear again, making clicking noises again. Fight, she told the hound mentally. She tried to impart some of her own will into the small hound. Fight and remind them hounds choose their master. And give them pity if they think they have any power over you.

[stelmao]

alice and safalin

[peaceful-inpherno]

Dom walks up to the temple and places both his hands on the door. He was in a black hood with a mask one to conceal his identity for on his way here.

“Grandfather?”

@megaphone-idol

-> The king's temple was quiet, unusually quiet. Normally there'd be some kind of noise or something! Even the wandering will o wisps that inhabited Firebrand's domain seemed uneasy...

[crystal-criminal]

heavy and loud mechanical steps rung through the place, followed by buzzes and whirring of… what seemed to be a biograft

looks like someone familiar is here

- @mechanical-hellhound

-> The canine demon was squatting on the side of one of the lower buildings, chewing on a thing of gum as he watched the streets below. He blew a bubble silently, letting it pop before pulling it back into his mouth. -> He watched what he assumed was a Biograft from above, his tail swishing idly against the rooftop. He hasn't beaten up one of those in a while now...

[reckless-weasel]

-> The poor feline was making his way through Playground, tail curled between his legs in worry. - @blue-raspberry-rapper [CATSHOT]

Hover stumbled towards their shared house. He couldn’t hear much. Everything sounded muffled and there was a high pitched ring. Everything hurts…

Why today?…

[quibbs126]

So today I decided to try and draw Skyfire, in the same sort of vein as I did the War Dawn trio, to try and practice him

I mostly chose Skyfire since I made a couple posts about him/skystar, so I figured might as well draw him, especially since he shows up far less than his counterpart

To be perfectly honest, I think I still need a lot of work in drawing these guys, as I’ve said many times before. I think I can get the heads, but I start to get wonky with the chests, and I really didn’t know how to do his shoulders

Anyways, so this design is based on his g1 design, mostly this one image I got of him

But I also wanted to take some liberties with his design, at least in the head area. I’m realizing I didn’t actually change much of the rest of the body outside of omitting bits, as per usual

I don’t know, I think I like the head design, I just need a slight bit more consistency with it. Also in my head, he’s got a visor that drops down to completely cover his face, but the issue there comes in his colors. His glass is blue, so logically his visor mask would be blue too. But the top of his head is also blue, and it’s really the only other place the blue shows up in outside of the glass. So either I’d have to make his mask red and break consistency, or change the top of his helm to be another color (probably red) and get rid of one of the few pops of blue he has

I also just don’t know how to draw his chest things, the sides that pop out. So that’s why they look weird

And also, his shoulders are like the one part of him that’s circular outside of his helm, and it really annoys me because it sticks out so much to me, with basically the rest of him being rectangular

Also also, I don’t know how to do the arms either, in part because of the circular bits and also I don’t know how to make the triangular prisms

Where was I going with this? I don’t remember. All I know is that while I like his head, I’m well aware my drawings of him aren’t the best. I still need to learn how to draw Transformers properly. Which I’ve been saying for quite a while now, but I’m not sure how much progress I’ve made on that front

But anyways, last thing to talk about I suppose is the design itself. I quite like it, but because it doesn’t belong to any continuity, only being me tweaking his g1 design, I’m not sure what to use it for. I could use it for my own if I really wanted to, but of my random AU ideas, I don’t really know where to fit Skyfire in them. And would I make all subsequent designs for this hypothetical AU based on their g1 designs? I don’t really want to do that with Megatron, I don’t really like his helm design in g1 (it’s weird and ill defined to me)

But for now I guess, I have made this Skyfire design. Not the best work of mine, but I’m still trying to learn Transformers, so I’ll take it

[beginner-survivalist]

The air started to feel thick and warm. It smelled of blood and felt like the ground was pulsing…the eerie feeling of something crawling through the shadows…watching…

Was there.

@corrupted-murderdog

(I’m FINNALY doing this hewo!!)

A shiver ran down their spine.

They've been targeted enough times to know when eyes are on them.. it's just a matter of who it was this time.

Part of them wanted to just make a break for it.. It's too risky to bring whatever's on them back to the mansion, but if they run too early they may be too exhausted when it counted.

The air felt too thick, the presence of the hunter too imposing.

What was watching them?

[baseballmomlesbiandad]

kant: style actually is super into your brother, he even described him as weird and off-putting

bison: ah, love 🤙🏼

[bumpylines]

More dad!BBJ for you folks 😌

Kaede’s friends are probs like “wow you’re so lucky, Barnaby picks you up and you get to ride in his cool car~ Kyaa doesn’t it make your heart pound 🥰” and kaede’s just like “….hes… just a regular human being like everyone else 😫😭” the illusion is shattered for her