#im sorry deputy ://

[clockworkreapers]

And then we found you. The child with the broken brain. The one insanity couldn't touch. Tales From The Gas Station Vol 4

[bonefall]

Maybe I'll make a post on this at some point but like, something deeply fucked up about TNP and Po3 that people have totally forgotten about is how badly they try to whine that "Tigerstar Had Good Traits :("

Firestar does it, Brambleclaw does it, and they keep doing this after it becomes this GRAND irony that Firestar almost gets Tiger'd to death in a fox trap because he was too trusting. Bramble gets his pity award of keeping deputyship and then cries to his son about how No One Saw The Good In Tigerstar :(

And it's wiiiiild that no one else in this fandom has done anything with the fact that Leopardstar broke the Warrior Code to appoint Hawkfrost, who had no apprentice, an extremely aggressive and warmongering Tigerclone who says things like "Tigerstar wasn't the worst cat to look up to." ONLY qualifying trait was being kinda like Tigerstar.

And she practically did that the SECOND Mistyfoot went missing. And then Leopardstar continued to be one of the most violent and xenophobic leaders through Po3, joining with WindClan to attack ThunderClan.

What I'm getting at is that like, a few years ago, with books like "Blackfoot's Reckoning" and "Shadow in RiverClan" it's like they suddenly decided to retcon in a bunch of "redemption arcs" in hindsight. They just pretended like there was this grand high reckoning with TigerClan, when there literally wasn't, and if anything that caused SERIOUS problems for the cast that the authors didn't fully acknowledge as such.

And now ppl haven't actually read the main series and are just working with their recent memory of all these retcon books.

But TNP and PO3 are still there, and you can go and see the ACTUAL timeline where Leopardstar is really not apologetic at all, and Blackstar is a useful stooge for the very next wannabe dictator that strolls in, in spite of the new side content that COMPLETELY mischaracterized them for their plots to work.

[adelaidedrubman]

— SHE’S JUST QUIRKY.

SO @socially-awkward-skeleton decided to murder me completely dead today by surprising me with this gorgeous portrait of jestiny having a Normal Girl Moment. i remain stunned and in awe of how perfectly skelly captured her vibes and all the gorgeous detail. the way the blood blends into her her hair...... her muscles....... the ripped sleeves...... THANK YOU AGAIN SKELLY i am going to treasure and gush about it FOREVER.

[drzone]

fall comms are open via paypal!

only taking ones done with this brush, and busts specifically are discounted!

$55 for fullbody, $35 for bust! I dont do icons/headshots 😔. Comms outside these parameters you will have to discuss with me! All come with a clean pic of the lineart too like below. I can draw anything sfw!

[waywardsalt]

ive been rereading tnp and it’s bothering me so much i need to mention it here; it’s kind of insane how much the erins bend over backwards to make brambleclaw deputy, it’s kind of just nonsensical.

not even him not having an apprentice when he’s picked, though that is kind of wild, he just… there’s basically no good reason other than him being a main pov character and tigerstar’s son. literally any other thunderclan warrior who’s had an apprentice (barring maybe ashfur) would have been a better choice. thornclaw dustpelt sandstorm cloudtail brackenfur- brackenfur is one that firestar explicitly considers and the reasoning why he decides not to is so incredibly weak ‘oh i dont think he’d be right for leader’ number one what are you talking about number 2 then use him being deputy as an opportunity to help him become right for leader are you telling me firestar thinks the cat he once considered letting die in a fire is a better fit for leader than the cat he half mentored. dustpelt is clearly an experienced warrior, sandstorm is someone firestar obviously has faith in, thornclaw is experienced and i’m pretty sure you even see firestar consult him a few times (cloudtail is iffy bc thats cloudtail but he’d really be a better choice, just how he treats daisy and her kits would be an interesting justification for firestar making him second-in-command) but honestly besides the narrative jumping through hoops to act like the other very viable options are either secretly bad choices or otherwise ignore them (why is bramble the only cat we ever see jump to help firestar with stuff they just wrote everyone else to be silent or w/e) but in twilight where he arguably acts the most like de-facto deputy in leaf and squirrel’s pov he’s framed as a jackass half the book??? why would you do that if you intend to make him actual leader?? in his trial run of being kinda-not-deputy you just make him use his semi-authority to be cold and fucking mean to his friend and her buddy??? like i see him being qualified due to having experience being the travel group’s leader and whatnot, but barely anything else is done to make him realistically more qualified than anyone else- he just angsts about his ambitions and gets handed the position because starclan vouched for him for some damn reason even though by his society’s laws he should not be in that position

[cosmicredcadet]

I don't like the idea of grayfiire solely because firestar deserves someone so much better than graystripe. Also i just hate graystripe with a burning passion.

[sodapopsgt]

You hear that? Sounds like trouble...

(Sol [Armarouge] belongs to @virtuous-sun!)

[leafpool-loves-ashfur]

my favorite thing about my Generations ocs is when i start mapping things out and suddenly Poppystar has gone from Bitch-ass Leader who is Mean to the Protagonist for No Reason into Oh My God Give This Woman a Break, Moonpool Christ.

literally all in the span of 3 moons she: has an apprentice, is made deputy, becomes pregnant, goes on a quest to save her dumbass leader while pregnant, leader decides to RETIRE and she becomes leader, GIVES BIRTH, decides "fuck this" and makes her apprentice into a warrior despite him not having finished his apprenticeship

like YEAH no WONDER she's a Bitch(tm), she literally had to train an apprentice WHILE pregnant WHILE being a new leader WHILE the dumbass Main Protagonist pisses StarClan the FUCK off and suddenly its HER problem and she DOESN'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS

AND she had a bad mom

[saik0m0che]

Perhaps he is my babygirl? ᴵ ᶦⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃˡˡʸ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵈʳᵉʷ ᵇᵒᵇᵒ ᵇᵘᵗᵗ ᶦⁿˢᵗᵉᵃᵈ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᵇʳᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ² ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᴮʳᶦᵃⁿ ᵇᵃᵇᵉˢ ᵇᶜ ᴵ ᴸᴼⱽᴮᴱ ᴴᴵᴹᴺ

[afarcryfrommymain]

I have this brain defect where I imagine characters in a fantasy/dnd type setting and go fucking nuts over it and then don't elaborate

I doodled Faith Seed encounter and even wrote a silly little narration for it like how I'd introduce her in that sort of setting and I don't know how to cope

[buddyapologist]

sorry for talking about hamilton in 2024 I just remembered "I stop wasting time on tears / I live another fifteen years / it's not enough" and i might cry again

[yeyinde]

Hi! Hope you're doing well. I just have to say that you're my favorite writer and a huge inspiration to me. Everything you write, even the small little snippets, just make me so happy.

Are you by chance still doing the WIP snippets? Cause I go feral for Jacob Seed, and when I saw you had a WIP for him I can honestly say I almost fell out of my chair.

Hiya! This is so sweet!! Thank you so much 🖤😭

Jacob Seed is one of those characters who I'd very much like to chisel open. He's so intriguing. His ideologies are so unfounded but his conviction and his reasons for them are what I find really appealing.

This is quite a deviation from what I normally do—third person, technically no reader-insert (I kindaaaaa made an OC? Oops) a bit darker (dragging me back to my slasher roots), and pulls a lot from a pseudo-religious upbringing. It is really fun to write, in theory, but is one of those fics that is mentally taxing in the sense that every piece is part of a bigger picture. Despite that, though, I could probably talk about this fic more than any others because of all the weird influences it draws from—Siken (it was originally gonna be titled war of the foxes but I felt that was a little too on the nose so I changed it to wishbone which is even more on the nose), bible mythology (in particular, the warring interpretations of Abaddon, iyjyk but also??? Abaddon and Michael, though???? 👀), and um. Cult shenanigans.

Here is a little bit about it!

He's in her head now, a sickness polluting her grey matter until it's shaded the same colour as the burning auburn around his wicked mouth. The one that splits wide, and croons about her failures, her destiny, until the rasping slur of his words are skeined tight around her gyri. Festering like a cancer she can't clove. One that sounds more like a truism each time she hears it.

Jacob has his finger on the trigger of a loaded gun with the barrel pressed tight to her cerebellum. A tool, he said. One without a master. Until now. Until him.

She can't fight him. Can't get rid of him. 

She wonders if she ever even tried.

And for some Rook x Jacob (kinda sorta but in a weird and twisted way):

Jacob doesn't give an inch even with the barrel of her Whitetailer pointed at his heart. A beat, then, where the world around her seems to shiver at the smirk he sends her way, his own hand fixed, deadly and calm, on the butt of his garish rifle. Red. 

(Of course. Of course.)

He stands on his tower, a castle of rock in the middle of the Whitetail Mountains, surrounded by unfathomable wilderness, and the broken remnants of his wolf beacons, his fallen men. His Judges. 

They lay by her feet, discarded offerings to the man who vultured her sense of self, her agency, until the person she was before all of this was lost, collateral to a war she never agreed to. She feels it sometimes, the putrefying remains of idealism and hope clawing at her skull until the tissue shreds and bleeds. Feels it like a second degree burn, a scab she can't stop picking at, and then pushes it back into its sarcophagus. It's an effigial prison in which she's both a warden and cellmate. 

It rears, now, as her patent yellow boots sink into the ribcage of a man torn to shreds by her bullets, her fists, mourning the loss of who it once was—a person of empathy and compassion. Someone who would have recoiled at the sight of viscera staining her laces, bone crunching under the soles of her feet. 

But it's gone. All she feels is annoyance. Disgust. 

They rendered it out of her. All of them pulling and tugging until bits of herself ripped apart, left behind in their regions, in their hands. Faith holds her belief. John, her compassion. Joseph, her fear. And Jacob—

Well. 

She tries not to think about what she lost in his cages. The gaping hole where her humanity once sat is heavier now that it's empty. 

It doesn't matter. Not anymore. 

Everything has been culminating to this point. To this moment. She feels the weight of it, the truth, in her bones. Unlike John, unlike Faith, only one of them will walk away from this still breathing. Her fingers tense. A proxysm. 

She finds, as the sky fades back to an endless blue and the mournful call of a loon breaks through the coppice, that she isn't entirely sure she wants it to be her. 

"Everything, all of it, has been leading up to this moment," he calls down to her, answering the unspoken assertions that bounce around the bruised fibres of her head. Hunt. Kill. Sacrifice. She gets it. She hates that she does. Hates him, she thinks, even more for making her see, for turning her into his executioner so easily. "So, Deputy, what will you do?"

If it were Faith, there'd be something about the path. About choices. About submission and surrender. Giving up agency and self in the single-minded pursuit of devotion to the Father. John, maybe a taunt. A sotto voce about atonement and true self. Of life admit the torture. A baptism in pain. 

But Jacob is neither of them. 

"Are you gonna kill me, angel?" 

She thinks about it. Really does. Lets it grind down into her synapses as she imagines a world without him. A place in Hope County where they celebrate his death and burn his body on an altar, unwilling to let the cult take him back until he's charred bones and ashes. Sure, then, that he's gone. Forever. Always. No more. 

Jacob will burn. 

She thinks about it, and she shudders. 

It feels anticlimactic despite the effort he put into setting it all up. Moving beacons and men and cages and wolves. Tracking her down through the forest until she led them to the Wolf's Den, and put a bullet in the head of the only man who made her feel some sense of footing amid a crumbling world. A place that wasn't quite home but it was something. Purpose, maybe. 

It stands in sharp contrast to the dogfight between them. Jacob and his soldiers. A commander playing a game of war from the comfort of his sanctuary. They're gone, now, and she hates that she isn't, too. That no matter what she does, how open she leaves herself, he still lets her sneak up the side of his perch until she's crouched behind a log, until she can hear the weight of his footfalls as he searches for her across the blood smeared landscape. 

It's a fallacy. He knows where she is despite the engineered confusion in his tone. What was that? He asks. Come out and fight me, Deputy. You know I'll find you—

The red dot follows her, always just a few inches from where she's hiding. A farce. She hates it. Hates that he isn't really fighting her. A marksman, he said (hoorah), but the only bruises he gave her are in her mind. Mental scars. Stupid. She hates him. Despises him. 

(Hates herself even more.)

It feels like muscle memory when she peers over the ledge, her bloodied knuckles leaving smears of her fingerprints behind. He's there. Waiting. 

Killing Eli, killing phantoms. Killing men. Killing him. It all congeals in her marrow. Effortless. Easy. She's killed him so many times already that she's sure, now, she could close her eyes and find her mark. 

Over and over again, he turned to a nebula of dust when she jumped on his back, wrapping nimble fingers around his neck. Mocking words haunting her as he dissolved into the aether. The Father will protect me. You need me. Don't fight it. Just let go. You've served your purpose. Let's say you get out of this. What's next? You go back to running errands for a teenager and a housewife? You are nothin' without Eli. 

"Come out, come out wherever you are, honey," his crooning taunt makes her hackles raise. A part of her hindbrain prickles with unease. Jacob brings a certain terror out of those dormant depths—an atavistic fear coils around her jugular. "Let's finish this." 

She wants to end him. To kill and maim and bend and break until nothing is left but bones and tissue. She wants to ruin him. Wants him to ruin her. To end this conflict at the top of a precipice she never wanted to climb. 

She says nothing—not to him, to them—but scuffs her feet against the gravel for no reason other than to make him look. He whips around, hand steady on his rifle. 

"Finally done hiding, Deputy?" 

The red dot hasn't left her vicinity since she prowled after him, unleashing hell and gunfire on the men—his Chosen, his best—that tried to keep her away from him. Hiding, she thinks, and wonders if those words are a projection. 

The Whitetailer—the only anchor she's had since she found it laying behind in an abandoned cabin—hums under her fingers. Pulses with the blood rushing through her veins. It's always been heavy. An SA50 isn't easy to carry across a landscape she mostly ventured on foot (as the near constant ache between her shoulders can attest to), but it feels both heavier and lighter than before. Another contradiction of many since she walked out of the Den and into a world on fire. Since she slit his throat and watched him turn into cosmic dust. 

It's steady, though. Unwavering. There's a gash on her arm from one of his Chosen. A bullet in her thigh. The unhealed wounds—bliss bullets and arrows—twinge with pain when she tenses her muscles, breathes in deep. Her broken ribs scream. She feels like more like a throbbing contusion than she does an actual person, still caught in the tendrils of her conditioning where his voice echoes in her head, the last notes of a song that turned her world into ashes. Only youuu… he'd crooned.

Only you. 

Only ever you. 

She gets it now. 

Or, she wishes that were true. It isn't. It isn't because maybe she's known all along. Since the bunker. Since Pratt. One, two, three. One, two, three. And then he's got you. Since she blinked into cognisance surrounded by the fallen bodies of the militia who didn't survive the training, who had bullet wounds that matched the shots she took in Jacob's trial. 

Since she went back to the Grand View and walked through the rows of cages in the parking lot. 

She gets it. 

She knows what she has to do. 

Her grip doesn't falter when she aims up. Up. His stomach. His lungs. His heart. 

"You can't. You're done. You've served your purpose, and now it's time to accept your place, Deputy. Where you belong." 

She thinks of Tammy. Of Wheaty. There's nothing left for her. Not anymore. 

Nothing except—

She wonders if there's a flash of panic in his cerulean eyes. A brief flicker of fear. But all she sees is contempt. 

"If I die, you'll be lost forever—"

She pulls the trigger. 

[adelaidedrubman]

WHAT KIND OF HOLE IS YOUR OC?

hey look i’m starting one of these for once. happened upon this uquiz and decided it was perfect for the girls. sending tags to @henbased @florbelles @unholymilf @socially-awkward-skeleton @roofgeese @shallow-gravy @direwombat @fourlittleseedlings @corvosattano @purplehairsecretlair @jackiesarch @derelictheretic and anyone else who wants to share oc hole

HOLE PUNCHED IN WALL

chill out dude. youre scaring the bitches

BLACK HOLE

i cant think about you for too long or i get too scared. you ever get scared of getting scared? its like that

CLASSIC HOLE

youre just doin you. an industry standard. we respect that but youre not revolutionizing the field. get your game up

[sanctissimx]

The empress had not yet finished the final sentence of her newest decree when she was already being offered the imperial seal to complete the document and yet another scroll to review. The brush in Nangong Jingnu's hand paused as her gaze was distracted by the offense of such an interposition, and the attention with which her posture was drawn was immediately unraveled, to the absolute terror of her attendant.

Nangong Jingnu looked over her work one last time, satisfied that no fault could be found with her wording nor her hand. She noted curiously that it had taken very little time indeed for her calligraphy to stop resembling her father's since she had no need to copy his styling now that she had finally come into her own sovereignty. However, it had also stopped resembling the hand of her late husband, as well. This, she reflected upon with grim acknowledgement.

It had not been so long since her fuma had left her. Qi Yuanjun had forsaken her promise to the heavens and their ancestors to accompany Nangong Jingnu through this lifetime. The loss of her was the loss of her husband, her closest friend, and her only political confidant. The subsequent months were the loneliest of her life, but were testament to the Empress Zhenzhen's latent aptitude for ruling, without the bower or bolster of an imperial father or husband.

But it would not do to be without an advisor. The political climate was shifting too rapidly for Nangong Jingnu to handle on her own, without another pair of eyes and ears to supplement her budding wisdom with practical knowledge. So when her attendant approached to announce the arrival of her morning's appointment, Nangong Jingnu gave an unexpected smiles and settled excitedly in her chair.

The doors opened at the herald's cry, announcing the long-awaited arrival of the one named Yin, the adjutant of General Qi Shiyu who Nangong Jingnu had installed at the northern border last year. While the reports of General Qi's victories were not surprising, given the well-known strength of of his leadership, it had not escaped Nangong Jingnu's suspicion that there must have been a supplemental intelligence to mitigate and focus all of General Qi's legendary bravado.

So it was with a brilliant and untempered smile that the Empress Zhenzhen received Yin, hardly waiting for her obeisance to greet her enthusiastically. "You've traveled quite far for my invitation," Nangong Jingnu began, foregoing the use of any imperial pronouns. "I'm extremely pleased to finally meet you. I understand that you have worked under General Qi Shiyu since his assignation to the northern border. Is that right?"

@sonusresonet — The Zhen Zhen Empress greets Yin

[mistpool]

me and croomf

I love hawkfrost flirting with everyone

[dixons-sunshine]

The sound of muffled cries filled Daryl's ears. He stopped in his tracks and cocked his head to the side, trying to find the source of the sound he was hearing. He soon discovered that it was coming from Dale's RV, and against his better judgement, he walked up the steps and opened the door, hoping to figure out who was crying. However, he stopped in his tracks when he figured out who those cries belonged to.

They belonged to you.

The sound of feet shuffling caught your attention. You quickly wiped at the tears that fell from your eyes, hoping that you could shield your true emotions from the person's gaze, but you knew it would be to no avail. You simply sniffled and looked up, prepared to tell whoever that had entered to please leave you alone. However, your words got caught in your throat when you saw it was Daryl.

Daryl's cerulean eyes locked with your own eyes. He was awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs. He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected to do once he had found out who was crying in the RV. However, although his brother's voice rang through his mind, reminding him that “chicks crying was an automatic no” and that he should run, a strange feeling overcame him.

He wanted to kill whoever was causing you so much pain. Even though he logically knew that you could've been crying because of something else, something told him that it was your boyfriend, that Shane prick that made you cry like this.

“Ya alrigh'?” He mentally kicked himself for starting with that. You obviously weren't okay. He felt like a perfect moron.

You chuckled bitterly and shook your head. “Yep, I'm just peachy,” you told him with a fake smile. “But I'll be fine. Don't need you to worry about me. Go and do... whatever it is you do.”

Daryl knew that was your way of telling him to get lost. He didn't blame you; your last interaction with him hadn't exactly been all sunshines and rainbows. The two of you had formed a friendship that was blossoming rather beautifully, but then he had snapped at you, and he didn't blame you for not wanting him to pry into your life after that. However, he couldn't stop himself from saying what he said next.

“Want me to kill 'im?”

You looked up at him with confusion clear on your features. However, you quickly realized what he meant, and you decided to play along with the joke—what you didn't know was if you really wanted him to, he'd go through with it. “Please, or else I will. I can't have a murder charge on my record. How will I find a job?”

Daryl chuckled at your joke and shrugged. “I dun' mind takin' the fall, as long as ya visit me in prison.” He took a few steps further into the RV, getting closer to you with each step. “But seriously, what'd he do this time?”

“Lori's pregnant.”

Daryl didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what you meant by that. He was painfully aware of the fact that Deputy Dick—as Merle had so affectionately nicknamed him—hadn't been able to keep it in his pants, and so were you, Shane's actual girlfriend. Daryl couldn't explain it, but the urge to stab Shane for doing that to you was strong.

“And,” you began, snapping him from his train of thought. “I finally broke up with him. I'm mostly relieved, but I'm also... I don't know. I mean, I dedicated four years of my life to this man. I didn't expect it to end like this. Hell, I didn't expect it would end at all. We had our fights, but I never once thought he'd do this to me. And now he got another woman pregnant, and I don't even know if Rick knows. If he doesn't, how do I possibly break this news to him?”

Daryl didn't know how to respond to that. He hadn't expected to have all of that dumped onto him. Feelings and comforting had never been his strong suits, so he didn't know how to make you feel better.

You laughed bitterly and shook your head. “I'm sorry for dumping all of that on you. Just forget I said anything.”

No, he wouldn't have any of that. He may not be able to comfort you, but maybe he could distract you. And after seeing the flowers in the vase on the counter, he knew exactly how.

“Ya know that Merle was really into flowers when we were younger?”

You scoffed in disbelief, but when you saw he was being serious, your eyes widened in disbelief and a smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “Seriously?”

Daryl nodded. “I didn't know 'bout this until he was high one night. We were out on a huntin' trip and he had his nose all covered in some drug. He had jus' had a bad encounter with a boar he didn't kill properly. I was cookin' up some squirrel stew when Merle pointed out to a bunch'a flowers in the distance. “Do ya know what daisies represent?” he had asked me, real serious, too. Of course, I didn't know, so he told me, “They represent innocence, purity, but above all else? They represent new beginnings. We're gon' grab the bull by the horns and take the world by storm, lil' brother. They ain't ready for us Dixons, that's for sure.” Yeah, that was bullshit. Ain't much of our lives that changed.” Daryl cut himself off before he could ramble any more.

You smiled at him, your heart fluttering at the sight of his shyness. Was it just you, or was Daryl kind of stunning? “Daisies really represent that?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I looked it up. It actually does. M'surprised Merle knew that, though, but I didn't bring it up. Merle would just deny it and give me one hell of a beatin' if I did.” Daryl took a flower from the vase—a daisy—and extended it towards you. “What m'trynna say with that whole story s'that the situation with Shane and Lori definitely sucks, but ya can't let it get ya down. Be like a daisy. S'yer opportunity to start fresh. S'yer new beginnin'. Dun' let this be yer setback.”

A few beats of silence passed. Daryl was beginning to think that he had overstepped his boundaries, and he was about to pull back, mumble a “sorry” and hightail it out of there. However, you finally took the flower from him and sent him a small smile.

“That's actually kind of wise. Thank you.”

Daryl shrugged and took a few steps back. “Ain't nothin'.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him with a small smirk. It soon turned into a more genuine smile, however, when you glanced down at the daisy in your hand. “I needed that. Just... thank you.”

A moment of silence passed before Daryl spoke up with his usual nonchalant demeanour. “Yeah, yeah. No need to get all mushy 'bout it. Jus' can't have ya mopin' 'round camp and bringin' the mood down.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “There's the Daryl I know.”

And for some reason, as you looked up at him, you realized that you wouldn't want Daryl any other way.