#older warner bros.

[leeshabeth90]

Alithy Manips 2d animation edition (ft. Toto) with Walt Disney's Alice and Tom and Jerry's Dorothy Gale

I'll be pairing Disney Alice in Wonderland with Journey Back To Oz next

[the-dragon-invasion-is-near]

tired older brother yakko

[delulujuls]

so cold | house of the dragon

hi, if you haven't watched s02e02 of hotd yet and you don't want spoilers, then please don't scroll below. but feel free to hit a heart button if you wanna came back later and check on this one.

all rights to ideas used here belongs to george r.r. martin, hbo and warner bros, i just added a bit to them from myself. title is inspired by so cold by ben coaks. also, in this one reader is viserys' fifth child, older than helaena but younger than aemond, aegon and rhaenyra.

summary: targaryens started falling into madness forgetting that they are family and a strong family needs love, not war

warnings: death of a child, murder, explaining of a killing

pairing: sister!reader x rhaenyra targaryen x aegon targaryen (ft. daemon the troublemaker)

Young mother cradled child in her arms, rocking her gently to sleep. She lovingly pressed her daughter to her chest, softly humming under her breath. The girl slept, nestled against her mother, who couldn't bear to let her go. She feared that if her daughter left her embrace, something terrible might happen to her.

Someone will hurt her like they hurt her beloved boy.

"Your grace, you should rest," one of the maids whispered, preparing the queen's chamber for the night.

At one point, the young woman didn't hear her words, staring into the candle flame and lightly rocking her daughter in her arms. After a moment, she looked up at the servant and, realizing she had momentarily lost touch with reality, only sniffed and nodded. She carefully laid the girl in bed, covering her with a blanket. She gently sat next to her, hastily wiping herself her tear-streaked cheeks. Young queen placed a hand on her daughter's head, tenderly stroking it.

"Your grace," the maid began again, trying to encourage her to rest, but the she didn't let her finish "Stay with her until I return, alright?"

She asked, but it sounded more like a command. Y/N lifted her gaze to the maid, who nodded quickly. The young queen glanced at her daughter one last time, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She adjusted the blanket on her one last time and then stood up. The maid immediately took her place. She didn't look at the sleeping girl, but at her mother, who quickly put on a cloak and hood over her nightgown.

"Where are you going, my lady?" the maid asked softly, nervously clutching her apron. She knew there were two guards outside the queen's chamber, and no other entrance to it. Yet, she was terrified of the responsibility the woman was placing on her, leaving her child in her care, after everything that happened not so long ago.

"I need some fresh air," she replied, wiping her wet cheeks again. Despite her whisper, her voice was firm. "I'll be back shortly. You're safe here."

The maid nodded and watched the young queen leave. She disappeared behind heavy doors guarded by two knights of the Royal Guard, who straightened up as soon as they saw her.

"Your grace," one greeted her, about to ask where she was going, noticing her attire suggested an outing. However, she cut him off. "I need some fresh air before sleep. Until I return, there's a maid inside with Jaehaera. Let no one inside, and if anyone asks, I'm asleep."

She announced, scanning their faces to ensure they understood her words. The knights nodded and bowed, because who were they to deny the queen leaving the castle, especially in her current state? Each of the three people Y/N informed of her departure assumed the young queen would take a short stroll around the castle or stop in one of the gardens to clean her mind before going to bed. However, Y/N was heading to the Dragonpit, not even thinking about going to sleep any time soon.

When she arrived, the dragons immediately sensed her presence. Feeling her sadness and grief, they murmured softly, with their gaze following her steps toward Vermithor. The old dragon knew where he would have to fly before she even appeared inside. He would fly to Dragonstone.

The cold, night wind swept tears from the young queen's cheeks as she sat on the back of the Bronze Fury. She realized she didn't actually know what to say when she will arrive to the castle. Would the guards even let her in? Would Rhaenyra want to talk? Maybe Daemon was nearby on Caraxes, wanting to attack her?

However, no one attacked her from the air, and when she landed, no one awaited her with an army. As she reached the castle gates, she removed her hood, letting her white hair fell over her shoulders.

"Your grace," the guards bowed, but they would have lied if they claimed her appearance didn't shock them.

"I want to talk to Rhaenyra," she announced, looking at their faces. Seeing her swollen eyes and wet cheeks, they didn't even dare ask if she was armed. Before them was a grieving mother who didn't want war. She wanted explanations.

When Rhaenyra was awakened and informed of her sister's visit, she quickly went to the main hall, barefoot and in her nightgown. She felt like she was still dreaming and her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she saw her sister accompanied by two guards, she realized the reality. Sisters looked at each other in silence, unsure of what to say and how to begin. Rhaenyra felt a lump in her throat when she saw in what state Y/N was. She felt like she was looking at her reflection from a few weeks ago when she herself mourned her son's death. Y/N's eyes welled with tears again. She hadn't seen Rhaenyra for so long.

"Nyra-," she began, but her voice broke. The older woman started towards her, but a guard stopped her with a hand gesture.

"Your grace, we don't know-," "She's my sister," she said firmly, glaring at him. She passed the young knight and approached the girl, whom she immediately hugged. As soon as she closed her in her arms, Y/N began to sob. Rhaenyra held her tightly, feeling her own tears burning beneath her eyelids.

"They killed my boy," she cried, clenching her fists on Rhaenyra's robe. "They killed my angel, who did nothing wrong. Why? Why did they kill one of the two most innocent people in this cursed castle?"

Rhaenyra had no answer to any of her questions. Even if she wanted to say something, she couldn't, being completely out of words. She hugged her sister, who trembled in her arms. Despite her heavy cloak and cape, she felt her body shaking.

Still embracing young queen, Rhaenyra led her to one of the couches where they sat together. She held her hands tightly as she tried to sort out what she wanted to say. Y/N had no idea what to say either, she just wanted to rid herself of all the pain no one in the castle cared about. No one wanted to listen to her, no one even wanted to hug and comfort her; everyone needed to be heard and comforted as well. Of all the people, Y/N could only come to Rhaenyra, who was now an enemy to all of King's Landing. However, for the young queen, she was not an enemy but a sister and a mother who had recently mourned the death of her child, too. No one could understand her better.

"They cut off his little head as if he were a worthless pig," she said bitterly, staring into the flame dancing in the fireplace. Rhaenyra saw that Y/N still had her dead son's body before her eyes, and she knew that the sight would stay with her for a long time. She would give anything to relieve her pain.

"I've never seen such a small coffin. And it was still too big for him," Rhaenyra quickly wiped her wet cheeks herself, but it didn't gave much help.

"Instead of treating his funeral properly and with respect," Y/N began, but her voice broke. "Otto ordered a procession. They dragged him through the entire city along paths he was not even able to walk in his lifetime."

Despite the sadness, grief, and sympathy, Rhaenyra began to feel anger. The Hightowers turned the death of a child into a spectacle to portray them as victims and her as a murderer. It wasn't even about deciding to condemn her even more; it was the fact that they used the tragic death of an innocent child for it.

"He said Alicent and I should take part in the procession so that people would sympathize more. She…she-," young queen began to sob, to which Rhaenyra hugged her tightly. "When I said I didn't want to, she declared it was my duty. It wasn't my duty, was it?"

"Of course not," she answered, stroking her head. Rhaenyra's tears soaked her sister's hair as she hugged her. "You didn't deserve this, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

The young queen cried in her arms, and Rhaenyra continued to hug her tightly. All she could do at the moment was provide her with a little comfort, which she was so eager for. Y/N herself had not been a child so long ago and now she had to deal with such suffering.

After a while, when the wave of despair passed, Y/N moved away from her sister and looked at her face, desperately seeking explanations.

"What actually happened, Nyra?"

"There was a mistake," a voice came from the corner before Rhaenyra was even able to open her mouth to speak. When Daemon came out of the shadows, Rhaenyra hugged her sister tighter and gave him a fierce look.

"You have no right to be here," she said sharply, but her voice trembled on the last spoken word.

"I have the right to explanations," he replied calmly, looking at her and then at his niece. The young queen looked at him in silence, finally wanting to know the truth. The pain could be devastating, but she knew that moving forward would require it.

"Why-," she began, biting her lip painfully. She didn't want to cry in front of him. "Why did they kill my little boy?"

"Aemond was supposed to die," he said, approaching. "Son for son."

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, snuggling into her sister. She couldn't look at her uncle.

"They didn't find Aemond, but they found you and your children-" "That's enough," Rhaenyra interrupted sharply. "Leave, now."

However, Daemon approached even closer, still looking at his niece. He knelt in front of her.

"There are no words to describe how sorry I am," he said quietly but firmly. "I'm so sorry Y/N, that you got caught up in this conflict. You and your children shouldn't be involved at all."

The young queen sniffled and looked at him tearfully. She felt a cold hand tighten around her throat, struggling to breathe because of what she heard.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he repeated, this time looking her in the eye.

"How many more family members will I have to mourn for this madness to end?"

Rhaenyra kissed her temple and hugged her tightly. The three of them remained silent for an indefinite time. At one point, Y/N stood up, breaking free from her sister's embrace. She wiped her wet cheeks and took a deep breath.

"Aegon is angry and wants war," she began, looking around them. "But more than anger, it's grief that consumes him. He lost a child."

"We don't want war either," Rhaenyra assured, holding her hand. "The last thing I want is more death."

"I'll try to talk to him and appeal to his reason," she said, squeezing her sister's hand one last time. "I don't want any more death, too. This has to end."

She was about to leave, but Rhaenyra stood up and hugged her tightly one last time.

"I love you, bird," she whispered, holding her tightly. "I love you and I'm so sorry for all of this."

"I'm not your enemy," Y/N said softly, closing her eyes. "I'm your sister. And I too love you."

After a difficult farewell, the young queen returned to the castle. As she walked through the empty, silent corridors, she tried to be quieter than a mouse. However, as she passed Aegon's chambers, she heard sobbing. Her brother must have sent the guards away because there was no one at the entrance. The girl fought herself for a moment, but after a while she quietly entered the room. Aegon sat by the fireplace, leaning his elbows on his knees. He nervously rubbed his hands and his hair covered his face, but she could hear him crying.

Y/N still had her hand on the doorknob, unsure what to do or say. Since the news of their son's death, they has not spoken a word with each other.

"Aegon..." she began uncertainly, but he didn't react to her words at all. The girl left the door ajar and walked slowly to him, afraid of what she might expect from him.

"I just wanted to-" she didn't have the opportunity to finish, because he caught her around the waist and pulled her towards him, hugging her tightly. The young queen put one hand on his shoulder, the other stroking his head. She herself felt tears under her eyelids again.

"Why does this keep happening to us?" he asked, raising his head and looking at her from below. Aegon also desperately needed explanations that could help him digest the pain, but no one wanted to provide them to him. The girl touched his tear-stained cheek and wiped it off, shaking her head helplessly. She also didn't have an answer to the question that would haunt them for the next few weeks, months, maybe even years.

"I just wanted to be happy and have a loving family," he said, his voice breaking. "What did i do wrong?"

Y/N burst into tears again and sat on his lap, hugging him tightly. Aegon hugged her even tighter, ignoring her cloak and the smell of the night she brought with her into his chambers. At that moment, all he desperately needed was a little comfort and a silent assurance that everything would somehow work out.

She needed it, too.

Targaryens needed each other.

[theoutcastrogue]

Cartoon depictions of the homeless increasingly reflect the hostility of today’s political leaders toward people on the streets. We’ve gone from images of charming hobos with bindles to zombies taking over cities. If you consume any news at all, you’ve probably noticed that the United States is pathologically cruel to its homeless citizens. This May, the brutal killing of Jordan Neely—who was strangled to death, at the age of 30, simply because he was unhoused and shouting on the Manhattan subway—captured the national spotlight, but it was just one of many such cases of unprovoked violence. In January, two cops reportedly kidnapped a homeless man in Hialeah, Florida, drove him to an “isolated and dark location,” and beat him unconscious. That same month, art dealer Shannon Collier Gwin faced battery charges after he sprayed a homeless woman with a hose outside his San Francisco gallery, barking “Move! Move!” at her. (Predictably, Gwin got a lenient plea deal of just 35 hours of community service.) Elsewhere in the city, homeless San Franciscans have been attacked with chemical bear spray on at least eight occasions. Other assaults have been more impersonal but no less vicious. On July 14, the city of Houston abruptly closed its only public cooling center in the downtown area, potentially condemning anyone without shelter to suffer heatstroke in 90-degree weather. Among the property-owning class, the phenomenon of hostile architecture—sidewalks with spikes that stab anyone who tries to sleep, benches with iron bars, and the like—has become de rigueur. The widespread callousness and lack of compassion are both infuriating and hard to comprehend. How on Earth, we might ask, did things get this bad? [...]

Looking back at older cartoons, one of the things that stands out immediately is the absence of negative attitudes toward the homeless. In fact, during the Golden Age of animation, creators seemed to have had a real affinity for the poor and unhoused, often placing their most iconic characters in that role. There’s a wonderful 1948 Warner Bros. short called “Riff Raffy Daffy,” in which Daffy Duck is looking for a place to sleep—first on a park bench, then a trash can, and finally a furniture display in a shop window—and has to dodge the harassment of the police, as represented by Porky Pig in a little blue uniform. (Literally, the cop is a pig!) Or, in the 1950 cartoon “Homeless Hare,” Bugs Bunny’s rabbit hole is destroyed by a new construction project, leading him to unleash his usual slapstick mayhem against the developers until they put it back. In these cartoons, homelessness is something inflicted on people by outside forces—gentrification and the real estate business, in Bugs’ case—and something which can be successfully resisted. Even Disney cast a homeless dog as a romantic lead in 1955’s Lady and the Tramp, contrasting Lady’s sheltered naivety with Tramp’s superior knowledge of the world. The title invokes the memory of Charlie Chaplin’s “Tramp” films, which similarly brought dignity and humanity to the role of a homeless man. (Bugs Bunny, too, takes inspiration from Chaplin, and multiple Warner animators have drawn him as the Tramp.) In 1961, Hanna-Barbera’s profoundly underrated Top Cat followed the adventures of a gang of wisecracking Manhattan alley cats, who, like Daffy, are always outwitting a meddling policeman. At worst, classic cartoons may trivialize the suffering and danger associated with homelessness—there’s a certain recurring image of the carefree hobo carrying a bindle, which paints the whole subject in a romanticized light—but the homeless themselves are rarely disparaged or made the butt of the joke. Quite the opposite. 

It took a few years, but cartoons caught up to the Reaganite turn. In episodes from the ’90s and early 2000s, there’s a palpable shift in the way homeless characters appear compared to earlier decades. The perspective is different: we’re now seeing them through the eyes of comfortably housed characters, rather than their own. Often they don’t even get proper names. [...] This trajectory leads us, perhaps inevitably, to SpongeBob SquarePants. [..] Squidward gets accused of stealing a dime by his comically greedy boss, Mr. Krabs, and quits his job in a fit of outrage. We then flash forward to see Squidward, now bedraggled and unshaven, living in a cardboard box on the street and begging for change. [...] Mercifully, the ever-cheerful SpongeBob gives Squidward a place to stay—but the moment he’s safely off the street, Squidward turns from a sympathetic victim of circumstance into a lazy, entitled freeloader, straight out of a Reagan speech. He makes no effort to find work and loafs around SpongeBob’s house for ages. [...] Eventually, an exasperated SpongeBob writes “GET A JOB” in his alphabet soup, before shoving him (bed and all) back to work at the Krusty Krab. [...] Worst of all, though, the episode suggests that homelessness can be solved on an individual basis if the people in question simply stop being lazy and “GET A JOB.” This is the biggest myth of all. In 2021, a statistical analysis by the University of Chicago found that 53 percent of people in homeless shelters, and 40.4 percent of unsheltered people, do have jobs. The problem is that their wages are too low, and rents are too high. According to statistics from the same year, it’s impossible for someone working a full-time, minimum-wage job to afford a single-bedroom apartment in 93 percent of U.S. counties, and there are no states in which someone can rent a two-bedroom space on the current federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour. In other words, homelessness has little or nothing to do with personal responsibility, or lack thereof. It’s a consequence of large-scale economic decisions made by landlords and bosses. [...]

— Alex Skopic

[eyecan02]

Interesting BTS details on BJ's Wardrobe

"We gave him a bit more tummy."

It's almost sweet to think the weight gain was probably due to BJ eating his feelings because he missed Lydia.

"He'd been down waiting for a long time."

The way he has a thriving Bio exorcist business and yet never tried to cut another marriage deal with someone else. This is the very definition of "having someone worth waiting for."

"He's an older, gentler Beetlejuice now."

I love this part of the interview. Warner Bros specifically wanted BJ to be more gentle this time. It's almost like he's not the villain, and maybe it could've been intentionally done to ease the audience in for the possibility of an actual Beetlebabes marriage in part 3 seeing as it was said there were never plans for the wedding to go through in BJBJ.

[eternalremorse]

It's official! Hogwarts Legacy 2 is in the works!

Warner Bros. was encouraged last year by the strong response from Potter fans to the new video game “Hogwarts Legacy,” which wound up the top-selling game of 2023 and has crossed 30 million units sold as of last month. The Warner Bros. Games division has also churned out “Harry Potter: Quidditch Champions,” released in August, and a remastered version of the “Lego Harry Potter” collection of games. It has awarded licenses for multiple mobile games to be developed based on the Wizarding World. And Warner Bros. Games is at work on a video game sequel to “Hogwarts Legacy,” which is a “very big priority” for Warner Bros. Discovery’s C-suite.

“We have known for some time that fans are looking for more things in this world, and so we’re spending a lot of time thinking about that,” says David Haddad, president of Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment. “Our insights tell us that there are not huge distinctions between a younger version of a fan and an older version of a fan. They’re just deep ‘Harry Potter’ fans, and we try to build authentic experiences to delight them.”

Haddad says the games team has been coordinating some of the big-picture storytelling elements in the “Hogwarts Legacy” sequel with the storylines that will play out in the “Harry Potter” HBO series coming from Warner Bros. Television. He notes that the success of “Hogwarts Legacy” helped stoke confidence that the time was right to make a major Potter push: “The rest of the company was very curious about what we helped to unlock with ‘Hogwarts Legacy’ last year.”

[justinsentertainmentcorner]

Alex Weprin at THR:

A prime piece of TV real estate is hitting the open market: new episodes of Sesame Street. The long-running children’s series is looking for a new home for its original episodes, after Warner Bros. Discovery opted not to renew the Sesame output deal with HBO and Max. That being said, Max is staying in business with the show’s producer Sesame Workshop, with the streaming service continuing to license episodes from the Sesame library through 2027. In addition, the current season of Sesame Street, season 55, will still be available on Max beginning next month. The decision not to continue the deal for new episodes stems from a change in strategy, with Max pivoting to focus more on adult and family programming, and placing less emphasis on kids fare like Sesame. Sesame Street had been on HBO since 2016 (episodes also air on PBS a few months after they run on HBO, allowing for maximum reach and accessibility, as alluded to by the Sesame spokesperson), with the companies last striking a five-year deal in 2019 that moved the show to HBO Max and Max. The show could draw substantial attention from a number of major players, not only because of the marquee name, but also because of its library of episodes, which span more than five decades. Max had pulled hundreds of older episodes two years ago as part of cost-saving measures at the company. It is not clear whether the library deal with Max would prohibit potential partners for new episodes from acquiring the library episodes. Streaming services like Netflix, Apple TV+ or Prime Video could be eager to beef up their services with arguably the best-known children’s show of all time.

Sesame Street won’t be making new episodes, as HBO and Max opted not to renew their deal to make more episodes. PBS, the show’s original home, has aired those episodes on a several-months delay.

Various streamers are lining up for the chance to acquire the rights to the show’s over 5 decades worth of episodes and maybe make new episodes.

[thevegandarkelf]

One Tradition At A Time

18+ for mature content/themes, minors DNI

This oneshot features my OC Lydia Vector (Vec) from my main story ‘Finding Myself, Finding You.’ It is not necessary to read that story first, but there are small references to it made throughout this.

A year into their relationship, Vec’s determined to help Daryl heal his inner chid and give him experiences he missed out on as a kid, starting with a simple Halloween tradition. But it brings up a lot of buried emotions for Daryl, more than Vec could’ve prepared for.

We have Insecure!Daryl in this one. This made me a little emotional when writing it, I won’t lie. I just want our sweet archer to be protected at all costs.

AO3 link

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OC

Genres: Fluff, angsty (hurt to comfort)

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Word count: 6.5k

Trigger/content warnings: swearing, mentions of panic attacks and PTSD, allusions to Daryl’s traumatic childhood, slight sexual content but no smut, mentions of queasiness/gagging/stomach heaving

@sunnykittyzz you wanted to be tagged in this <3

Lydia Vector (Vec), her parents, her siblings & this story (c) me, thevegandarkelf. Glinda & The Wizard of Oz (c) Warner Bros

Happy Halloween ya gorgeous humans 🖤🎃🍁👻🍂💀🧡

“Found this in the basement.” Michonne tossed the velvet material in my direction, which I successfully caught mid-air. “It looks like it would fit you.” I shook the garment out in front of me, the small amount of dust that’d accumulated on it flying in all directions, eliciting a cough from me. Eyeing it up and down, a small smile crossed my lips.

“I hope you’re right,” I replied.

I stepped into the bathroom, pulling the door behind me. I slipped my glasses off and set them on the side of the sink, folding the arms in and resting them next to the bar of lemon-scented soap. I tugged my shirt off over my head, letting it slide off my arms onto the floor at my feet. Taking the black garment, I slid it over my head, bringing my arms through the sleeves and the torso over my curves. I draped my hair over my shoulder and adjusted my bra before reaching for my glasses again. I pushed them back up and scrunched my nose a few times, a small, quirky habit of mine to get my glasses in the most comfortable position. Flattening out my flyaways, I admired my reflection for a moment before joining Michonne once again.

I’d been at Alexandria for well over a year now. Being able to call this community my home and the people in it my family was one of the biggest wins, one of the best things I could’ve asked for in the end of the world. The biggest win, of course, was meeting and falling in love with a certain rugged, rough-and-tumble archer.

Over the last year, he was there for me through everything, loved me through every panic attack and PTSD meltdown. Held me every time I woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare and was beyond patient when it came to physical intimacy. The man was a saint, and to this day, I don’t know how I got so damn lucky to be able to call him mine. Now, though, it was my turn to help him.

Anyone who’d gotten to know Daryl knew, to some degree, of his tumultuous childhood. He’d never explicitly said it, but I was almost certain he’d never experienced a proper holiday. No decorating a Christmas tree or gathering around a table full of home-cooked food on Thanksgiving. This year, I was aiming to change that.

Based on the changing of the leaves, it was sometime in October, and the idea that I’d had scratching at the inside of my brain for weeks was finally able to come to fruition.

While Daryl had been out on a hunt all day, I’d gone around to each house, asking everyone if I could rummage through their basements in search of old Halloween costumes left behind by past residents. Most didn’t have any, or if they did, it either didn’t fit or wasn’t my style. Michonne, however, managed to find a witch costume stowed away in a plastic bin that was likely older than both of us. It was a velvet black dress with a gorgeous v-shaped neckline whose point stopped just above my chest, adorned with bell sleeves and a frayed hem. There was a faux-corset backing, which consisted of small rings and a silky black ribbon. It could be tightened a little, but was mostly meant to function as decoration. The costume came with a black pointed hat, and I had a pair of fishnets at home to complete the look.

But the costume was only one step of my plan.

We’d been able to grow some pumpkins in the garden, but since our food supply was diligently tracked and kept under a hawk-like watchful eye, it was trickier to get my hands on those. Maggie agreed to sneak a couple away for me if I promised to clean her bathroom, which I happily agreed to since it meant getting my hands on the most crucial piece of the puzzle. She managed to get two small ones with ease, insisting on exchanging them with me behind my house at the crack of dawn like we were participating in some kind of back-alley drug deal.

“Sorry they’re so small. They’re all I could get my hands on,” she’d told me.

“No need to apologize,” I assured, “you don’t know how much it means that you did this for me. Thank you.”

Even sweet little Judith was dressed up in a cow costume, the hood pulled up around her head adorned with ears, eyes, and a snout. Having her along wasn’t originally part of my plan, but after finding the costume buried with mine, I knew I had to give her baby’s first Halloween.

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” Michonne asked, doing her best impression of Glinda from The Wizard of Oz.

“Depends on the context,” I smirked, biting the interior of my bottom lip, “and who you ask.”

“How does it feel? You look great,” she complimented as she bounced Judith in her arms. The little one made a series of delighted gurgles and babbles as she scanned me over. “I think she agrees.”

“I mean, it’s a bit short, but…” I did a small twirl, the frayed edges of the hem flowing around my thighs. My shorts barely peeked out, hardly visible as they blended in with with the dress. “Ugh, it’s so cute. I can’t pass it up.”

“I don’t think Daryl will mind,” she teased. I rolled my eyes and huffed a sigh as I momentarily stopped away to retrieve my shirt from the bathroom floor.

“Oh shush.” I turned away, gathering my hair over one shoulder and looking back to talk to her. “Can you help me with the back?”

She nodded and placed Judith at her feet, untying the loose bow at the bottom of the corset, tugging gently at the ribbon to tighten it ever so slightly. The soft material cinched in around my ribs and at my waist, accentuating what subtle curves I did have.

“That’s perfect,” I said, “tie it off, please.” She obliged and tied the silk into a small bow, double-knotting it to ensure it stayed in place. I did one last final twirl before giving her a hug, excitement beginning to bubble in my chest. “Thank you, Michonne. You and Maggie are awesome for helping me get what I need.”

“It’s sweet that you’re doing this for him. I think he’ll love it.”

“And thank you for letting me give Judith her first Halloween experience.” I shoved my t-shirt under my dress and into the pocket of my shorts before squatting to scoop Judith up. I folded the hat, pinning it under my arm, and gave her a soft peck on the cheek, the fur of her costume tickling my skin. “Now c’mon my angel. Let’s go surprise your Uncle Daryl.”

My skin became flecked with goosebumps as the crips air nipped at my bare legs. The sun had almost completely set, bathing the community in what remained of its golden glow. Having grown up in the Midwest, I may have been biased towards an autumn sun. There was truly nothing like it. 

I bounced Judith in my arms as I walked down the path toward home, disregarding any stares I received from passerby’s doing a double take. She giggled and clapped as a chirping bird flapped past us, likely returning home to settle in with their family for the night. Just as I was about to do.

Once home, I was greeted with the comforting scent of a plethora of herbs and spices. My mom’s lasagna soup recipe, another component to my surprise, was in the slow cooker on the kitchen counter, nearly finished. I was anticipating the timer to go off at any minute. I kicked my boots off and brought Judith upstairs, resting her on the bed before digging my fishnets out of a drawer. Keeping an eye on her, I slipped my shorts off, tossing them in the laundry hamper basketball-style and scoring a slam dunk. I sat back on the bed, bunching my fishnets at my feet and sliding them on, careful to not let my nails snag the material. Standing and pulling my dress down, I placed the hat on, the final touch to my adorable outfit, and turned to Judith.

“What do you think?” I spun in a few circles for her, balancing myself with my arms as to not get too dizzy and topple over. She was grinning from ear-to-ear, giving me her best attempt at a round of applause as she unrhythmically clapped her hands together. “Ugh, thank you. You’re such a girl’s girl, Jude.”

Daryl would be home any minute, so I knew I had to act quickly. I gave myself a quick look-over in the mirror, fixing my hair and adjusting the hat to the most comfortable angle. With the cheesiest grin on my face, I gathered a few blankets from the corner of the room, throwing them over my shoulder. Scooping Judith back into my arms, I took her downstairs, setting her on the newspaper I’d spread out in the corner of the living room. The pumpkins sat atop it, the carving knives I’d found on a run resting on the kitchen island, alongside some spoons. I took the blankets and arranged them in a sort of manger-like bundle in the event Judith needed to sleep. I looked up at her through my bangs, the sigh that slipped out from between my lips blowing them out of the way for a moment before they came cascading back.

“I just hope he likes it,” I said to her.

As I finished setting up Jude’s pseudo-crib, the doorknob clicked, a gust of chilly autumn air rushing in as the door swung open, knocking softly against the wall. Speak of the devil, or in this case, angel, and he doth appear.

Daryl came striding in, grumbling something in an irritated tone under his breath. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but if I had to guess, it had to do with the other guys he was out with, as it usually was. The “clunk” of his crossbow hitting the ground echoed through the front of the house, drowning out the soft laughter of the babe on the floor next to me. She knew her Uncle Daryl’s voice anywhere, and she was elated.

“Wait here, sweetheart,” I whispered to Judith. An adorable grin spread across her face in response, as if she was giving me her approval. I skipped around the couch, doing a small twirl as I approached him.

“Hey you,” I greeted. He was knelt on the ground, untying his boot. He looked up through greasy strands of chocolate locks, and upon seeing me, his features softened, the scowl previously adorning his lips dissolving into a soft smile and the wrinkles from scrunching his face fading. He eyed me carefully, his longing gaze lingering on each and every hole in my fishnets as he brought himself to his feet.

“Hey yourself,” he practically cooed. His accent was thick, his tone as silky as the ribbon on my dress as he pulled me against him by my hips. Regardless of his mood, Daryl was always so handsy when he came home from a long day, needing to feel my soft skin against his and bask in the comfort I brought him.

“Ya cast a spell on me or somethin’? ‘Cause it worked.” My hands wandered to his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt and feeling his heartbeat under my fingertips. It picked up for a moment, then slowed as he relaxed into our kiss and his body melted into mine.

He bounced the edge of my hat with his finger, an amused chuckle emerging from the deepest part of his chest. “Where’d ya pull this from?”

“Found it in a basement. What do you think?”

“Lookin’ cute.” The mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth sent blood rushing straight to my cheeks. “Real cute.” His hands found the hem of my dress, lifting the back slightly as they traveled underneath and rested on my butt, giving it a gentle squeeze, his fingers tangling in the holes of my fishnets.

“Daryl, please,” I laughed, patting his chest, “there is a child present.”

As if on cue, Judith toddled out from around the corner of the couch, steadying herself with her hands as she walked over and plopped herself onto Daryl’s boot. She wrapped herself around his leg, her tiny arms barely able to reach around his calf. He was beaming as he leaned down to scoop up the little one and kissed her cheek, eliciting a string of adorable giggles from her. I’d seen Daryl interact with Jude countless times, yet still, each and every time, I would be left with a smile that caused my cheeks to ache and fluttering in my chest.

“She likes me, but you’re clearly the favorite,” I laughed.

He was the first to feed her. Of course he was the favorite.

“Ya gonna make me dress up too?” he joked, his fingers fiddling with one of the ears on Judith’s costume.

“Only if you want to,” I teased, “I have something for you. C’mon.” He took my outstretched hand, interlocking my fingers with his as I guided him to the living room, stopping at the edge of the newspaper. The grin on my face could’ve lit up the entire community.

“’S’all this?” he asked, his eyes scanning over the sight in front of him.

“I thought I’d help you lose your pumpkin-carving virginity.” I briefly stepped away to retrieve the carving knives and spoons from the kitchen island, squatting to set them on the newspaper next to the pumpkins. I took his free hand in mine again, kissing the back of it and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know you probably didn’t get to do stuff like this growing up. I thought…I thought maybe I could give you the experience of something you missed out on." My thought was briefly interrupted by the obnoxious beeping of the slow cooker, signaling the food was done. “This is how my family used to do it. My mom would make a special lasagna soup—that’s what’s in the slow cooker—and my brothers and I would put our costumes on and carve pumpkins in the living room. We usually did it a few weeks before Halloween. I think I was like 2 or 3 when it started.”

“How come ya put the costumes on for it?” Daryl asked as he rocked Judith in his arms.

“According to my mom, Preston was dressing as a pirate that year, and he was just too excited to wear his costume and couldn’t wait until Halloween.” I chuckled as memories from years worth of Halloweens flipped through my mind.

“So my parents got the idea to have us all dress up to carve pumpkins. Scratch the itch Preston had been asking about for weeks. And it just…kind of became the tradition after that. The soup recipe has been in my family for decades. I recreated it as best I could with what we have.”

He began absentmindedly stroking my hand with his thumb as his eyes wandered from each pumpkin to the tools on the ground, then into the kitchen, landing on the slow cooker before coming back to the pumpkins. I could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears as he took everything in. A small smile tugged at his lips, threatening to crack his usual stoic demeanor. But there was something else there, something I couldn’t put my finger on, bubbling just under the surface. Whatever it was, he was fighting to hide it, blinking a few times and subtly shaking his head, like he was stuck in a trance and was trying to bring himself out of the clouds and back to reality.

“What do you think?” I asked, tilting my head to get a better look at him.

The small smile that was threatening to break through finally appeared, and a soft, breathy laugh escaped him. “It’s real nice.” He set Judith down at his feet before bringing his lips to mine, his hands finding my waist and pulling me against him, encapsulating me in his warmth. Despite the chill in the air, I was nice and cozy. “Ya didn’t hafta do all this.”

“I know I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.” His fingers fiddled with the silky ribbon on my back before traveling to my waist and pulling me against him once again. Jude grabbed onto my tights, giggling as her fingers played with the texture. “C’mon. I’m excited to help you pop your pumpkin-carving cherry.”

I scooped up Judith while Daryl grabbed the carving knives off the floor. I sat her in the bed I’d made for her, grabbing a stuffed bunny she’d left here prior and handing it to her. Once she was satisfied, I took a seat in front of one of the pumpkins, folding my legs to the side and pulling my dress down as much as I could.

“Sorry, I know they’re small. It’s all Maggie could sneak away for me,” I explained. Daryl crossed his legs as he took a seat next to me, scooting until he closed the space between us.

“Whadaya apologizin’ for? Did more than ya needed to,” he replied.

I took one of the carving knives from him and stabbed it into the top of my pumpkin, leaving an inch or so of space between the stem and what would be the perimeter of the opening. The nostalgia coursing through my veins was almost suffocating, but in a comforting way. “God, that felt good.”

“Careful now,” Daryl warned, reaching out to stroke my forearm. His touch was always so light, like being tickled by a feather. “Don’t want ya cuttin’ yaself.”

“My love, I’m a surgeon. I think I can carve a pumpkin just fine,” I assured.

I worked around the top of my pumpkin, the scent wafting out filling me with reminiscence. Daryl did the same with his as I removed the top and began to work at the inside of mine with a spoon.

“Whadaya usually do with ‘em after?” he wondered.

“Like after they sit out for a while?” I asked, and he nodded, “we can…well, we can cut them up and eat them. Let them rot, throw them out a second story window and smash them. Whatever we want. My brothers and I used to either let ours rot or throw them out one of our bedroom windows and smash them in the driveway, if that’s what you meant.”

“Could kill a walker with this thing,” he commented as he took the top off of his.

“Ooh, I’m gonna carve a bow on mine, that would be so cute!” I gushed, “what about you, Daryl? What are you gonna do with yours?”

“Pumpkin’s pretty tiny,” he smirked as he rotated it in his hands before eyeing me, “could carve it into a house for ya.”

I stood at an average 5 foot 7, and he only had three, maybe four inches on me. Still, from the day I arrived inside the walls, he relentlessly teased me about being “small,” often calling me “tiny” and “short stuff.” It never bothered me, as I knew it was all in good fun from the start. The way we teased each other was a love language all its own.

“Y’know what?” I reached into my pumpkin, scraping my hand along the side to scoop up a small handful of guts and seeds, swallowing hard to prevent myself from gagging. I may have been a surgeon, an emergency room surgeon at that, but while I was unfazed by human guts and gore, the texture of pumpkin guts made me queasy. “This is for that.”

I flicked the slime in his direction, some of the slick guts catching in his hair and the rest sliding into his lap. I stifled a chuckle as he took the goop from his hair and tossed it onto the newspaper. “Payback’s a bitch, huh?”

His face contorted into a devious smirk, a subtle glimmer in his eye further corroborating my suspicions of what was coming. Daryl flicked some pumpkin guts in my direction, but much to my dismay, they landed in my mouth. I gagged and spat them out on the newspaper, making a series of disgusted heaving sounds, hacking up more saliva in an effort to get the slime off my tongue.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologized as he reached over to brush some seeds off my dress.

“No, it’s alright,” I replied, wiping my mouth on my sleeve and stifling a chuckle. I grasped his collar and pulled him in for a kiss, slipping my tongue into his mouth and wriggling it around his before pulling away. “But if I have to taste it, so do you.”

We talked as we worked on our pumpkins, Jude occasionally offering her opinion with a series of coos and babbles. Daryl told me about his day, how well the hunt went, and about the same guy who was always nearly getting himself killed on every excursion. He’d almost become a meme at this point.

“Still don’t know his name, do you?” I remarked.

“Still don’t care to know,” he retorted.

I peered over the brim of my glasses at Jude, watching her cuddle with and smack the stuffed bunny around in her hands. I tapped on Daryl’s arm and twirled my index finger in circles while nodding toward Jude, indicating for him to spin his pumpkin in her direction. He cocked his eyebrow, but obliged, albeit confused. A smile crept across my lips as I rotated mine around to show her.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Whose do you like more?” I asked.

She looked up from her bunny, her eyes darting between us and scanning over the progress we’d made on our pumpkins so far. A small string of drool spilled out onto her chin as she gaped at us, as if she was mesmerized. Taking her toy, she tossed it in Daryl’s direction, the stuffed bunny landing only a foot away from her.

“’t’s ‘cause I’m the favorite,” he joked, hopping up from his spot to retrieve the bunny. He knelt to grab it, placing it back in her lap and using his thumb to clean the drool off her chin.

“Could you at least have pretended to like mine more?” I teased. She giggled as she waved the toy in rebuttal, grinning from ear-to-ear.

I decorated mine with a classic Jack ‘O Lantern face and a bow, and Daryl had, in fact, carved the rough outline of the shape of a house into his. Initially, I presumed he was joking, but he was committed to the bit, and I had to commend him for that. If men have nothing, it's the audacity.

Despite his initially semi-cheery disposition, something was off. He was becoming increasingly quiet, the tone of his voice changing as his mood continued to dampen. At first, I thought maybe he was just tired. After all, he had been out hunting all day. But I was well acquainted with tired Daryl, and that wasn't who was sitting next to me.

As the night went on, Jude’s yawning became more frequent, and eventually, her eyes fluttered closed, despite her little mind’s protests to keep them open. Scooping her up in my arms, I nestled her into the bundle of blankets on the floor, gently lifting her arm and placing her stuffed bunny at her side. I admire her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall and her tiny fingers grip around the arm of her bunny.

“Seems like her first Halloween really wore her out,” I commented as I rose to head upstairs to the bathroom.

After returning, I went to stir the food, but something stopped me in my tracks. The energy in the air had shifted. It was heavy, thick with heartache, and it filled my chest with an anguish I’d never felt before. Rounding the corner of the living room, my eyes landed on Daryl, head hanging low and slowly tapping the pumpkin in his lap.

“Daryl…are you ok?”

He was somber, the expression on his face dropping into one of sadness. I stepped over to him slowly, carefully, tip-toeing around him as to not stomp too hard and wake Jude. Kneeling on the floor across from him, I tilted my head to get a better look through his fallen strands of hair. He kept his gaze fixated on the floor, not daring to make eye contact with me. His lack of a response was becoming concerning.

“My love, can you talk to me?” I asked. I bit at my bottom lip in a pathetic attempt to soothe my rapidly-building anxiety, preparing for the gut-punch answer that could come after my next question. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Ain’t ya. ’S me,” he replied, continuing to softly tap on the sides of his pumpkin, “never had nothin’ like this ‘fore.”

“I know, that’s why I—“

“Ain’t jus’ this,” he interjected, cutting me off mid-sentence and placing his pumpkin next to him. He hung his head in contempt, the shame weighing heavy in his voice. “Feel like ya might jus’ wake up one day ‘n…”

“Wake up one day and….what?” My skin was growing hot, tingling, the anxiety bubbling just below the surface making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end.

“Think someone else’s better.”

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. I should’ve seen this coming.

We’d had some newcomers arrive in the last few weeks, a couple of young guys, probably around my age. Eric had recruited them on an outing, and they were both skilled farmers, so they were tasked with tending to the garden and caring for the horses and chickens we’d acquired. I hadn’t gotten to know them all too well, but they were friendly, always offering a “hello” and a smile when we passed each other. We’d had small talk now and then, but nothing more. However, the insecurity that’d been radiating off of Daryl was palpable.

He was the jealous type, but not in a controlling kind of way. Maybe a little possessive, but in a “what’s mine is mine” type way. It wasn’t toxic, he never tried to tell me who I could and couldn’t talk to or be friends with, but it was obvious that some members of the community brought his insecurities to the surface. He’d never said it, nor did I think he ever would, but despite being at Alexandria for far longer than me, he still felt out of place, never feeling like he truly belonged there. And the presence of newcomers--young, smart, conventionally attractive newcomers--in his eyes, outcasted him further.

“Have I ever done anything to make you feel that way?”

He shook his head. “Nah, nothin’ ya did. Been thinkin’ how ya deserve better. That I ain’t good ’nough for ya.”

My heart was on the verge of breaking into a million pieces. How could the most perfect man I’d ever met, the walking green flag with a heart of gold, not think he was good enough for me? He’d been a saint the entirety of our relationship, even before we were official, and he was the kindest, most gentle man I could’ve asked for. He was my sweet archer. My protector. My angel. My Daryl.

“My peach, do you remember when I told you about my first impressions of you? From the day I arrived here?”

“Think so.” Of course he did. He clung to every word I said.

“When I woke up in that dingy, damp, musty cell, your voice was the first thing I heard, letting the others know I was awake. Your sweet, gravely voice...with that gorgeous accent…I still remember the tickling in my ears from hearing it for the first time.” I held my hands up, pretending to hold an invisible crossbow in them and aimed it at Daryl, pressing between his eyebrows with the knuckle of my index finger. “The whole time, you had your crossbow aimed right at my noggin, and I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever laid my eyes on. Still do”

“Ain’t beautiful ‘nough to be with someone like yaself,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to the floor. The sadness lingering in his voice was excruciating.

My heart shattering sent pain radiating through my chest, the tears quickly pooling in my eyes threatening to overflow. I averted my gaze from him for just a moment to blink them away, taking a breath to prevent my voice from shaking. “Did someone say that to you?” I brushed hair out of his eyes and tucked it behind his ear, caressing his jaw as I did. “Cause if they did, they’re gonna have to square the fuck up.”

“Nobody said nothin’,” he assured. While I was relieved to hear no one was being nasty toward him, it broke me to know he was coming to these conclusions on his own accord.

An empathetic sigh flowed from my lips. Dragging my index finger to his chin and tilting his head up, I kissed his forehead. He still kept his eyes on the floor. “Daryl? Can you look at me?”

He hesitantly brought his baby blues to mine, afraid to look me in the eye after he previous statement, as if he thought he would face repercussions for it. “You’re the only man I’ve had eyes for from the moment I set foot inside these walls.” I bit at the inside of my bottom lip, debating whether or not to bring up the elephant that'd been occupying the room the last few weeks.

“I know you’ve been feeling...some type of way since those new guys got here,” I confessed. He sighed as his gaze fell to the floor again, hair falling into his eyes, which I quickly caught and tucked behind his ear, caressing it as I did. “Who cares about those guys? Fuck them. Fuck anyone else. They don’t have your heart, Daryl. No one does."

"You constantly tell me I do too much for you. I don’t feel like I do enough. You deserve this and so much more.” I stifled a chuckle. “This is just all I could conjure up given…y’know, the apocalypse and all that.”

He fiddled with the fabric of my sleeve, rubbing the crushed velvet between his fingers, a habit he’d developed as a comfort for when he was overwhelmed or anxious. I blinked furiously as tears attempted to break free from the corners of my eyes. Taking his face in my hands, I tilted his head back up, mustering up the softest, most empathetic expression I was capable of.

“I love you beyond comprehension.” I delicately stroked his cheekbones with my thumbs, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You deserve everything good. You deserve people around you who love you for exactly who you are. You deserve silly little holiday traditions and a warm place to come home to. You deserve a life full of love, peace, and happiness.”

Taking my hat off and tossing it on the floor, I pressed on Daryl’s leg, coaxing him to spread them apart to allow me to settle in between. Draping my arms around his neck, I threaded my fingers into his hair, twirling locks between them. “You deserve someone who will stick with you through the good times and the bad, someone who will sit with you on your hardest days and help you heal from the horrors you’ve had to endure.”

Pressing my forehead to his, I kissed the tip of his nose again and stared deep into those gorgeous cerulean pools. Those eyes…god, those fucking eyes. Even after all this time, they gave me the same butterflies in my stomach and weakness in my knees as they did the very first time we ever locked eyes. “You deserve me, Daryl. I’ve never been more sure of anything before.”

His eyes fell to the floor, and his shoulders noticeably relaxed, his nostrils flaring as he breathed a sigh of relief. Snaking his arms around my waist, he pulled me as close to him as was physically possible, resting his head on my shoulder and settling his face in the crook of my neck. His warm breath tickled my skin. His voice came out soft, shaky, barely above a whisper, his Adam’s apple vibrating against my collarbone. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my little Georgia peach.”

We sat like that for some time, the only sound permeating the stillness being the occasional soft snore from Jude. Every now and then, I’d kiss the top of his head, tenderly massaging his scalp with my fingers and reminding him that everything was ok. He melted into me, every muscle in his body slowly turning to jelly with each passing second. Despite that, he was holding me tight, as if he was afraid I would slip away if he loosened his grip, his arms snaking further around me with any small adjustment I made.

A soft, tender kiss met my shoulder, his lips lingering before placing another one, his thick accent muffled against my neck breaking the silence. “Dunno what I did to deserve ya.”

Tapping on his the back of his neck, he brought himself up from my shoulder, bringing his forehead back to mine. Weaving my fingers out of his hair, my hands traveled to and interlocked on the back of his neck, my thumbs tenderly massaging the sensitive area behind his ears. “Being you. That’s what you did.”

I saw a glimmer in his eye as a single tear caught the moonlight streaming in through the window. “It’s ok to cry, my peach,” I assured.

“Ain’t gon’ cry,” he retorted, his gaze falling back to the floor as he blinked rapidly. The sounds that dripped off my lips was somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. That was the stubborn man I knew and loved.

“Well if you need to, just know it’s ok. And I’m here,” I reassured, “listen, I know marriage isn’t a thing now. Not in the sense it used to be anyway, but…” I bit my lip as a goofy grin spread across my face, stretching from ear-to-ear, lashes fluttering as he made eye contact with me once again. “As long as I’m alive, I’m sticking around.”

“Ya sayin’ ya wanna spend forever…w’me?” Dare I say there was a hint of excitement in his voice. I gave him a crooked half-smile and a nod.

“Mhm,” I hummed. The corners of his mouth upturned into his quintessential small smile. The softest shade of baby pink graced his cheeks, and there was a glint in his eyes, a sparkle I’d never seen before. He was beaming. As much as Daryl was capable of, anyway. “I’ve know that for a long time now. There are very few things you could do to actually get rid of me. I’m not going anywhere”

His eyes fell to my lips for a brief moment before he kissed me, tenderly, the same as he always did. The butterflies in my stomach awakened, and blood rushed to my cheeks as his fingers weaved into the holes of my fishnets, pressing lightly into the flesh of my thighs. “Good.”

“This is probably gonna sound hella cheesy, but…I see home when I look at you,” I explained. His smile slipped out again as our eyes locked.

“Ya sayin’ like that ya ain’t been sayin’ cheesy shit already,” he teased. One of his hands wandered up to rest on my hip, the other taking mine as I playfully shoved his chest.

“Oh shush. It might be cheesy, but I meant every word,” I reiterated, the silly, giddy grin I’d been trying to restrain breaking through my pitiful poker face, “you’re home to me, Daryl. Doesn’t matter where we are. Just as long as I’m with you.”

He bit his bottom lip, his voice timid as he echoed my sentiment. “You too.”

I reached out for my hat and plunked it on his head, giggling softly as I tilted it at a slight angle. He scoffed, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to be taking it off. Not with how happy it made me to see him wearing it. “Think maybe…” his voice trailed off for a moment before he found it again, “maybe we can do this again? Or a different one?”

“Mhm. We can tackle them all,” I reassured, giving his hand a tender squeeze, “one tradition at a time.”

I peered over his shoulder into the kitchen, my eyes falling to the slow cooker. “I don’t mean to detract from the sap, but you’ve been out all day. I’m sure you’re hungry.” I stared to get up, but he gently tugged on my hand to keep me in place.

“Stay sat, I got it,” he said. He leaned in and placed a kiss on my forehead before rising to his feet. “Ya made it, least I could do is get ya some.”

“I’ve never made it before,” I called out as he wandered to the kitchen, “it’s not the exact recipe, but I did the best I could with what we have access to.”

“‘M sure it’s good,” Daryl asserted, removing the lid from the slow cooker and grabbing bowls out of one of the cabinets, “98% success rate, ‘member?”

I watched intently as he took the ladle and stirred the soup, my eyes fixating on each move he made. Every ounce of love I had for him swelled in my chest, and I was sure my ribs would start cracking. The butterflies in my stomach were working overtime, and as he filled those little ceramic bowls to the brim, I made a promise. Not just to myself, but to him--I was going to spend the rest of my life making sure this perfect human being never thought, for even a second, that he wasn't good enough for me, again.

A half-smile spread across my face, which slowly turned into a full one as he strode back over, handing me one of the bowls and taking a seat next to me, maneuvering to close the space between us. “Do me a favor, sunshine,” he said, nodding to gesture to my dress as that faint pink appeared on his cheeks again, “next time I…take care of ya…promise you’ll wear that.”

I covered my mouth as I took a bite, chuckling at his gentlemanly euphemism. “If you insist.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie

Divider found on Google via searching for stock images.

[adamkentanderson]

You should call Warner your little bro constantly. Not to claim him as a relative of any kind, but to really hone in on the fact he's shorter.

As a shorter older sibling, I can assure you this will be annoying. Plus he gives me the vibe that he hates being called bro anyways.

sup lil bro @warneraaronanderson

//ooc rizzler @cavernouswastaken made this

[inkymysteryanimatedpilot]

Here are some of the turn arounds and designs I (@patchwork-artists) have made for the pilot :) They were a lot of fun to make.

fun fact for the designs: wilson has disney inspiration, featherworth and ringtail have sam and max inspiration, sasha has fleischer(betty boop specifically) inspiration, boris and bendy have most inspiration from their batdr and batim designs, but boris also has some warner bros inspiration esp animaniacs (more noticable boris' paws) while bendy has some felix inspiration!

I also made a bonus with how the other questers would look, although they do not show up on the pilot.

Some older pieces that were from december of 2023, as well, to play around with how they'd look. There are some notable visual changes, Such as Bendy's clothes and fluff, and Boris' cheeks.

It also sports the older logo, though not the original logo, of which i'd like to make it's own post to.

The real original lineup, from 2021 or so, sports an older artstyle, though nearly identital designs. I was sure of the general idea for each design ever since then. I'd also like to make a post about before the project, as I find that interesting as well!

[winxwiki]

Iginio Straffi talks about Winx Club's style and storytelling, compared to other western cartoons. Video by Winx Club Forever Italia, translation below, with some notes

If I can say, a little Rainbow style, if there is one... a Rainbow Style. This "contamination" that me and other guys around my age, some a little younger, some a little older, have lived. We grew up when we were tiny tiny with american cartoons, Disney, Warner Bros, (Hanna) Barbera, all those. But around the age of 10, back then we'd watch cartoons till age 13, 14... even when Winx came out we thought of a 12 years old target, with a complex multilayered story, many ways of reading, more teenager acts, the girls fighting, even if they're friends, etc. This kind of realism that we wanted (to implement), a little innovative, because we weren't talking to 4, 5 years old kids, but we did it 8-12 on purpose. But I mean, it can be 7-15 too... I was saying, back then at my age (of 10) that were even more mature: when I was around 10 these japanese cartoons appeared! (translator's note: he's talking about the anime boom in Italy exactly in 1978, when Straffi was 10). Rai began broadcasting these almost like a joke and then they got a hold of italian television as a whole, on Rai and private TV channels. So magically, my generation and the one right after had a bit of this influence, manga, anime, on both storytelling, which was completely different! We were used to small episodes of a certain length but always self contained with simple characters, then we got these japanese stories where there's narrative arcs, character starts here and goes there and if you missed some episodes you have to look up some summaries, how did this story get solved. Something completely revolutionary that kept us watching TV daily, everyday we were waiting to see how the story was gonna continue. But when I started writing Winx, I thought "For now, I don't care for what the italian, french, german, etc. markets want. They'd like self contained stories as usual. Let's do something more complex, that reveals itself season after season." And then, visually, like I said earlier, we didn't want to do something more western, more Disney-like, because we felt this need to "contaminate" our style with the japanese one. Something that we really liked. I remember for Winx I did a particular study on the shapes and luminosity of the eyes inspired from japanese products and we made these characters with these ... particular eyes. So that's how it is, in short. We lived in a different generation when it wasn't just Disney, the japanese came and we took it right when we were growing up, visually and spiritually.

[film-classics]

Joan Blondell - The Ultimate Dame

Rose Joan Blondell (born August 30, 1906 in New York City) was an American actress who had a very long career in Hollywood. With blonde hair, big blue eyes and a big smile, she was usually cast as the wisecracking working girl and dubbed as "The Ultimate Dame."

Born to a vaudeville family of Polish and Irish roots, Blondell had seen much of the world by the time her family stopped touring as the Bouncing Blondells when she was a teenager. She won several beauty pageants before returning to New York to work as a model and perform on Broadway.

n 1930, Blondell starred with James Cagney which caught the eye of Hollywood star Al Jolson who brought it to Warner Bros. Placed under contract with Warner, she moved to Hollywood the following year and became one of the highest-paid individuals in the United States during the Great Depression. She was well still received in her later films, despite being relegated to character and supporting roles after 1945; even being nominated for  Golden Globe Awards for The Cincinnati Kid (1965) and Opening Night (1977). In her older years, she steadily worked in television and films, her last film being posthumously released.

At 73 years old, Blondell died of leukemia in Santa Monica with her children and her sister at her bedside.

Legacy:

Won the 1926 Miss Dallas pageant

Placed fourth in the 1926 Miss America pageant and was a finalist at the 1926 International Pageant of Pulchritude, the precursor to the Miss Universe pageant

Crowned Queen of the A&M College Rodeo and Pageant in 1926

Named as one of the WAMPAS Baby Stars in 1931

Nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress for The Blue Veil (1951)

Nominated for the 1958 Tony Award for Best Featured Actress in a Play for The Rope Dancers

Nominated for two Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress for The Cincinnati Kid (1965) and Opening Night (1977)

Nominated for a National Board of Review Award for Best Supporting Actress for The Cincinnati Kid (1965)

Nominated for two Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series (1969 and 1970) for Here Come the Brides

Wrote a novel titled Center Door Fancy, published in 1972, and heavily based on her own life and career

Featured in retrospective exhibits at the Museum of Modern Art, Joan Blondell: The Bombshell from Ninety-first Street, in 2007 and at the UCLA Film and Television Archive in 2016

Honored as Turner Classic Movies Star of the Month for December 2019

Has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6311 Hollywood Blvd for motion picture

[geekcavepodcast]

Powerpuff Girls Return to Comics in New Series

Dynamite Entertainment and Warner Bros. Discovery Global Consumer Products are uniting for a new Powerpuff Girls comic book series. The new creative team for Powerpuff Girls is writer Kelly Thompson and artist Paulina Ganucheau.

"Professor Utonium added a little extra to that famous recipe, when some Chemical X was thrown into the concoction. And lo, The Powerpuff Girls were born! Since that day, Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup have dedicated their lives to fighting evil in all its forms. Their awesome powers and teamwork tirelessly defend their idyllic city from the likes of petty criminals, marauding monsters, and diabolical super-villains alike." The comic is said to be done in such a way that fans can "pick up any issue and enjoy" and is aimed at both younger and older audiences. (Dynamite Entertainment)

Powerpuff Girls #1 goes on sale in July 2024. The first issue sports a main cover from Paulina Ganuchaeu and variant covers by Leonardo Romero, Karen S. Darboe, and Nicoletta Baldari.

(Image via Dynamite Entertainment - Paulina Ganuchaeu's Cover of Powerpuff Girls #1)

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/8/2024 PART 3: ABBY

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: October 8 was another rabbit hole day of my Blogtober program, and I have managed to refrain from slapping a snarky nickname on this little marathon of American race-centric horror movies that raise some uncomfortable questions. Can white guys make compelling movies about Black anxieties? Can Black directors get away with making white actors say things white people shouldn't get away with saying? The answer is…it depends on who you ask!

And if you want to know why I'm capitalizing one word and not the other, it's because I generally agree with the AP statement about the lack of meaningful cultural commonalities between white-skinned people--other than generalized privilege, of course. In my mind, it is useful to talk about whiteness in political contexts, but it is not so useful to talk about a "White" ethnic identity unless you are into white pride, which I would prefer not to validate. I understand that this is not a perfect solution, and many people feel that the lowercase "w" supports the delusion of whiteness as the universal default for humanity. I do not want to invite a big heavy debate on my silly little movie blog, but you should feel free to comment with links to worthwhile discussions on this subject, as long as you are doing it in good faith and you are not a white supremacist asshole. END STANDARD DISCLAIMER

Due to Warner Bros' litigiousness, this poor movie is only available as a version pulled from a badly damaged print--but if you can make it through the fuzz and the scratches, it's pretty entertaining! The great William Marshall plays an archeologist-cum-exorcist who witlessly frees a Nigerian deity to possess his daughter-in-law Abby (Carol Speed), a pious suburban housewife. Abby soon transforms from a devout, hardworking preacher's wife into a sadistic sex maniac, and it will take more than the usual power of Christ to exorcise her.

ABBY is one of those films that reminds me to question what exactly is meant by "blaxploitation". There is a tendency to put that label on any all-Black genre film made between the 1960s and 1980s, though this is misguided. Blaxploitation is actually sort of hard to define. I tend to think of it as primarily describing movies that exploit Black stereotypes to entice audiences--Black or otherwise--who find them appealing; examples are BLACULA (great!) and BLACKENSTEIN (pretty dire). Such movies may be made by Black or white filmmakers. Blaxploitation can also describe exploitation movies made by and for Black audiences; Melvin van Peebles combined exploitation-style entertainment with sharp political messages, and Rudy Ray Moore made delightful vanity projects for himself and his friends from the Chitlin Circuit. You couldn't fairly say that either of those guys mainly exploited stereotypes and the audiences that enjoyed them, even though they did capitalize on them. On the other hand, I always bristle when people call GANJA & HESS a blaxploitation movie; I guess if the only older Black films you watch are in the blaxploitation category then that's what it looks like, but it is way too posh, intellectual, and experimental to participate in any exploitation category.

ABBY was made by William Girdler, who is white, and an interesting character in exploitation history. He turned out nine films in six years, including the incredible terrestrial JAWS knockoff GRIZZLY. Even when he was making a cash grab, he didn't skimp on entertainment value, and ABBY succeeds with its strong characters played by an absolutely stellar cast. This is certainly a blaxploitation film, as an African-flavored coattail-rider of a mainstream hit, replacing THE EXORCIST'S Pazuzu with a horny Yoruban Orisha. However, the main characters are all hardworking, upstanding suburbanites; even the nightclub scenes are full of regular folks having a good time, not insulting caricatures. Those scenes are actually the weakest of the film since they break up the movie's core cast with a bunch of extras.

William Marshall, best known as Blacula and also the King of Cartoons, is fabulous in this...although he also has a tendency to slow things down just because of his flamboyant style of speech-making. Carol Speed gives a gleefully perverted performance as Abby, though the Orisha is voiced by Bob Holt, who in 1972 voiced the Lorax and the Onceler. I know I shouldn't say "the Onceler" on this website, but the freaks who react to that could really stand to watch something as good as ABBY instead of continuously beating off to children's media. Uh anyway, the actual biggest star of this movie is Juanita Moore, who may not have much to do here, but she was nominated for a fucking Oscar for fucking Douglas Sirk's remake of fucking IMITATION OF LIFE. She is no fucking joke. And there's also the great Austin Stoker, famous for ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13. This movie may be a typical exploitation picture in many respects, but it is full of talent and made with care.

With all that said, just so I don't run the risk of making ABBY sound like more than it is, I should note that William Marshall expressed dismay at the loosely-handled African elements of the story. It sounds like he recommended some more respectful revisions, and was ignored. However, Carol Speed defended the film, for all that it misrepresents and rips off, as a terrific piece of entertainment. What she said could be applied to any number of exploitation classics: "There are no (new) stories since the Bible."

[remytheratking]

After the shock of the Minecraft movie trailer has worn off on me, the more and more I'm genuinely disappointed by it.

I've been playing this game for at least a decade now, I don't quite know when I started playing it but I do know I was no older than eight. So many others grew up with this game as well, and to think what we've gotten is nothing more than a cheap cash grab riding the backs of celebrity names.

The most glaring issue is obviously the visuals. Why the hell did they think "live action" was a good idea? Minecraft never gloated about being at all realistic, in fact it did quite the opposite. It's a game where everything is made out of fucking CUBES WHY IS IT LIVE ACTION. IT'S NOT EVEN ENTIRELY LIVE ACTION, THE MAJORITY OF IT IS STILL CGI AND IT'S NOT EVEN GOOD CGI.

The visuals of the mobs are awful. Many people have compared them to those Minecraft Mobs in Real Life videos from 2015, and yeah they totally look like that. Not only is it just hideous, but there are so many amateur mistakes in the visuals. This movie is being produced by Warner Bros. While I'm not that familiar with their discography, they have made some movies that are so visually appealing. Like the Harry Potter movies (while I may not be fond of Harry Potter and especially not the author- I can admit the movies are still pretty) and the Iron Giant. So they are capable of making movies that look better than this abomination.

Also, can we talk about how I can probably tell you the main plot points of the movie just by seeing the trailer? This random group of people- who just so happens to look like various celebrities- get sucked into this video game world and they spend the first half of the movie trying to get back to their world. But oh no! After the halfway point this big bad villain that threatens to destroy this world is introduced and the main cast realizes that they don't actually want this world destroyed because they like it! So then they go through this rushed fight and even more rushed conclusion before going home. Roll credits.

It just looks like a Jumanji clone.

It is genuinely so disappointing that this is the game that we're getting, and I absolutely do hope it gets the Sonic treatment. I hope it gets so much negative feedback we at the very least get better visuals.

Minecraft is about creativity. You can't play the game the exact same way twice, and that's why it has such a large fanbase! Because there is a lot you can do with the story of the world you're in. There are tons of roleplays and smps on YouTube that back up this claim. Like Aphmau's MCD or Mystreet, the Empire's smp, Hermitcraft, even the DSMP was more interesting than this (from an outsider's pov btw, I only ever watched Ranboo.)

The movie feels like it was written and designed by people who didn't even know what Minecraft was before writing this.

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Okay but the amount of people I've seen I'm running around with Oswald in dreamlight Valley that don't realize it's Canon that he's Mickey's brother, I can't wait for them to realize such because Oswald forever will be Mickey's elder brother

And yes for those that may be confused Oswald is canonically considered Mickey's older brother because he is not only the very first but was supposed to be the original mascot of Disney before everything went down with Charles Mintz,

He was created by Walt Disney and Ub Iwerks exactly like Mickey Mouse

Imagine that we could have lived in a world where Warner Bros and Disney had both had rabbit mascots lol