#mildly obsessed with 'the' now

[aquitainequeen]

I was thinking about how so many of those with power and authority in the Wasteland are referred to not only by their title, but with an honorific 'the'. So we have The Immortan Joe, The Red/Great/Dark/etc Dementus, and further down there's The People Eater, The Bullet Farmer, The Organic Mechanic, The Octoboss, The History Man. Even some of Joe's trusted subordinates carry this honorific, as the first time we're introduced to Jack he's the Praetorian Jack.

Going back to Fury Road, the same goes for most of the women whom Joe kept locked up in his harem, with a little variation. The Splendid Angharad, Toast the Knowing, The Dag, Cheedo the Fragile.

All of which made me think about Furiosa, who's tried for years upon years to escape the world of the Wasteland and service to the warlords; finally both surrendering to and drawing upon what power and authority she's amassed during that service, in order to have a chance at getting her revenge. How she mutters 'Praetorian Furiosa'. And then when she's ignored, she screams

'I am the Praetorian Furiosa!!!'

[astoldbychae]

midnight swims.

Maybe in an alternate universe they end up happily ever after. . .🙃

[falling-in-the-void-with-ronan]

So huh guess who got into Homicipher

And fell in love with the entire cast

They're all so precious I want to make a doll house and put them all there and give them headpats (unless they don't want that)

Especially side characters like Ms Blue Clad or The Bride, they have my heart

[starry-bi-sky]

I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

-------- an extension of this excerpt because I've been thinking of Femme Danny and Jason all week. It's mildly suggestive, but that's really the only heads up needed. --------

Music blaring, bass heavy in her ears, Danny finds him in a ditch at the bottom of the bluff. She was leaving the observatory, and she nearly misses him as she turns out onto the last stretch of road leading back into the city.

She catches sight of him, just barely. A glimpse in the corner of her eye; something reflecting on the light. She thinks it's a deer at first, and instinctual terror that only the idiocy of a deer denting her car can give her, strikes her hard. There's no one behind her, so she slams the breaks.

Her car stops; there's no deer. She looks and looks, but there's no deer, no deer buddy — they always come in pairs. But something still catches her eye; light reflecting off leather, in the ditch below just a few feet in front of her.

"What the fuck is that?" Slips out of her mouth before she can really think it through, and she's pulling off to the shoulder, wheels crunching gravel, before she thinks that through either.

Danny's climbing out of her car within seconds, putting it in park and hitting her hazards as her door clicks open and she stands up on the ledge. The trees block the sky, and there is no moon beholden to brighten the land, only the dull light of the stars and the brights of her car.

There's a man in a ditch. And he's not moving. From the distance, Danny's not sure if he's breathing.

She breathes out for him; "Fuck." She's running around the front of her car, not thinking it through. Her feet crunch the gravel, bugs buzzing at her ears, and she's sliding down the small hill into the ditch to reach his side.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead." Repeats in mantra under her breath, she can smell blood; heavy and iron, mixing with the dirt and the grass. Her hands find his side, Danny rolls him over onto his back. Her fingers find his pulse, and she breathes relief. He's alive.

—---------

Danny finds no less than two — no, three guns, four knives, and an actual, goddamn shiv on the half-dead ditch man. But not a single ID or wallet.

The man reeks of danger, even in his unconscious state it lingers on him like a rich cologne. It's the human instinct to be curious, and maybe it's the blood and dirt that tells her he's bad news. Common sense, naturally.

She doesn't know what to do with him. Danny wants to help him, but the ghostly part of her, the one that seeks safety above all else — for herself, for her loved ones. Because growing up in a house of weapons on the tables for sticky, pudgy fingers to play with, and food that needs killing twice, and labs full of half-broken beakers and radioactive substances spilling onto the floor robbed her of it entirely, — tells her to leave him.

He's dangerous. Her core hums cold, freezing the tips of her fingers, making her ears ring. She forgets to breathe, her hands going numb. Leave him for the coyotes to find; for the bugs to feast on; for the mud to swallow whole. Leave him for the land. Nobody carries this many weapons on them unless—

He groans. In only the light from her high beams, his cracked lips split and makes a noise of pain. His chest rises, shuddery and slow, and he doesn't wake. The man slips back down into unconsciousness. But he's alive.

He's alive.

Danny exhales. It's springtime, wreathed in life. It's cold; he's cold. But alive. She shakes the chill from her fingers, resolution warms her lungs.

Carrying him up to her car isn't easy — dressed like fucking Dean Winchester and wearing half as many layers, the man is probably two hundred pounds. But she's been working out and taking boxing classes since sophomore year of high school. She throws him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and hikes them both up the hill.

She drives them home. Don't ask her why she didn't take them to the hospital; she can't give an answer. Not one that makes sense. She knows enough first aid to fix almost anything he might have.

Danny blasts the heat and turns the music on low; switches to something softer, more comforting, in case he wakes up. She kicks the passenger seat back far enough so that if he does, he's reclined comfortably.

He doesn't wake up, she can't keep her eyes off him anyways.

—---------

Danny lays him on the couch in her house. He gets blood and mud on the fabric, and she'll need to get a new one because of it. But she takes off his boots, strips him of his shirt and jackets, and flies to the bathroom to get her first aid kit.

He doesn't wake up the entire time she's putting stitches in his side. Nothing is broken, but he's bruised and cut. Some get band-aids, others get bandages.

The man has half as many scars as Danny does. Stabs, cuts, a few burns here and there. Danny has those too, but she doubts the man has been impaled before like she has. The luck of ghosts that they can't die by mortal means. Or curse, depending on how you look at it.

(There's a thin scar on his throat, like someone tried to slice it open. She sees it while she's stitching up a laceration near his collarbone, and Danny can't stop herself from huffing.)

("We match." She murmurs, joking dry and ingenuine. She doubts anyone's survived a botched decapitation like she has. At least his scar is thin and hard to see. That wasn't a good night for her; she had to sew it closed herself, alone out of refusal to let her friends help.)

When she's done, she collapses into the recliner beside him, and falls asleep. She slips in and out of dreams all night.

—---------

When she wakes up, the man is staring at her, sitting up on the couch like an animal listening for the predator nearby. It's a good thing she hid his weapons in the floorboards when they arrived. She stares back at him, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He's handsome. She thinks, and wakes up fully.

—---------

His name is Jason Todd, he doesn't remember who he is.

That's... a problem.

—---------

She makes them both food, and she'll never stop appreciating the fact that she no longer needs to fight her fridge before the food inside lets her eat. She hasn't lived with her parents in years, and yet the awe still hits her some days.

"I thought I told you to stay seated." She frowns when Jason Todd enters her kitchen, a hand hovering over his bandaged side. They're both tense; awkward and wrong-footed. Off-kilter. It's not a surprise to her. He's amnesiac, she's a stranger.

Jason Todd blinks at her, leaning against the doorframe. From her periphery, he shrugs, only to suck in his teeth in pained regret moments later. "I got bored." He tells her.

"Well, I don't have painkillers," Danny retorts, cheek comes easy to her. Too easy, sometimes. "if you tear your stitches then I'm giving you a rag to bite into while I redo them."

Well, if anything, it gets a snort from him.

—---------

"So, do I have a shirt, or did you just find a half-naked, half-dead man in the woods and decide to take him home?" Jason Todd asks her from the table a few minutes later. She can see, even standing a few feet away, the gooseflesh rising bumps against his skin.

Her cheeks color pink, and she moves to the hallway. "You have a shirt," she says, "you have two actually, and a jacket. I threw the shirts in the wash because they were filthy."

The jacket was leather, so during the night, when she woke up from her many bouts of restless sleep, she got up and cleaned it by hand. "I would've done the same with your jeans, but I can take a half-dead man home," she opens the dryer and pulls out the shirts, "but I draw the line at taking off his pants when he's unconscious."

It gets a short laugh out of him; harsh and brief, and it makes her relax, just a little. Laughter meant just enough comfort to not be tense... most of the time. She returns to his side and drapes the still-warm clothes onto the table.

"What if my legs were hurt?" He asks her, raising an eyebrow even as he reached for the first shirt.

"Then that is called an exception to the rule, ditch man."

—---------

He stays with her. He has nowhere to go — and trust her, they looked. Or they tried to. But he has no social media that shows up under the name ‘Jason Todd’. Oh, there are Jason Todds, but none that match the way he looks — none of them his age, none of them with black hair and blue eyes, no white streak in the curls at the front.  

Well, there was one possible candidate. A Jason Todd-Wayne, infamous adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. But he died the same year Danny did, and unlike her, he didn’t come back. 

“Great.” Jason Todd sighs heavy, “I match with a dead kid.”

“I’m honestly kind of impressed.” Danny tells him, frowning despite her laughing disbelief. She scrolls through every social media she can find, and he just doesn’t show up. There are no warrants out for his arrests, no celebrity interviews with him in it, no missing news reports matching his description. Nothing. “How do you not have any socials? You’re like a ghost.” And she knows a thing or two about ghosts.

It’s equally as suspicious as it is impressive. Who are you, Jason Todd? She wonders, looking over to him.  

He merely shrugs, careful of his injuries, and slumps into his chair. “Don’t ask me, I don’t remember.” 

She gives him the guest room, and they go out and buy him clothes with what budget she can afford. She drags him to a thrift store first, to every thrift store in the city, and they come back with a decent enough haul that he has clothes for at least two weeks. 

—---------

“Danny, what is that?” 

She takes a long sip of her drink, Jason lingering at her side like a shadow. “A smoothie, Tucker.” She says, deadpan like it's the most obvious thing in the world as she slides into their favorite booth with practiced ease. “You know this, I always get one on Fridays.” 

Jason follows her easily, slow and careful, mindful of his sides. He’s back to awkward, tense, acting like an outside looking in. Like he’s not quite sure what to do in the face of her friends. They’ve been together for a week now, and she asked him if he wanted to meet Sam and Tucker with her. 

(“You’ve been cooped up here all week.” She says when he asks her why, her hands shifting the purse at her shoulder. In shorts and a tank-top her scars lay on display for the world to see, and while she's long since shed the worst of her self-consciousness, it still creeps up on her. She can feel his eyes on them, even after a week. “Some fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good. Maybe even jog that noggin of yours.”) 

Sam and Tucker stare at her, expressions unreading on their faces. Their eyes flick to Jason at her side, and then back to her. Danny takes another longer sip of her drink, and when she lets go with an obnoxious smack, she jerks her head to Jason. “Oh,” she says like an afterthought, an impish smile shadowing over her lips. “This is Jason, I found him in a ditch on Sunday.” 

"You what!?"

—---------

She doesn’t know how it happens. It sneaks up on her like sunlight creeping across the grass, melting away the morning dew and warming the dirt. She loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. It’s a terrible, choking thing. Wonderfully beautiful, melting her from the inside out. 

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

It’s greater than anything she’s felt before. Different from when she nearly dated Valerie in high school — but so, so similar to it at the same time. Warm in its certainty, in its similarity, burning in its difference. 

Danny doesn’t even realize it until half a year living with him, maybe just a little bit longer. But she realizes when she comes downstairs in the early dredges of the morning, sleep clinging to her lashes and sunlight unfurling through the windows, and finds him in the kitchen making food already. 

It’s not the first time she’s woken up to him doing this. But it’s, for some reason, only now that it hits her how fucking domestic it is. With music playing soft through the speaker of his used phone, barefoot in nothing but sweatpants, and humming along under his breath. He’s gotten so comfortable here; he laughs easier now, smiles easier. It was like watching a flower bloom in real time. 

And the sunlight cards through his hair like fingers, caressing over his face in that loving way it does when it wants someone to see the breathless beauty of their eyes. 

Something constricts in Danny’s chest, tight, fond, wanting. Mine, her mind whispers, faint and distant, and knocking the air from her lungs like a fucking train. Her fingers curl tight around the stairway rails, she has half a mind to crack it in two. 

Then he turns and sees her, he always notices her quickly, and Jason smiles at her. 

Somehow, Danny manages to smile back smiling with the ease of breathing, even when her mouth runs dry.

(If she kisses him, will she taste sugar? She hopes not — white sugar is unfilling, sweet but with nothing else to it. If she tastes Jason Todd, she hopes she tastes caramel.) 

—---------

“Want to go throw axes with me?” Danny asks, draping over the back of the couch and hanging her arms off Jason’s shoulders. Her hand finds his hair, and her fingers tangle with the dark curls. She can smell his shampoo when she hooks her chin on the top of his head.

Jason stills, a book in hand — he’s always got a book, and Danny’s never had much artistic talent but she always want s to find a pencil, maybe some charcoals, and sketch the sight down on paper. Memory isn’t enough, she needs it burned into something tangible. She wants to burn everything he does onto paper, wants to remember every little thing about him.

Then he hums, questioning and low, and Danny tries not to shiver with greed to hear it again. She hums back, her next inhale clearing her head. “Well, it’s not just me, but Sam and Tucker too. A new bar opened up downtown and we were gonna check it out, and we have enough time to add another person to the reservation.” 

A silence, thick and thoughtful. Jason tilts his head back to look up at her, and she removes her chin and hand to look down at him. Her hair curtains over them both, locking her into his eyes — impossibly blue, and beautifully so, with teal lining the iris. 

He wears his thoughts on his sleeve, his brows furrowed and mouth puckered in lighthearted thoughtfulness. Quit making me want to kiss you, Danny thinks, and forces her eyes to remain on his face. Idly, her hands trace over his shirt, rising slowly to drag the back of her nail over his collarbone. 

Jason shudders, sighs out slow, and smiles easily. “Sure, what time are we leaving?”   

—---------

Danny sighs as if she aches; she does. Her fingers find Jason Todd’s hair, soft and slipping between her fingers like silk. He’s so close to her face she can feel his breath on her lips, it’s driving her crazy with it. 

“My god.” She murmurs, her voice slipping out without her consent as her fingers drop from his hair to trace featherlight touches down his temples, down his jaw. His eyes haven’t left hers, half-lidded they are, and heavy, staring at her like he might just swallow her whole. 

Please do, she thinks, tilting her head to the side to slot their noses next to each other. His hands tighten at her waist, fingers digging through her hoodie into her skin. He hums, questioningly, low and rumbling like a thunderstorm on the horizon. As if he can’t trust his voice to say something instead. 

Danny chokes on nothing’s heat and runs her thumb over his bottom lip, the flesh catching briefly on her nail. She can’t think straight with him so close to her. Not when he’s so close she can smell his cologne, not when he’s so close she can lean down and sink her teeth into his throat and leave a bruise. She should, it might clear her head. 

Instead, she sighs again, her mouth so close to his that she brushes over his lips when she says; “You’re divine.” 

In the end, she doesn’t need to think about leaving bruises on his throat, because Jason closes that centimeters’ worth of distance between each other and kisses her like he needs air. 

—---------

“Do you have to go, love?” Arms snake around her waist, slipping easily over her dress, and Danny laughs, soft and easy, as Jason pulls her flush against his chest and drops his head into the crook over her shoulder. He dwarfs her in the mirror, capable of curling around her entirely, and she raises a gloved hand to rake her fingers through his soft hair.

Danny hums deeply, tilting to bare her throat as Jason starts pressing kisses to the skin. “Vlad will be upset if I don’t show up.” She wasn’t sure of the importance of this party, but Vlad had promised her a hefty bribe to show up, and call her greedy but damn if she wasn’t going to turn it down.  

Teeth bite gentle at the underside of her jaw, and Danny laughs out of surprise. Jason smiles, indenting it into her skin, and his hand finds the slit of her dress and covers the burn scar on the outside of her thigh. “What about running late?” He asks, something impish in his tone. “I’ve never seen you wear this one; you look good in red.” 

Danny laughs again, turns her head to catch his lips against hers, and kisses him long and sweet. “Yes, he’ll be mad if I’m late.” She says when she pulls back. 

He pouts, and really, how else is Danny supposed to react other than kiss him again? So she does, happily. “Wake me up when you get back,” Jason murmurs against her mouth, chasing after her, “I want to help you undress.” 

—---------

Some days, death creeps up on her, and the phantom pains of it render her coiled into a ball in her bed. She wakes up at three am burning, her starburst scars rooting down to her bones to remind her of the feeling of being torn apart by the atoms and stitched back together again. 

Danny can feel her heart beating in her ears, fast and panicked like she ran a marathon, filling her mouth with iron and the urge to cough out her lungs. There’s a scream stuck in the back of her throat like a spider sac, and she writhes with her head in her arms for what feels like an hour before she forces herself out of bed, mind half-muddled like a zombie. 

Jason is still asleep, Danny doesn’t have half the mind to be grateful, she shuffles herself down into the garage and grabs a compressed canister from the fridge, hidden in a false shelf. She might not keep ectoplasm in the kitchen, but she does in the garage. 

She returns on second nature to the bathroom. She locks the door, shuts the drain, and runs the water to boiling, and doesn’t stop the faucet until the water reaches the little drain in the wall beneath that prevents overflow. The compressed canister cracks open with a hiss, and Danny dumps what’s probably an ounce of ectoplasm into the steaming water.

The effect is instantaneous, the water swirling and turning bright with ectoplasm all the way down. It’s diluted, and Danny only remembers to take off her sleep shirt before she slips into the water. 

Relief sinks into her, and chases away the worst of the pain. She sighs, she can breathe again, and dunks her head beneath the water. 

Then doesn’t get out until she’s freezing again and nearly peeling with wrinkles. 

(She goes downstairs when she’s changed into dry clothes and her hair is damp, and then collapses into Jason’s lap. Her face finds the crook of his neck, and Danny slumps, arms wrapping around his neck.)

(Jason’s hands find her waist, and his thumbs rub circles into her side, slipping under her shirt to run over the raised skin of the burn there. “What’s wrong?” He asks, murmuring low and close to her ear.)

(“Phantom pains.” Danny mumbles.)

(“Where?”)

(“Everywhere.”) 

—---------

When Danny returns home after finding Jason again, she feels numb, she feels cold. Her engagement ring is heavy on her finger and she feels like an outsider looking in when she looks down at it. 

She can’t get the way he looked at her out of her mind. It’s seared into her brain. 

Her back hits the door, and slowly she slides down it, a sob building in her throat. Her lip curling, her heart aching, her heart breaking. Too many questions inside her head for her to try and sort through them, but one is prevalent; Jason Todd is a liar.  

Danny shrieks his name so loud that she breaks her ceiling lights, and takes out the power throughout the entire block. There are dogs howling, cars wailing outside. There’s broken glass beneath her, scattered across the ground, cutting into her palms, and she hurts so much she wants to take the biggest shard and shred herself into ribbons. 

—---------

The memory fades away back into its small star-shape, and floats back up to the ceiling of her lair’s observatory. Danny watches it go, something small and aching still in her chest. Two weeks since she moved into the Zone, and she hates that she still loves him. She loves that she still loves him. 

She hates that she still misses him. She still visits Sam and Tucker, but Amity Park is tainted with the memory of Jason Todd; she needs away from it for a little while. Maybe a long while. She’s not too sure right now, she just needs to stay away. Somewhere where she can’t run into him. 

Danny pulls down another star to watch another memory again. One where they're dancing.

[emergingghost]

i love them i love them <3

[floridagirlboy]

Where's Florida? - Apr. 15, 2020

[at the end of the episode]

[mellosdrawings]

Full friendshiped ma boi tonight coz he kept getting into fights with EVERYBODY in the guest room so he dropped a LOT of gifts for himself!

That's almost ridiculous. Why are you picking a fight with Malleus of all people ?! Do you have a death wish ?!

Now I just have to finish farming the awakening perfumes to uncap him. That's gonna take a while.

[cassmouse]

Made a meme about my experience with the new Ghostbusters film

[dhs-in-disguise]

chucks this into the void and runs away

[uhlillie]

im 100% late to the game so if u see me reading challengers fic u actually dont see me

[wildflowercryptid]

AFTER 3 YEARS, THIS MF FINALLY CAME HOME * GRIPS HIM LIKE A STRESS TOY *

[light-lanterne]

cw : gore, body horror, cannibalism

only slept like three hours so i'm going to try and take a nap but i need to share this before i forget: random au where everything is mostly the same except will is a little starfish boy so you could cut off his limbs and they'll just grow back after a bit. it obviously hurts immensely, but it's rather useful when it comes to fighting vicious democreatures, when he needs to fake his own death once everything's over and the town decided to blame every tragedy on "zombie boy", or when he needs to feed his recently-possessed, secretly-a-cannibal best-friend-turned-accomplice-turned-boyfriend mike

[bumblekastclips]

KYLE CROUSE: Here's one from Playerback 772. "Who would win in a hand-to-hand fight, Surge or Zavok?"

IAN FLYNN: I'm thinkin' Surge. Not an easy fight, mind you. I mean, Zavok can go toe-to-toe with Sonic on the regular, but Sonic will win in the end if it's just the two of them. And Surge can pretty much keep pace with Sonic, so I imagine that she could overcome Zavok. KYLE: Yeah, I don't know. I say Surge, just because I like Surge better than Zavok, but... [laughs] ...I'm biased, so... IAN: Now, if Zavok knows that she's got cybernetics, he might be able to tilt things in his favor in... horrifying ways, but if it's just like, "What is that green thing and why is she cackling and coming at me at mach one-- OH GOD!" Then, yeah. She'd stomp him eventually. Wipe her feet on his face. KYLE: Yeah. IAN: She'd win in the end. KYLE: Would she be...? She's kind of been weaker than Sonic and Metal Sonic, though. Or at least, she's been defeated by them. So... is she really on their level? IAN: Yeah, she-- in principle, it's that she lacks the experience. Like, she's got the data... KYLE: Right. IAN: ...and she has been trained, but she hasn't had any practical application outside of two fights. KYLE: Right, yeah. That's a good point. IAN: Like, sure, Starline put her through lots of horrible, horrible trials, but there's that, and then there's going up against freakin' Metal Sonic. KYLE: [chuckles] IAN: Y'know, Metal Sonic, who really can only ever be topped by Sonic. That's- that's not a... [laughs] that is not the best graduation exam for her! That's goin' from zero to sixty real darn fast. KYLE: [chuckling] Or, like, zero to three hundred. IAN: Mhm. KYLE: [laughs] Yeah, wow. That's a good point. Yeah, Zavok-- I wouldn't put Zavok on that level, nah. She could take him. Screw that guy. IAN: That's not to undersell Zavok, he is a formidable fighter, but... KYLE: Sure, I suppose... I kinda like Zavok. I like, y'know, Dapper Bowser. IAN: [chuckles]

-----

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Please remember that nothing that is said on BumbleKast is canon! It's just some guys and their opinions occasionally spitballing ideas. If you don't like an answer, you don't have to take it as Word of God or anything like that. It's all just for fun!

[shimmer-like-agirl]

Does she need to colour co-ordinate every outfit?

Yes. Yes she does.

Are you going to suggest she do otherwise?

No. No you will not. Unless you really want to make her sad. Why do you want to make her sad?

[jade-of-mourning]

anyone want to talk about zalinki with me… someone please please somebody i need to talk about when death was mine i—

FLIRTING THE MOON DRIVES ME INSANE. CUTEST SONG EVER OMG. IT'S SO. AUHSDJHGBAJHSDG omgomgodsagbsdjhkgbkfjkn "but i'm holding out hope for her… that maybe she'll take me the way i am… one part asshole, dreamer, and sad little man" HELLO. and the ending!

WE RAN OUT THROUGH THE BACK DOOR. i'm actually giddy. makes me want to be in love sooooo bad like abhgfkhjbshgj. or like. crushing hard on someone idk. someone to be obsessed with and obsessed over in turn. the WOOO! makes me almost crash my bike every single time and look stupid. i want to be Yearning and bailing on socials. do you get it

apropos;;;;; ohhh the song you are (comfort & devastation in one) "won't you tell me where the bedbugs go?"

and OF COURSE lampshade king and peach yogurt… old tracks but better than before tbh, especially in the context of the full album. idk how i was sleeping on the line "i've got time to spend the afterlife with all of my friends" until now but i am no longer sleeping on it. the ultimate motivator indeed!

burns,,, the soundscape,,, literally putting it in my mouth… exhaust fumes & <3,,, the verses of insane…

AND SEAMLESS. "i totally understand" WHEN YOU PHRASE IT LIKE THAT I DO. I UNDERSTAND. that's actually me all the time,, i totally understand (i do not understand i can't understand it hurts to try and i'm tired)

off the topic of wdwm. problems,,, i want to draw animatics to it so bad and now i have a couple weeks off from school so we'll see if that happens. but like i'm so obsessed with his delivery on that song. make right is such an edible track. millennium compendium the POTENTIAL. over it is so brainworming. what about the children? is still one of my favorite zalinki tracks ever though, longlasting. also sorry i only finally just listened to waking up without fingers and it's… actually really quite devastating. i have to resist the urge to dig through the zalinki server that i've been in for the past four years for lore, because i'll be spending full days scrolling through texts if i do.

also macaroni sunshine is such a fun song i really do quite enjoy it.

anyway that's my zalinki propoganda brain dump of the day. i'm holding myself back. apologies to anyone who actually reads through this. it's driving me insane (haha get it? haha get it get it get it hahhahahhaha)

[elysianstars]

I have so many questions about the Fell Xenologue background, and so few answers. What was the Fell Dragon situation actually like, before Sombron took over? Presumably they had a tribe composed of different families/bloodlines, not just one lunatic and his harem, so how did he overthrow that? Was he already in some higher-status position, like being the offspring of a previous monarch? How did the mothers of his children feel about his plans, about watching them die as they were pitted against each other?

Neither Nel nor Rafal ever mention their mothers, and no parental figures besides Sombron appear in the flashbacks. Did they even know who their mothers were, or were they taken away after birth and thrown into some type of mass creche, rather than receiving individual care?

Were the women in competition with each other, the way the children were? Did they fight on the front lines against their enemies? Did they compete for Sombron's attention? He must have convinced the majority to willingly go along with his plans, since they outnumbered him, and dragons dgaf about gender so it's not like a man's word would carry more weight. So what goal did they think was being achieved, besides surviving for one more generation? Did any of them regret it later, or rebel?

Were any still alive after Lumera sealed Sombron away, and what did they do afterwards? It doesn't seem like any took up the banner to keep fighting in his name. What happened to the other male dragons from Sombron's generation? Were a large number already killed off by the Divine Dragons, or did he get rid of them himself? Did any children that weren't Sombron's ever have a chance to exist?

Did Sombron's children have any idea how their tribe lived in generations past, or were they kept ignorant? Did any of them try to bond with their mothers, or were they discouraged? Who did the daily work of raising and educating them? Did Fell Dragons always value cruelty and punish weakness to such an extreme degree, or was that Sombron's influence? Was killing their twins always considered normal, or did he pioneer that?

Give me knowledge, give me lore, I need a hundred new Fell Dragon facts immediately.