#weapon of choice: Plate the rabbit

[thatoneluckybee]

KNOCKING SOUND EFFECTS OH HOW I DESPISE YOU

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

[cock-ainee]

I'm fairly surprised with how fast I wrote it (it's because it's short af lol)

The Night Guard

___________________________

Word count: 1607

Category: smut

• fingering • orgasm denial • mentions of blood (not in the sex part though) • slight violence • robot/human intercourse?? •

Characters: Springtrap x afab reader

Enjoy!

Dusty hallways, rusty vents, everything dirty and nasty. That's what the job YN accepted looked like. She didn't even have a clue why she agreed to that. Maybe because it was her only choice, and it was easy enough.

She walked down the corridor, that lead to the office she was supposed to spend 6 HOURS in. 6 motherfucking long, boring hours. At least nothing would happen, right? This place was abandoned, and it was night. Nobody would get there, aside from some kids that would try to act like some silly explorers, or something.

Could YN blame them though..? The place was pretty interesting, creepy even. It was her fault that she was just too eepy to even look at the advantages of working at such a place.

And she started hating it even more after the clock hit 2am.

Till then, she was just clicking random buttons on her tablet to fix the occuring errors, or was looking over the cameras.

Until she saw the shit that was lurking in one of the vents.

A fucking enormous, yellow rabbit, that looked like it has been thrown into a shredding machine.

And the thing moved just before her eyes. It pointed it's empty, dead gaze right at her, making her heart stop.

No, it wasn't any "romantic" moment. It was a moment of deep, breathtaking fear.

Afterall, all the animatronics were supposed to be shut, not moving the fuck around, especially not trough vents. Who the hell would've taught them that??!

YN immediately stood up, scanning the room for any possible weapon she could use against the animatronic. She spotted a baseball bat standing in the corner and decided to just note the fact in her brain, in case she would need it. For now, she intended just to see what the fuck was happening in there.

She went out on the corridor, with a flashlight in her slightly trembling hand. The ambiance in the hallway was dark and off-putting, YN felt a need to curl herself up in a ball and stay like this till 6am.

And when she turned around the corner, she let out a frightened shriek and dropped the flashlight, that broke, making YN get surrarounded in absorbent darkness.

- S-shit! -

She quickly picked the object up and tried to turn it on, to no avail. Now she started panicking. But she then just decided to look for some "off" button in the animatronic if such thing even existed. She took a few, fearful steps towards the animatronic, and let her hands wander over the torn, broken plastic plates of it's body, that felt a little furry under the pads of her fingers.

And then her hands landed on something.. unexpected. Unpleasant. SLIMY.

A yelp escaped past YN's lips, as she took a few steps away from it, falling down on her butt. And there she was, down on the ground in front of massive animatronic, that's eyes now lit up.

And it did something that made girl's heart die in her chest. It SPOKE.

- Oh, what's wrong? Did the remains of my flesh scare you off this much, young lady? -

He took a step ahead, the metal grumbling and whirring with each movement of his robotic legs.

YN quickly scrambled up from the floor and backed away, meeting the wall with her backside.

- No use in running. You can't escape me -

The creature took a few more steps towards the girl, paralyzed with fear. Hot breath fanned over YN's neck, warm, despite of the owner's cold demeanor. The girl could feel her whole body tense at the smell of the animatronic's breath - and it lowkey smelled like rotting flesh.

How could it even breathe-? It was a machine.

YN snapped back to reality and tried to think fast, wanting to find a way to protect her life and dignity. She looked at the animatronic and seeing that it wasn't in arm reach yet, she took her chance and sprinted down the hallway, back into her office. She locked herself in it, quickly shutting off all the cameras, not to scare herself even more.

But then a loud bangs came from the door. They were creaking as if they were just about to break down. And just when YN stepped away from them, they did. The wood broke, sending parts of it flying until they hit the floor too. YN gripped the baseball bat she found earlier, intending to protect herself with it. But one powerful swing of the animatronic's arm was enough to throw it out of her grasp, and making the girl fall to her knees. Springtrap rose her up by her chin, reaching his free hand out to smear her blood over his fingers. Only now did YN realise that there was a splinter stuck in her cheek.

- Tsk tsk. You're bleeding. What a silly little girl you are -

His voice was dark and enticing, and YN strangely found herself kind of.. responding to it.

- W-what are you? -

She asked fearfully, her eyes darting over the animatronic, looking like a prey who has just been caught by a predator.

- "What"? Oh dear, don't treat me like an animal -

He spoke and another dark chuckle left his.. mouth?

- Most call me.. Springtrap. You can call me however you'd like.. but it still doesn't change your situation -

YN gulped, feeling his plastic hand trail over her throat.

- Are you.. going to kill me? -

- Kill you? That would be too easy, don't you think? I'd rather use you.. the other way -

Girl's heart sank. What could he mean? She felt terror making it's way up her spine, sending chills over it. And then, she was thrown across the desk, on her back, as Springtrap towered above her. His big hands trailed over her waist, as the realisation slowly hit YN. This was his "other way".

- I haven't seen a woman for so long... Let alone a woman.. not to mention me having a touch of a woman -

- Please.. I'll do anything you wish, but just... Please not this -

Springtrap immediately shut her up, with a glare that seemed..alarmingly sharp.

- If not this.. i can simply kill you. Would you like that? -

Silence and a shudder from YN answered him.

- That's what i thought -

Moments later, YN's clothes were ripped and discarded to the floor. Girl's nipples stiffened from the cold air hitting them, and Springtrap just stayed silent, looking over at the girl's body. His cold fingers kneaded the flesh, soft and plushy under his touch.

- Fascinating.. -

He muttered, turning the girl onto her stomach, making her let out an unintended moan at the way her hardened buds rubbed over the desk. Springtrap chuckled.

- Don't worry.. soon enough, you'll be.. making these sounds louder -

YN felt plastic touch on her thighs and couldn't help but whine at the way the digits brushed over her pearl and sensitive folds. She felt embarrassed, because she wasn't supposed to be reacting to it this way.

Springtrap laughed as his finger circled over YN's entrance, finding out that she wasn't necessarily all dry.

- You're starting to like this, aren't you? That's such a shame -

The girl let out a yelp as suddenly Springtrap's finger pushed inside her, stretching her inner walls just with it. It was scary how much it filled her alone. The animatronic marveled over the female, taking in notes of her reactions. Every whimper, every moan, every squeeze of her velvety heat on his finger. And as her thighs started shuddering, he pulled his finger out, denying her an orgasm.

YN whined pretensionally, looking at him over her shoulder just to get her head pushed down forcefully.

- Don't you even dare think it's about you -

He grumbled, as he reached to the pad of his pelvis, and YN could hear a metal click before something more humanly, oddly warm pressed over the curve of her rear.

The female gasped, understanding flooding her senses as a shiver of fear and excitement got goosebumps forming on her skin.

Springtrap's cock slid down, to rub between her legs and collect her arousal on it.

And soon, he was pushing into her, tight heat, earning a muffled moan from her.

YN cursed herself for thinking he could ever have mercy with her. She whined pathetically as he picked up the pace immediately, hitting all the soft spots inside her repeatadly, with no care for YN of the way it could hurt her.

But it only got her core gushing and sweet sounds escaping her as she neared her end once. Springtrap could feel her climaxing on his cock once, tightenjng around him and spilling juices over his cock and plastic pelvis, making the coupling more fluid.

He was mostly quiet, only letting out grunts and little groans as he pounded into her relentlessly. And soon another intense, shaky orgasm ripped trough YN, as she fell limp on the desk, too exhausted to keep her head up.

After a few more minutes of the rough session Springtrap let out a primal growl, pinning the girl down with his weight, as he released thickly inside of her.

He then pulled out his member halfly out of her, as YN tried scrambling off the desk. Springtrap chuckled darkly and pinned her down agressively again.

- Where do you think you're going? It's barely 3am -

And that were going to be 3 more long, long hours...

_____________________________________

Sorry for any mistakes or for not using colorful language, but english is my second one, so.. yk.

Anyways thank you for reading and the likes too 😭😭

[moiravim]

The Sacrifice Chapter 10

•bucky x yn

•zombie apocalypse AU

One year later

I dust my hands off, swiping the sweat off my forehand from the sweltering heat of the sun beating down on Bucky and I. We had just finished building our house together.

Today marks the day of our one year anniversary. We are planning on cooking a nice dinner and spending the rest of the day together.

Bucky walks up to me and says "Are you ready for dinner tonight? Who's cooking, Darling?" I respond "I'm cooking because you can't cook for shit."

He laughs before telling me; "I'm gonna go and and look for some stuff for later, I'll be back."

I smile and nod before walking away to start dinner.

I grab the bow Bucky and I have been using to hunt for our meals as I think about what I'm going to make us.

I could make soup in honor of when we first met. But after knowing Bucky for this long, I've learned he doesn't necessarily like soup.

I walk into the woods will be fun most of the animals we use for food. Then the correct choice seems clear to me.

Rabbit. The food he tried to make for me the day we came here. Obviously I wouldn't burn it. I laugh thinking back at the memory before going deeper onto the trail, looking for the small animals.

I find a large rabbit and prepare my bow. I smile and accomplishment as I shoot it on my first try. I hear rustling coming from the bushes as I hold my bow up, expecting more rabbit.

I immediately dropped my weapon as I see a small kitten crawl out of the bush. Where has she come from?

The kitten crawls up and lays down next to me, resting its head on my shoe. I gush at how cute the cat is, before picking it up.

"There's no way Bucky could say no to keeping you.. your just too cute!!" I whisper to the small creature.

I grabbed the dead rabbit and my bow before walking out with the kitten. I just know Bucky will love her.

I put the rabbit in the kitchen and threw my boo onto the counter before rushing into our bedroom with the cat. The kitten nuzzles its head into the blankets and rolls around.

I smile before I go and find some food for the cat. I find some raw chicken Bucky and I for saving. Mash it up so it's easier for the cat to eat.

I leave the cat alone and leave the window open in case she wants to leave. I go back out to look for more rabbit and some vegetables to use as a side.

By the time I am finishing the food Bucky is back And he sets up the table for us. I bring out the food and he immediately smiles at me.

"Rabbit" he says as he smirks. "Yep just more proof of how much better I am at cooking than you." I laugh out.

He nods and let's have a small laugh, before trying the food. "I'll be right back" I say before I go into the bedroom to see if the cat is still there.

She is. Her tail wags as she runs up and leaves through the door. She goes straight to the dining room and jumps onto Bucky's lap.

"Bucky! I'm so sorry, I found her outside and I couldn't just leave her there.." I say as I watch the cat cuddle in to Bucky. He smiles and gently pets the cat.

"It's okay sweetheart... Does she have a name?" He asks, still smiling. The cat seems as happy as he does. I smile at the sight.

"No...she doesn't. You can name her" I say as I watch the cat snuggle him. "Alpine. She's definitely an Alpine." He says as I giggle. "Alpine?" I jokingly question him.

"Yes. Alpine. She's so precious" He says as he adores the cat.

I sit in the seat across from Bucky and begin to eat my plate of food. "You're so beautiful" He genuinely tells me as his smile grows. He looks at me while he happily eats his food.

"I love you." I tell him as I finish my food. He pushes his plate to the side before reaching over to grab my hands.

"I got you a gift." He responds. He pulls out a present, wrapped in a red towel.

I lift the fabric up and peek in to see an axe. It looks homemade, but it's beautiful. It has flowers and engraved into it.

I lean over the small table and pull him into a kiss. But he picks up the small cat and lays it down comfortably on the couch before coming back over to me.

SMUT WARNING!!!

He walks up to me and pulls me into him, interlocking our lips. Our lips fall into sync as we stumble towards the bedroom, practically ripping eachothers clothes off.

He fumbles with the door nob trying to open it without breaking our kiss. When he finally gets the door open, he lays me down on the bed, breaking the kiss slightly so we can breathe.

Heavy breathing fills the atmosphere, and before I know it, his lips are on mine again. He nibbles on my bottom lip as he pushes me deeper into the mattress.

He continues to kiss me as he takes my shirt off. He breaks the kiss, but only for a moment to rip the shirt off before dipping back in hungrily.

He moves his hand to her back to clip off my bra. He stops fiddling with my bra, looking into my eyes before asking, "Do you want this, baby?"

I look up at him and nodded neededly. He continues to bore into my eyes. "use your words," he says sternly. I break the eye contact and mumble, "Yes, I want this... I want you..." He smirks slightly. "Good."

He immediately puts his hands back on my back to take off my bra. He unclips it and carelessly tosses it to the side.

He trails his eyes down to my breasts, admiring them. I begin to feel conscious of his eyes on me and quickly cover myself up.

He grabs my hands and pulls them away from my body and utters, "You don't have to cover yourself. You're too pretty for that."

I feel my face heat up and I go to look away, but his hands grab my chin and force me to look at him. Before I even get the chance to speak, he's pulls me into another heated kiss.

Our hands begin to roam each other's body, getting tangled with one another. I move my hands to the bottom of his shirt and start to pull up on it, initiating that I want it off.

He takes the lead and pulls his shirt off, breaking our kiss for a second before quickly smashing our lips back together.

His hands trail to my boobs, grabbing them slightly before gripping them harder, causing me to moan into the kiss. He parts our lips only for them to move down to my neck, kissing different parts of it, then sucking on it.

I whimper out as I feel him continue to move down until his mouth latches onto my breast, tongue swirling around my nipple. As he sucks on one, his hands are still gripping my other boob.

Bucky goes to pull my pants down but before he can, I push him back onto the bed and start to unbutton his pants. His eyes fill with shock for a moment and then fill right back up with lust.

He helps me pull down his pants and then his boxers. Right when they're pulled down, his dick springs up, already dripping with pre-cum. I position myself between his legs. 

I lower my head, staring directly into his eyes as I spit onto his shaft. I take my hand and pump his dick a few times before I open my mouth and latch onto his tip. I swirl my tongue around as I continue to rub his shaft.

Bucky's head is thrown back in pleasure as he lets out a low groan. I look up at him, then tearing my eyes away from his face and back to his dick.

I remove my mouth from his dick for a moment. I immediately put my mouth back, but this time he is fully in my mouth.

 I bob my head up and down, saliva pooling in the corners of my mouth. Tears start to fill my eyes and Bucky reaches his hand onto my scalp, interlocking his hand into my hair. 

With each bob of my head, he grips my hair harder. "Fuck y/n, just like that... I'm so close." He moans as he thrusts into my mouth, chasing his release.

With one final thrust, he cums into my mouth. I look him in the eyes as I swallow his seed. "Good girl." He says, looking into my eyes.

Bucky pulls me close to him and switches spots with me. He pushes me down into the mattress. He trails kisses from my neck all the way to my stomach. He pulls my pants down, leaving me in nothing but my underwear.

He tears his eyes away from mine and looks at my pussy, dripping with aerosol. He places the pad of his thumb on my clit, applying a little bit of pressure, causing me to clamp my legs shut.

Bucky forces my legs back open, tearing my underwear off and placed a soft kiss on your clit. I bite my bottom lip, anticipating the pleasure awaiting. I feel him place the pad of his tongue on my whole pussy, making sure to lick it all before sucking on my clit.

I throw my head back in pleasure, moaning his name "Bucky... oh fuck." I tangle my hands in his hair, grasping for something to hold on to. Bucky grabs my hand and intertwines our fingers.

Bucky continues to lick and suck on my clit. I pull on his hair, causing him to groan, sending vibrations into my pussy. Bucky sees my movements are getting more desperate, practically grinding on his face.

He takes 2 of his fingers and pushes them in. "Oh my God Bucky, don't stop. I'm so close." I whimper out. The feeling of him fingering me while sucking on my clit causes me to release, riding out my high by grinding on his face.

Bucky pulls away from my pussy, eyes still full of lust as he brings me into a kiss. I taste myself on my tongue, pulling him closer to me to deepen the kiss. 

I pull Bucky on top of me, grinding into whatever body part of him I can feel. He pulls away from the kiss, looking me in the eyes. I can tell by looking at him he's asking if I'm sure. I rapidly nod, making sure he knows I want this.

He lines up with my entrance, pushing himself inside, causing us both to let out a moan. He slowly starts to move in and out and eventually starts to pick up the pace. 

The only sounds filling the room was the sound of moaning and skin slapping skin. "Bucky" I moan out his name. He continues to thrust into you. His thrusts getting faster and sloppier as time goes on.

"I'm close. Fuck y/n." He whimpers, face burying into your neck, filling it with sloppy kisses. 

I feel myself getting hot. My release comes fast and Bucky exits me with one final thrust, cumming onto my stomach.

Bucky rolls over next to me, both of us trying to catch our breath. After my breathing finally settles, I look over to Bucky to see that he's already looking at me.

I turn on my side, so I can completely face him, and so does he. As we look into each other's eyes, I go to say something, but Bucky beats me to it. "I love you, y/n." I smile slightly and say, "I love you, Bucky." Bucky grabs me, pulling me into his arms to fall asleep together.

[littlewalken]

oct 25

Ended up resting my migraine muscles by going down a manga scantilation rabbit hole yesterday. Not too long ago I did a clean out of titles I figured I wasn't going to read, maybe shouldn't have dumped a couple of titles I was able to get back but in general I stand by my choices. And fugly and hard to look at is the first hurdle, on I took back is on the fence but the writing has good reviews.

There are other comics, a fuck ton of Marvel from this century, where you have to ask how the hell did they get their job. I'm not talking baby artists because you can tell sometimes that someone is just starting out or needs the right kind of practice (think that stiff sort of Sonichu look) That's different than fugly.

And by right kind of practice I mean Fun With a Pencil or watch and read some Alphonso Dunn. I failed at all the basic "skill building" shit in school, I failed the only pencil drawing class I took.

I'm gonna go with this as an example of what I could do tho because 1 I know it's before my brain injury and 2 outside of what I have in my college sketch books very little if any of my older stuff still exists because of reasons I still take Repressitall for (including the final painting I did that study for and the one I did of my Dominion War husband). As I said before help us move meant help yourself to my canvases, etching plates, and wood cuts too. Don't know how they missed the giant canvas bag with my county fair prize winning pictures and Joshua Tree woodcut.

Told you that old fashioned 1" flooring pine makes lovely wood cuts.

But yeah, if I had got Fun With A Pencil instead of Useless Instructions to Make Cartoons (doodles) as a gift who knows how much happier I would have been with my abilities at a younger age?

And nothing will take the place of practice because my job as a Ninja at the turn of the century that left me with time on my hands that had to be spent quietly and with something post 911 America wouldn't see as a "weapon" left me few options.

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x reader // ch 5

summary: You tumble a Grisha in more ways than one ;)

warnings: violence, fighting, cursing, SMUT, fingering, masturbation??, praise kink, not proofread. 

A/N: this is all over the place, forgive me y'all </3

WHEN you awoke the next morning, you found a single glass of water placed on your night stand. Your head pounded as you tried to recall the blurred events from the previous night. All you remembered was catching up with Alina and then finally leaving her room. From there it was as if everything had muddled together to form a single incoherent memory. The sun had just begun to peak through your window.

While you were away last night, a servant must have stocked up your closet with clean clothes. They had mainly been a few soldiers' uniforms and some new nightgowns. Along with a few robes, each one as soft as a rabbit's fur. The gold kefta still remained in the dresser, collecting dust.

You changed out of your dirty clothes that you had slept in, and placed them in a neatly folded pile on the corner of your bed. After throwing on a clean uniform and putting your hair into a low bun, you rang for a servant. You asked her to bring breakfast to you. It seemed like there was no use in eating with the other Grisha. Where would you have sat? You weren’t a Corporalki, Etherealki, nor a Materialki. You certainly weren’t the Darkling either. There would be no place for you if you’d chosen to eat there with Alina.

Soon enough, a light knock echoed on the wooden door. “Come in!” You said, and the servant strolled in with a cart. She placed down a golden tray in front of you. You were served sweet pea porridge and fresh figs with a tall glass of water. You thanked the servant before she dismissed herself, leaving you to your food. There was another covering that laid on the tray, no plate under it. As you shoveled another spoonful of the porridge into your mouth, you took off the covering. Under the dome laid your weapons, cleaned of the dirt and blood that caked them. You placed your weapons back onto their respective places: a pistol and dagger at your hips, a knife securely tucked into your boot, and the last knife hidden away in your sleeve.

Just as you finished your food, another knock resonated in your uncomfortably quiet room. You beckoned them to come in. A Grisha with a red kefta came in, the black stitching signifying that he was a heartrender. You gave him a polite smile as he stepped in.

“Hello. I am Fedyor. I am to escort you to the training grounds today.” He explained.

“Oh no, it’s alright. I don’t need an escort. I know my way around the palace, thank you though.” You assured him. Sitting on the corner of your bed, you put on your boots. You were surprised to find them in the normal place you had put them, at the foot of your bed, near the very corner. It was a habit you had since you were a child. Every other orphan at Keramzin always placed their boots either to the left or right of their beds. It was understandably easier than leaving your boots where you normally had, yet you couldn’t shake the habit.

“The General himself required me to accompany you. As you must know, I cannot obey the General’s orders.” He stated. After lacing up your boots, you made your way to the tray your breakfast was on. You put the small plate that once housed the figs into the empty bowl of the porridge you were served. Picking up the tray, you began to walk towards the circular table near the door and left the tray there so it’d be easier for the servant to clean.

You turned to him, arms crossed on your chest as you sighed, “Fine.” You examined the new jacket you were issued, it wasn’t the same as the frayed one you were used to. The hem of your sleeves were intact, unlike your old one when you had picked apart the stitching when you were nervous. The only thing that you were particularly happy about was the fur lining. Yours had matted from being used so much and slept on.

“You know, it’s quite odd that you’re staying in the General's hall.” You let out a hm, questioning what he meant by that. “Usually guests stay in the guest hall. The General never permits for anyone to stay in his. He’s the only person allowed to sleep in this specific hall.” He whispered as we walked past a group of Materialki. They were huddled amongst themselves, whispering and giggling as they made their way to their training rooms.

“Maybe it’s because I’m Alina’s friend? Perhaps he feels like he needs to watch over me himself since he has also taken her under his watch.” You said. You took a deep breath of the crisp winter air as the two of you stepped outside.

“Perhaps. But why is Alina staying in the vezda suite? Wouldn’t it make sense for her to be staying in the General’s hall as well?” Fedyor did make a good point, if Alina was the most important Grisha of all, why wasn’t she across the hallway from the Darkling?

“It truly is a mystery I suppose. But if I were you, I wouldn’t question his choices.” You teased. You thought you might’ve offended him until he lets out a short laugh.

“Saints know what he would do if I had.” He replied, making you giggle. Your laughter died as you arrived at Botkin’s training area. Grisha alike had already been paired up and were sparring. Alina had been paired up with a girl she had mentioned last night, you couldn’t remember her name. Madia? No that wasn’t it. Narie? It wasn’t that one either. Noticing a late arrival, Botkin walked up to you.

“Botkin has never seen little girl before.” You tried to suppress the surprise you felt when you heard him refer to himself in third person. “Who is she?” He asked Fedyor. By now some people had stopped training to hear the conversation. You noticed Alina was still sparring with her friend, unaware of your arrival.

“She’s here as Alina’s guest.” At the mention of her name, the girl stopped fighting. Finally taking notice of your figure, she let out a surprised gasp.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she came closer.

“Training. If I’m going to stay at the palace I don’t want to rot away and do nothing.” You said, rolling your shoulders to loosen up your muscles.

“First Army girl wants to train with Botkin.” His voice, although baritone and guttural, brought a strange comfort to you. “Choose your opponent.” You surveyed the crowd, looking for someone who could pose a possible challenge. Your eyes landed on a tan skinned girl with raven black hair, bangs framing her face perfectly. Her black eyes stared into yours, challenging you.

“Her.” You stated while nodding your head towards her. Botkin weaved his head in the direction you had nodded off to.

“Ah, star pupil, Zoya!” So this was Zoya, the girl who told Alina that she reeked of Keramzin. “I have trained her since she was ten.” The raven haired girl offered you a way out, which you immediately declined.

“Fighters ready?” You put your fist up, getting into stance. “And..Fight!” You waited for Zoya to come to you first. She walked up to you, her fists hung up. You circled each other, playing the waiting game. You were about to make a move when you saw Zoya moving her right fist towards your face. You ducked left, managing to move in time to avoid the punch. With her back still to you, you jammed your elbow into her side making her hunch over.

She came at you again, this time with more veracity and anger behind each swing. Except she didn’t land a single blow. You were able to avoid each one as you let out a giggle, staggering a few steps back.

“Is that all you’ve got, star pupil?” Your comment only seemed to spur her on more. She ran at you in full force, this time you let her land a hit on you for the fun of it. What you didn’t expect was for her to punch you so hard that she drew blood. You sniffled feeling a drop of blood come from your nose. You began your attack with a right hook followed by a left one. In return she used her arms to block each time, leaving her abdomen vulnerable.

You were able to land a hard blow or two before you found yourself briefly soaring through the air, your back meeting the hard wall that was originally ten paces behind you. You let out a wheeze as you feel one of your ribs break.

Botkin had begun to reprimand Zoya, looking at her you could feel her shame as she upset her mentor. You couldn’t help but smirk as she looked at you, at least now she knows how someone from Keramzin fights. Her gaze hardened, about to walk up to you once more before she was taken away by some guards.

“Oh my Saints, now the General is really going to have my head.” Fedyor said in a panic. He helped you stand as he called for a healer.

“I’m quite alright.” You ensured, but the wince in your face gave you away. Alina came running up to you, giving you a once over before taking you from Fedyor and into her embrace.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that.” She whispered into your ear. “It’s too dangerous for you.” She made a movement to grab one of your cold hands, giving it a squeeze.

“Everything’s a risk for me, Alina. The Doctor made that clear.” When you were younger, you were diagnosed with a heart condition. It was nothing serious really, and only acted up once in a blue moon. The tugging and squeezing feeling only lasted for seconds, but the pain left you feeling unstable for hours after. “The risk is always worth it.”

“But what if one day its not?” She pulled away from you, resting her hands on your shoulders. “The Doctor himself said there was no cure for this, no remedy that could help.”

“It’s worth it if it means protecting our honor.” You replied honestly.

“I don’t need you to protect our honor.” She protested. “I need you to protect yourself. Even if that means backing down from a fight.” You remained silent as a healer began to work on you. Starting first with your broken ribs then moving onto your bloody nose. After a few minutes of sitting still, the healer finally told you that you could leave.

Alina and Fedyor accompanied you back to your room. “What do you think will happen to her?” You asked. Alina shrugged her shoulders as the heartrender went to respond.

“She will probably get reprimanded by the General too. Zoya knows not to use her powers while training. Respectfully, especially not against someone who isn’t Grisha.” He commented.

You must’ve really gotten under her skin then if she went against all those years of training and discipline. “Good. She needs to know her place.” You snarked. “Now I’d like to get some rest.” You glanced at Alina, her gaze unwavering. “Alone, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll be fine. If I need help I can always call for the General.” You replied, placing your cold hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. With great reluctance, she nodded her head. Fedyor and her leaving to return to combat training.

As you close the door, you feel your resolve break. Wincing as the pain and exhaustion came back. As you grew up, your condition continued to tire you. You couldn’t fight nor run the same way you could two years ago. At this rate, you’d probably be dead in the next two years because of your heart condition. That was if the war didn’t kill you first.

The sun was nowhere near close to setting. You still had most of the day to kill yet you didn’t know what to do. You thought back to one of the places the Darkling had shown you, perhaps you could go to the library. Gathering whatever strength you had left, you returned to the calm and composed front you had always put on.

The walk there had been time consuming, nauseating even. But you were determined to snatch a book or two to read while you were cooped up in your room. The library of the Little Palace was grand, filled from floor to ceiling with various books. If you ever had the chance to visit the Grand Palace, their library would definitely be on a list of places of visit.

You ran your finger along the spines of the books as you walked through the shelves. There were two things that you loved most in your life: the feeling of the sun on your skin and the smell of books. Strangely enough, the smell of the books had reminded you of Keramzin in a way. Probably because you spent most of your childhood with your nose shoved into a book. Collecting two books, you were adamant on getting to your room in time to be able to sit in the sun and read a couple of chapters. All of a sudden the smell of incense and mildew had taken over your sense of smell.

“My Saints, where is that smell coming from..” You whispered to yourself. Unexpectedly you heard a shuffle behind you. Turning around you saw a greasy man in a robe.

“Hello, y/n.” Said the man.

“Do I know you?” You replied cautiously, reaching for the knife you had hidden in your sleeve.

“I am the Apparat, a priest. Advisor to the King.” He stated. Knowing who he was didn’t make you any less tentative, your fingers still gripped the handle of your knife.

“Okay...right. Nice meeting you. I’ll be on my way now.” You said, trying your best to move around him but he stopped you. He latched onto your arm that had been reaching for your knife, effectively rendering your weapons useless.

“Do you remember?” He acquired his answer from the confused look on your face, “Oh, soon you will remember. Everything will face into place.” You ripped your arm out of his rough hands and ran out of the library, never looking back.

When you were finally in your room, you threw the books onto the floor as you rushed to the tub. There hadn’t been any warm water around but you didn’t care. You filled the tub with lukewarm water as you began to strip yourself of your clothes. Skewing them across the floor as you picked up a velvet robe and tossed it on a nearby chair. Stepping in, you grabbed a loofah. Scrubbing yourself clean of the Apparat’s lingering touch. You scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw. After dunking your head underwater to wet your hair, you picked up a soap. It smelt of lavender and honey. In the First Army, they had always given you a singular bar of soap to last you a week. Showers came scarce due to the fact that the soap practically diminished once it touched water. Gently lathering the soap in your hands, you cleaned your hair first. The repetitive circular motions of your hands had started to calm you down, almost lulling you to sleep. Quickly finishing off your hair and the rest of your body, you found yourself smelling good for the first time in a while.

Feeling satisfied enough, you let out a sigh, letting yourself relax as you rest your arms on the edge of the tub. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap. You thought. After all, you fought a Grisha without the use of your weapons and came out somewhat victorious. You let your hair dangle outside of the tub to dry as you close your eyes, sleep taking over you.

-

“Stop it!” You screamed, you could feel someone splashing cold water at you. Wetting your hair and dress. “Aleksander, stop!” You said while laughing. You could hear him let out a laugh before coming up behind you and taking you into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around your belly as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The stubble from his face tickling you.

“How are you today, my darling?” He whispered into your ear, making you shiver. He began to pepper kisses up and down your neck, making your legs feel like jelly. Your hands flew to his in order to stabilize yourself.

“Good. But it could be better.” You teased, egging him on. One of his hands travels your hips, bunching up the fabric of your skirt to give himself better access. The other hand made its way to your core, ghosting past your eager bundle of nerves.

“Look at you, already so wet for me.” He shoved aside your underwear, plunging two of his fingers into your heat. He paused at the sound of your moan, “Taking my fingers so well.” He set an agonizingly slow pace, let out a few groans himself as he rubbed himself against you. His long fingers search for the spot he knew so well, the one that would make you mewl and fall apart in his embrace. He hits it once, twice, before extracting his fingers from you. He placed his slick covered fingers atop of your dry ones before guiding them back to your wet entrance. You were able to slide in with ease as he guided your movements.

“I can’t..” You breathed out, the feeling of his fingers and yours combined had been too much for you.

“Yes you can.” He purred, tilting your head with his own to get better access to your neck. “You’re almost there, I can feel it.” Just as he said that, he felt you briefly clamp down, signaling you were close. He guides your fingers deeper, nearing your g spot as his other hand lets go of your dress and goes to your clit.  

The action makes you come undone as you moan his name repeatedly, your juices coating both his and your fingers. You let out a whine as he removes his fingers from you, only to place his hand into his mouth, sucking your cum off of him.

“Sweet, as always.” He gently grabs your chin and turns you to face him, his dilated pupils meeting yours. “Here, have a taste of yourself.” His words alone made another wave of heat pool at your core. He grabs your hand before inserting into your mouth. You wrap your lips around your fingers, staring into his slate gray eyes all the while. After lapping up your juices, you release your fingers with a pop!

Even in your dream state you could tell this man looked suspiciously like General Kirigan. They shared the same face structure, their cheekbones rested at the same angle. His eyebrows were as perfectly sculpted as the General’s. Lashes equally as dark and long. The only difference was that the man-- Aleksander, had a near clean shaven face and his hair was grown out to reach his shoulders. The General had a beard and sported a slicked back look. Yet the two looked identical.

Your eyes searched his face, his body, for anything that could tell you anything. You spotted a mole near his right collarbone. Nearly hidden by the collar of his shirt, small but it would have to do. Without thinking, you reach up to grab his face to pull him in for a kiss.

“My Aleksander.”

-

YOUR doors opened with a bang, startling you from your sleep. The person entered without even knocking, alerting you to three possibilities: someone had broken in and now was here to kill you, you were being kidnapped, or the Darkling was here to brutally murder you. You let the first two options leave your mind, knowing how well guarded the Little Palace was. So there was no possibility for an intruder to get so far into the grounds. Yet the third option did little to ease your mind.

Realizing you were still in the tub, you got out. Not wanting anyone to see you naked. Not like it hasn’t happened before. You thought, thinking back to your time at Caryeva. You quickly threw on your robe, haphazardly tying it while you grabbed one of your knives and unsheathed it. You threw the knife just in time, the person emerging from the curtains being nicked by your blade before it landed on the trimming of the bathroom entrance.

“Oh my Saints, I’m so sorry…” The Darkling stared at you, surprise flicking on his features. “I didn’t hear you come in. I was asleep.”

You walked to the side, picking up a towel to clean up his wound. You dipped it into a bucket of clean water, wringing it out afterwards.

“In the bathtub?” You gave him a nod, a blush forming on your cheeks. “Well you certainly sleep wherever you can.” He joked. As you shifted closer to him, you felt that familiar wetness in your thighs. Fuck. You thought, your blush becoming deeper. You’d been so caught up with the idea of someone coming to kill you that you had forgotten about your dream.

“Are you alright?” It should’ve been you who was asking the question since you nicked him after all. He awaited your reply as you gently pressed the towel against the cut.

“I am. Nothing serious happened to me.” You replied, assuming he had heard of the events that had taken place earlier that day. “Are you?” You asked, “I mean, you seemed very alarmed when you barged in.”

“My apologies for that. You just...you weren’t responding to my knocks or my questions. I’d assumed the worst.” He said, struggling to find the words. You didn’t know how to feel, in a way you were glad that he cared for your well being, yet it slightly made your gut lurch. You’d been here for less than a week and he seemingly cared more for you than Alina. Then again, you didn’t know what the two did behind closed doors. You stopped cleaning his wound, the bleeding had stopped. The two of you remained close, only an arms distance away from each other.

“Why do you care so much? After all, I’m only a guest here at the palace. I’m not a Grisha like you or everyone else here.”

“You're my guest. It’s normal for me to worry about my guests.” He explained. You crossed your arms over your chest, eyebrows furrowing as you listened to him.

“Yes, but..” You paused, “Yesterday I was Alina’s guest. Now today, I am yours. So which is it?”

“Whatever you’d like.” He whispered, taking a step closer to you. His gaze flickering to your lips then back to your eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.” He replied, giving you a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

“Have we met before?” You asked, making the General freeze in his place. His posture goes rigid, you struggle to read the emotion on his face. “.. I could’ve sworn that we…” You doubled over, your left hand clutching your chest as your right hand flew to his shoulder. The pain had never hit you twice in a day. Not even twice in a month.

“Alina..g-get her.” The General called for a servant to fetch her along with a healer. In his panic, he swept you off your feet and carried you to the bed. He laid you upon it as he took your left hand into his. In a haze, your right hand began to wander, weakly pulling at the collar of his shirt. The pain went away as a moment of clarity came over you, General Kirigan had bared the same mole that Aleksander had. As you placed your hand on his face, the pain came rushing back.

Before you allowed yourself to give into the darkness that called you, a tentative whisper left your lips, your eyes searching his.

“A-aleksander?”

-

Mizpah tag: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost@telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard @thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5 @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme @itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000 @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter​ @sarcastic-and-cool​ @poulterfilms​ @spookybooisa​ @stickyknightflowerbailiff​ @hollandsweetie​ @yungkvte​ @evyiione​ @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23​

mizpah taglist closed </3

S.a.B. forever tag: @deceivedeer

[just-a-creep-babe]

Captive

(Habit x Reader)

Commissioned by @selfshippinglover thank youuu bby <333

Requests are closed

Masterlist: x

Habit wipes the blade of his hatchet on his pants, smearing blotchy crimson on his washed-out jeans

He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck

Finally home

A grin replaces the sneer on his face as he thinks of his little rabbit waiting for him inside

The thought of seeing your face light up as you rush into his arms is more than enough to coax his sore muscles forwards

He hasn’t been gone for too long, but he knows you‘re always elated to see him—and it goes without saying that the feeling is always mutual, of course

The few steps leading up to the door are speckled with brownish dried blood, almost welcoming him in as he twists the doorknob and steps through the threshold

“I’m back, little rabbit~” he croons into the entrance

His voice is a hint scratchier than it usually is because of his recent… activities, but he knows you’ll be happy to hear the sound regardless

He sets his weapons down on the entrance floor and takes his shoes off as he awaits your reply

He previously never really cared for clean floors and would shamelessly track caked dirt and blood into the house just because he was too lazy to remove his shoes

But after you’d admonished him for giving you even more cleaning to do, he’d been more careful with keeping things somewhat tidy

And, at this point, after living with you for so long, it’s become a sort of habit on its own 

He pauses for a moment as he finishes wiping the filthy dried crimson on his arms with the towel you keep for him by the coat rack

Why didn’t you come to greet him? Did you not hear him come in?

He grunts

He thought he’d taught you better than that

You had to pay attention to your surroundings and stay on guard when he wasn’t there in case anything happened

“Bunny?” he calls out for you again, now making his way into the living room where you should be

But instead of being met with your adorable face, there’s… nothing—no one

His smile drops

Are you sleeping? Did you feel sick and needed to rest?

No, something’s not right—he knows it

He can feel it

His instincts flare up, alarm bells ringing in his mind as he pushes through the empty hallway

“Bunny? You in here? Don’t try to hide from me—“

He rushes to your room, the door slamming open to reveal yet another significant lack of you

The bed’s undone, sheets thrown haphazardly across the mattress, and the curtains are still drawn, like you didn’t have time to properly wake up this morning

His brows furrow

Trepidation spirals through his body, the fear and confusion of you not being there reawakening his overworked muscles like a pure shot of adrenaline

You know better than this

You know to stay put in the house until he comes back—it isn’t like you to just up and leave with no explanation, not even a warning or a note or anything of the sort

A note

He tries to calm himself down, tries to slow his frantic breaths and relax the tension in his jaw

He tells himself that maybe he’s just overreacting

He hasn’t checked the fridge or the counter for any indication of why you might’ve left

Maybe he’s forgetting something, and just needs to think things through before assuming the worst

But then, just as he’s about to turn back for the kitchen, he freezes in his tracks

A note is too optimistic, too hopeful

He has to face the facts; someone‘s taken you

His eyes close shut and he hones in on his superior senses

He sniffs the air once, twice, and a third time

There’s no mistaking the traces of something foul lingering behind

Cold dread licks up his spine

Fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders tense, white hot rage seething through his system at the realization

How could the fucker dare?

He breaths in the scent again, trying to picture its owner, trying to pick it apart from the familiarity of your smell to see what fucking idiot would take you away from him

What imbecile would steal his mate?

The intruding scent is a mix of smoldering charcoals, cinnamon, an expensive cologne and something... husky—definitely masculine

A malignant smile crosses his features as he pinpoints the exact asshole that took you

He lets out a low whistle to himself in the emptiness of the room

“Alright, you wanna play dirty, lapdog? I’ll fucking show you playing dirty”

•••

It doesn’t take long for him to wind up in the middle of the forest where the eldritch prick and most of his lackeys reside

The air is still and stagnant, the musk of rot permeating every direction

Fingers wrapped firmly around the wooden handle of his axe, he moves quietly but quickly—and with steeled purpose—through the withered trees

He knows that walking right into the center of Stick-in-the-Mud’s domain is dangerous

Not to mention that the whole situation reeks of it being a trap

But what other choice does he have?

For you, his one and only beloved mate, he would risk anything

Habit twists his weapon of choice in his hands, maneuvering it through his fingers in an impressive display of skill and control

Besides, he wants to make them pay—he wants to make them regret ever laying a finger on your pretty little head

His lust for revenge churning in the pit of his stomach overpowers any other competing sense

He could picture it in now; how the blade would cut through the entity’s skin like butter, spraying crimson in a beautiful fountain-like gush of his life-force pouring across the dirt

He knows, of course, that he can’t actually kill the bastard so easily, but still, it keeps him content as he weaves through the broken shambles of the path

He has to distract himself, anyways

He doesn’t want his rage to overtake his common-sense, or, at least, whatever’s left of it at this point

Eventually, he finally reaches a clearing where pale, faint traces of sunlight barely peak through the dense thicket of foliage overhead

You’re close, he can feel it

He pauses for a second, closing his eyes and trying to visualize which direction he should head in

Still keeping up with your scent, he lets it guide him between two rotting oak trees until, after a few more paces ahead, he reaches a dilapidated building standing all on its own

From the looks of it, he guesses it was once a hospital, though the windows and doors have long since been removed, and where they once were affixed now lie slits of darkness—the abyss inside peering out into the woods

White chips of paint peel from the exterior, with gnarled twisted vines creeping up the side like fingers caging the structure in place

He can smell your fear and distress from somewhere deep inside of it

The scent overtakes his instincts and he finds himself charging through the entrance without so much as a backup plan

God help whatever stands between him and his mate

The interior of the abandoned hospital still lingers with traces of blood and medicine, coupled with a couple of forgotten operating tables, wheelchairs and other surgical devices

He rushes through every room, every dead-end and vacant hallway—all of them lacking a crucial component; you

Finally, he stumbles across a heavy door reinforced with metal plating, and this time, there’s no mistaking your scent coming through the other side of it

He almost scoffs at the barrier

As if that would be enough to stop him from reaching you

He tugs at the handle and gives it a good pull with all his might, but it doesn’t budge

“Fucking piece of—“ he snarls a few curses under his breath, shifting positions so that he can bash it open with his shoulder

Whap! Smack!

Blow after blow, despite him using all his weight and straining his muscles as hard as he can, the door doesn’t give

He huffs, snarling in frustration

His sight lands on the rusted hinges where the door attaches to the wall

He tugs the axe from the loops in his jeans, twirls it in his hold and smashes it down against the latches

Clang!

The metal bends much more easily than it would’ve if it wasn’t rusted over

One strike after the next, he pictures the hinges as Stick-in-the-Mud’s face, and with only a couple of hits, he manages to tear them off completely

He sheathes his axe back into his jeans, and with one last blow of his shoulder against the door, it flies off into the next room over

The sound of it hitting the ceramic flooring resonates throughout the empty building

He steps over it, and as he walks into this new room, he knows he’s hit the jackpot

A dark silhouetted form is crouched over a figure chained to the floor by their wrists and ankles

A soft, flickering glow emanates from dozens of candles scattered across the room

Before Habit can lunge at the crouched fucker and tear his throat out, he stands up and straightens himself

Slowly, the figure turns, revealing themselves

Candlelight glints off his signature glasses

His expression, as usual, is cloaked in shadow and impossible to read, were it not for the sly smile curling at his lips

“Ah, Habit. I must say, I didn’t expect you so soon. What a shame, really, I was just getting to know your dearest (y/n)~”

He steps to the side—giving just barely enough space to reveal you, eyes wide with a smear of grime on your cheeks, but otherwise apparently unharmed

“H-habit, I—“

“Ah, ah, ah~” the entity cuts you off, playfully wagging his finger in your direction. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, little one. I’m sure you have much to say, but I think Habit and I have a lot more… pressing issues to discuss”

He wants to hurt the bastard more than anything else—for stealing you away, chaining you to the damn floor of all things, and now for talking down to you like you’re below him

He wants to kill him

Painfully

Brutally

But he knows he can’t just blindly charge at him

There’s no way in hell the Observer doesn’t have some kind of fail-safe, and he really doesn’t wanna risk having him teleport away with you

So he forces himself to bide his time and play nice... for now

“Fucking spit it out already,” he urges through gritted teeth

The shadow entity smirks, reveling in his opponent’s lack of control

“It’s about Firebrand,” he begins, “though I’m sure you’re already more than aware of the little situation you’ve put him through”

The Observer absent-mindedly strokes your hair, toying with a strand between his fingers much too comfortably

It has Habit seething from where he’s standing

If looks could kill

"The Operator is none too pleased with your meddling,” he continues, and when you shift, trying to retreat from him touch, he lets your hair fall back down before returning his gaze to the infuriated male in front of him

“He demands a trade,” he finally finishes

Habit folds his arms over his chest, muscles nearly bulging as he tries to keep it together

“What’s done with Firebrand is done—it’s over. Trying to meddle with shit by stealing my fucking mate isn’t gonna fix your unfortunate situation” 

Despite his mind-numbing infuriation, Habit can’t help the faint smile as he thinks about how desperate Stick-in-the-Mud must be to resort to this

“It won’t,” the Observer agrees, “but you found a way to get leverage over us, and now, we have leverage over you. I’m sure we can find some way to balance this predicament we’re in, wouldn’t you agree?”

The candles to the left of the room flicker, then dim out, leaving half of the room completely drenched in shadows

From the corner of his eyes, he catches something moving next to you in the darkness, followed by your startled cry

He jerks forwards, hands reaching for his weapon, but then he stops short as the entity tuts, and your panicked gasps turn into muffled whimpers

He can just barely make out the shape of a tentacle as it curls around your mouth, your eyes looking up at him, big and watery and pleading and dear God, it’s damn near impossible to resist smashing the lapdog’s face in and saving you from that freak

“I don’t have the fucking journal,” his voice splits as he snarls the words out, a special kind of hatred and animosity seeping through at the sight of what he’s doing to you

Hell, just the scent of your fear is unbearable

The Observer smiles, and the tentacles stop moving, stop withering and tightening around your form, leaving you just enough air to breath

“Oh? Then where is it?”

"Fuck if I know”

“Hmm�� that so?” dissatisfied with his answer, the tentacles start tightening around you once more

You whimper, crying out, trying to twist and turn as the growing darkness continues to consume you, slowly crushing your windpipes and suffocating your vulnerable form  

“Listen, I’ll bring it to you when I get it. Hand delivered by yours truly with a pretty pink fucking bow on it”

Empty promises tumble from his mouth—anything to make him stop, anything to make him release you

Your fear and panic is worse than any kind of torture

He needs it to stop

And, thankfully, it does

Your breathing goes from frantic gasps and whimpers to short breaths—still erratic but at least without the panicked edge of pain 

He can hear your heart beating like a drum in your chest and he wishes he could comfort you

He’d do anything it takes right now to have you unharmed—no matter the cost

The Observer, no doubt sensing Habit’s urgency, chuckles

He turns his attention back to you, this time tilting your chin up to break the eye contact between you and Habit

“There, see? I told you there was nothing to worry about, little one~”

He strokes your cheek, and you whimper in response, still twisting in his tentacles’ grasps

Without looking away from you, he addresses Habit

“You should watch out for your mate, you know. She’s such an easy little thing to pluck out. And how could you blame me for taking her—she’s such a compelling creature, isn’t she?~”

His smile, admittedly, dazzles you for a moment before you snap yourself out of it

You try to tug your head free but his hold on you is much too strong, so you have to look off to the side—anywhere but at his face

“I told you what you wanted. Now let. Her. Go.”

Habit’s tone is enough to bring shivers down your own spine, even knowing he’s on your side

But the entity, however, seems more or less phased by him

His gaze lingers on your face longer than you’d like, studying you, trying to perceive something within you

Then finally, he breaks the trance, glancing back towards Habit and releasing your face

“Your mate isn’t as impervious as you’d like. I suggest keeping that in mind if ever you get the urge to attempt any silly little tricks you might have”

With those final words, the remaining candles in the room flicker 

Shadows crawl up the entity’s form, then everything goes pitch dark for a moment

In that instance, Habit almost fears the worse

The few seconds it lasts stretch into what feels like an eternity

But then relief like no other surges through him when the candles slowly come back to life, and there, sitting against the far back of the room, is you

You’re still chained, but the tentacles have vanished and you share an equally relieved look in your eyes

He’s by your side in an instant

He scoops you up in his arms, holding you up to his strong, firm chest to cradle you and feel your warmth pressing against him

You wrap your arms around him, overwhelmed at everything that happened in such a short amount of time

Your heart beats frantically against his, and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt safer than you do right now in his arms

You let him hold you tightly for a while, until he finally manages to calm your hammering heart and your body relaxes in his hold

“Are you alright, little rabbit? Did he hurt you?”

He cups your jaw and tilts you face to look up at him, eyes filled with concern

You can tell he has more questions to ask, but for the moment, he holds back

“I’m fine,” you release a shaky breath, laughing nervously, “it’s ok, he didn’t do anything when you weren’t here. I’m alright”

He has to hold back a scowl at the idea of you being trapped with the entity—completely helpless to whatever he wants to do to you

“I’ll fucking rip his throat out if I ever see him again. Bastard’s gonna fucking pay”

You bring your hand up to place it over his chest, wanting to feel his heart beneath your touch

Your chains rattling against the ceramic flooring as you shift, and the sound is enough to snap his attention to them

He growls a few choice words under his breath, and then he’s hugging you closer still, like he wants to make sure you’re real and solid and well and alive

“You wanna head home, little rabbit?”

His tone is gentle and soothing

You nod, shutting your eyes and nuzzling deeply into his neck

There’s a shift in your center of gravity, one that’s barely noticeable, almost like you’re swinging up on a swing set, and then the air gets warmer and the harsh ceramic flooring is replaced with something soft beneath you

He strokes your head, murmuring quiet little nothings into your hair

“It’s alright, little rabbit. I won’t let that happen again. You’re all mine. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. You’re alright, baby. It’s ok, you’re alright…”

You let yourself be consumed by his embrace

His warmth, his scent, the pulse of his heart beneath his skin—you never want him to let you go

But your perfect moment is shattered by a sudden realization

You pull away, and his concern is immediately evident

“Wait… does that mean… did you trade the journal to get me back?”

He gives a wary smile

“You’re worried about some journal after everything you’ve been through?”

Your brows furrow, and you hesitate, chewing your lip

“Isn’t it important?”

Your voice is quiet and uncertain

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with that kind of stuff, bunny. There’s more than one journal. And I promised to give it if I ever got my hands on it. As long as someone else on my side gets it, it’ll be fine”

He playfully boops your nose, a mischievously wild grin on his face

“Stick-in-the-Mud’s lapdogs aren’t as clever as they like to think”

Your shoulders relax again, the guilt immediately melting away

“Oh, that’s good then,” you breathe out, give a small smile

“I love you, little rabbit. You know that, right?”

You nod, a content smile twitching at your lips

“I know. I love you too”

[twdmusicboxmystery]

More Spoilers!

All right. I have lots to talk about and probably won’t be able to get it all into this post. But everything I’m going to say here is about spoilers for episodes 10x17 and 10x18. As always, let’s remember that we always have to take spoilers with a grain of salt because, while they’re probably mostly true, some of the details might not be. 

***So if you don’t want to read spoilers, stop reading now! You’ve been warned!***

Yup! This is true. Check it out below:

Okay, let’s unpack this. First of all, we’ve been told Beth would be mentioned, but not by name. I’m seeing two different places from the above spoilers where she’s mentioned, but not by name. First, Daryl’s “some people are just gone” line. Yes, he’s talking about looking for Connie. But she’s been a Beth proxy since she showed up. And of course the “just gone” line is a direct callback to what Daryl said to Rick back in 4x16, which WAS directly about Beth. 

It also occurred to me more recently how interesting it is that that conversation (in 4x16) happened between Daryl and Rick, rather than Daryl and Maggie or Michonne or anyone else. I mean, many seasons later, Rick was “just gone” too and we believe he and Beth are in (mostly) the same place now. So it was a foreshadowing. Annnnnddd once again we KNOW Rick is alive.

Searching for people has been a theme for Daryl since Sophia in S2, so from a symbolic standpoint, this “just gone” line is freaking huge!

Second, there’s Maggie and Kelly’s convo where Kelly asks if Maggie is a big sister. I’m kind of thinking this is the reference that first reviewer referred to. It doesn’t sound like they mention Beth by name, but it’s definitely a reference to Maggie’s younger sister.

But then we get this bit about Daryl and Maggie’s convo. We have two different references to Beth there. First, Maggie telling Hershel, Jr stories about her (and Hershel and the rest of the family). 

And then Maggie saying that after Beth’s death, she and Glenn talked about going to the ocean. 

Now, let me put a disclaimer here that it’s possible neither of these references will actually use Beth’s name in the episode. It’s possible the reviewers/spoilers just wrote it up this way for ease of explanation. 

But even if they don’t actually say her name, these references sound really specific. It mentions stories about Shawn, Beth and Hershel. Why not just say “my family.” There must have been something particular (a name or something else) that made the reviewer mention these names. And as for the “after Beth’s death” thing (I’d be surprised if she actually uses the word “death” but that remains to be seen), what else is Maggie going to say? After we left Atlanta? After Grady? No matter what it is, it’s still a reference to Coda and what happened to Beth. 

So guys, we have not one but FOUR different references to Beth in one episode. 

Third, it strikes me how MANY sister references we have. Obviously the ones about Beth I covered above. Then there’s Connie and Kelly, and even Elijah who apparently lost a sister. So....what? Now EVERY character has lost a sister and everyone decides to mention it in the same episode? Come on! No way this is accidental. 

And, I’ve said this before but it bears repeating. Because these are bonus episodes and somewhat outside the usual structure, we need to view them as their own season or at least their own half season. (Even though there are six instead of eight, we should view this as it’s own half-season arc. Many people are referring to them as 10C, which I think is fitting.) 

And the end ALWAYS mirrors the beginning. 4x01 they mention Macon. 4x16, the group goes to Macon (where Terminus was located). 6x09, Daryl blows up the Saviors on the road. 6x16, Negan/Saviors symbolically blow up TF (by killing Glenn and Abraham). You get the idea. We have so many mentions of sisters and people Daryl has searched for here, I really think there’s a good chance we’ll see Beth in 10x22. (Which airs on Easter, btw.)

Finally, there are all ocean references. We know Beth = Water, and we��ve always seen her symbolism around Oceanside and water/ocean locales and other references. So again, this is pretty huge! 

Not to mention, this Maggie/Daryl Convo definitely seems like a callback to their 5x10 convo about Beth in the barn. 

Here are more spoilers from this episode:

I’m not gonna say much about the Reapers right now. I’m excited to meet these new baddies (I’m always intrigued to learn who the next villains will be). But what catches my attention here are the stars and talk about how “she’s out there, under the same sky.” References to stars, and missing family members who are out there somewhere, alive. 

So yeah. These are great. I could go into much more detail than this about the symbolism, but for now, I’m just posting spoilers. Best to watch the episode before going down more detailed rabbit holes, lol.

But didn’t we tell you there would be TONS of great symbolism for us to dissect?

The only other thing I’m going to address today are the pictures of Daryl and Leah laying on top of a refrigerator. Yeah, really not kidding.

Exactly, Nonny. It’s definitely a choice. I mean, obviously there’s some kind of board across the top so they don’t fall in. But who opens a refrigerator of the woods and decides it’s a comfortable place to lie down in the middle of the day? So weird. 

@wdway​ also pointed out that this is out of character for Daryl (just as with all things Leah) because he doesn’t seem to have his crossbow or any weapon within easy reach, and it’s not like him to let his guard down that far.

So, it’s a weird picture and a weird scene, for sure.

But do you all remember @frangipanilove‘s Cooler Symbolism posts? The refrigerator (anything with water running through it, actually, so coolers, air conditioners, etc) are Beth symbols.

So I know no one likes to see this picture, because it’s Daryl and Leah, but it’s just more proof to me that she’s a Beth proxy and/or will lead to Beth in some way.

And I know people will ask what they’re looking at. We don’t know. In the bts shot, it’s blank. Probably a map or something they’ll put in with the computer. 

This isn’t actually uncommon, and I’m actually glad this is the case. See, we’ve noticed that in bts shots, there are other things that are also blank during filming. One of them is license plates. But that makes me happy because it’s shows we’re right to look at the license plates as clues. They aren’t just generic plates for whatever car is being used. They’re purposely and thoughtfully put in by the writers after the filming. Which means they’re symbolic clues.

And I think this map will be the same way. It probably won’t be that important in terms of the plot of the episode. Just something Daryl and Leah are scrutinizing. But I’m very curious to see what’s actually on it in the episode, as I bet it’ll be chalk full of Beth symbolism. 

Of course, my fellow FB groupie fixed these pictures for us. This is the way they really SHOULD look. 

Thanks Bella! 😊

Thoughts?

[rvexillology]

Decided to make a flag for every galaxies of Super Mario Galaxy

from /r/vexillology Top comment: Explanations : All the flags have a 2:3 ratio (except one) for no particular reason. The galaxies are sorted by how soon they appear in the game. The 5 (or 4) galaxies of the "room" (Terrace, Kitchen,...) and the external bonus galaxy near it. And at the end, the three green star challenges, the last boss galaxy and the final bonus galaxy. Sorry for the text mistakes, non native English. Meanings : Good Egg Galaxy : The green represents the grass present everywhere in the galaxy. The turquoise cylinder represents the glass cylinder, a distinctive planet of the galaxy. The white circle is for the egg, and the yellow star is shaped on the yellow star planet at the end of star 2. Honyhive Galaxy : The yellow and brown stripes are for the bees fur. The hexagonal shield and its design are based on bees wings and alveolus. It is in a shield shape because the bees are showed as a warrior race, wearing weapons and defending their queen. Loopdeeloop Galaxy : The circles are based on the gates we cross during the race. And the big blue one is for the water path of the race. Flipswitch Galaxy : The pattern is based on the level itself, made of blue and yellow panels. The green one is for the end of the level, where all panels become green. Bowser Jr's Robot Reactor : Every Boss fight galaxy flags are made like colony flags, because they are owned by Bowser. The logo next to it is the shape of the giant robot boss. Sweet Sweet Galaxy : The stripes represents the different colors of cake toppings we see in the level. Space Junk Galaxy : The dark blue with blue lines sides of the flag are based of the average platform in this level. The blue star shaped ball is based on the one introduced in this level and very present in it. Battlerock Galaxy : The black represents space and the dark colors of technological elements. The red represents the rock environment and the color of some structures in the level. These two colors combined with the diagonal with beam gives a feeling of combativeness and power, the same aura as in the level (One of my proudest) Rolling Green Galaxy : The lime is for the grass. The two gray lines are for the ball rail present across the level. And the ball with its yellow star represents the ball, main element of the level. Hurry-Scurry Galaxy : The turquoise is for the sky. The green octogon is for the main planet of the level. And the star is placed in the middle of the octogon, to show how it is placed in the level. Bowser's Star Reactor : The logo has two arrows showing the gravity being modified and showed on the walls of the level by arrows. The orange circles are for the fire rays, very present in the level. Sling Pod Galaxy : The black is for the space. The blue and yellow circle are for the metal plates surrounding the star which have the same colors. The gray shaped is the pod, main element of gameplay of the level. Beach Bowl Galaxy : The white is for the sand. The blue is for the water. The turquoise is for the sky. The lines are placed like a landscape, the horizon being the border of the bowl. Ghostly Galaxy : The purple is for the main color of the manor. The gray is for the exterior of the manor. The shape of the gray stripe represents the manor itself. The boo logo is for the main "living" beings of the level. Bouy Base Galaxy : The blue is for the sky/space. The red and white circles is for the top planet of the level. The black is for the tower. Its shape is like if it was seen from the bottom, elevating and pointing to the sky. Bubble Breeze Galaxy : The purple is for the poisonous fluid present everywhere in the level. The logo is a bubble and the spikes are for the one present in the level, threatening the bubble. Bowser Jr's Airship Armada : The anchor is a simple space like redesign of a marine anchor Drip Drop Galaxy : The turquoise is for the water surrounding the planet. The grayish brown is for the planet itself and its boats. The white shape represents the planet. Gusty Garden Galaxy : The two shades of green if for the different types of vegetation. The logo is a modification of a Question mark, shape of an iconic planet of the galaxy. Freezeflame Galaxy : The red and white are for the lava and ice environment. The black is for the rocks, common element of both environment. The shape of the flag is for the big ice mountain. Dusty Dune Galaxy : The yellow is for the sand present everywhere in the galaxy. The green star has different meaning. It is a star because this is the galaxy with the biggest amount of stars in the game (with Battlerock Galaxy). It is green because of the cactuses. It is a green star beacause this level contains one of the few green stars in the game. Honeyclimb Galaxy : The turquoise is for the sky. The yellow logo is made of the same hexagons as from the Honeyhive Galaxy, to show the presence of the bees. It also symbolizes the walls filled with alveolus in the level. Bowser's Dark Matter Plant : The logo is four arrows each pointing in different directions. This level includes the same gravity changers with the walls showing it. This level however uses more this gameplay and in every direction. Bigmouth Galaxy : The blue is for the space surrounding the fish, and for the water. This white diagonal represents the fish, and the missing corner makes the shape of the mouth. In the mouth is the golden star, the same location as is the game. Toy Time Galaxy : The steps are for the different layer of the cake, important element in the level. It also makes little squares, green, red and yellow, like the ones on the Mario pixel art, other important element of the level. Gold Leaf Galaxy : The hexagons are for the presence of the Bees. The gold leaf is here for obvious reasons. The white is for the snowy floor seen at some places on the main planet. Sea Slide Galaxy : The blue circle and the lime circles are like the shape of the surrounding planet. The center circle is for the central planet of the galaxy. The white hexagon is for the bees . Bonefin Galaxy : The Blue is for the water. The black is for the shell of the planet. The white is for the bones of the Skeleton Shark boss. Bowser Jr's Lava Reactor : The hexagons are not for the bees, but for the platforms surrounding the lava boss. And the star is placed in the middle, where the boss who drops it normally is. Sand Spiral Galaxy : The white and the Yellow are for the Boo and Bee powerups offered as a choice at the begging of the level. The dark yellow is for the sand. The logo is made of a white circle, which represents the rings around the little moon. The moon also represented in the center of the logo. Gateway Galaxy : There is two stars. One surrounded by yellow, the other by red. It is because the level has no real identity, but is used for two stars : The first star of the game, a yellow one. And the only red star of the game. Boo's Boneyard Galaxy : This flag is in a triangular shape, it symbolizes the usual flags of races. It is gray because of the main color of the level. There is a boo logo because the opponent is a boo. Deep Dark Galaxy : The triangular arc represents the cave. The blue is for the water present in the level. The white is for the ghosts and the ghostly aura. Dreadnought Galaxy : The design gives an imperial and combative aura, the stars are here to reinforce this meaning. The yellow bars are for the lasers crossing everywhere is the level. The dark blue is for the average color of the level. Melt Molten Galaxy : The shape is for the volcano in the level. The colors are warm colors, showing the hot atmosphere of the galaxy. Matter Splatter Galaxy : The lime is for the main color of the level. The gray is for the stone platforms in the level. The turquoise is for the little water rays which summons the platform in the galaxy. Snow Cap Galaxy : The turquoise is for the space. The is for the snow and the shape is for the shape of the planet. The green is for the grass and is shaped as a rabbit. Rolling Gizmo Galaxy : These three flags are made of the three green stars required to unlock, and the element of gameplay in the level. The stars are arranged in the same shape as the little planet on which you access these levels. This one has the star ball. Bubble Blast Galaxy : This one has the spiked bubble. Loopdeeswoop Galaxy : This one has the circles of the water race. Bowser's Galaxy Reactor : It is based on the flag present in the level itself, with the same Bowser face as on the previous flags. https://twitter.com/MarioBrothBlog/status/941818968737640448?s=19 Grand Finale Galaxy : It is made of the Mushroom Kingdom Flag inspired of the one in the game. It is divided with a purple side, representing the purple coins to collect in the level.

[and-damntheconsequences]

F or B?

thanks for the ask 💞 I have an overly thought out answer for F

I'm sorry in advance

F) You can pick 2 round table knights to fight alongside you, and all the others are going to try to kill you. Who are you picking?

Okay so assuming they don't know each other and are willing to just go fully into this... I'm going with Gwaine and Percival.

Gwaine's the obvious choice. He strikes me as objectively the best fighter. Maybe not with swords, but I feel like he could fight just as well with a chair as a set of dinner plates as with a knife, and that he has no issues with fighting dirty if he needs to; to hell with honour. So I'm most likely to actually survive if Gwaine's on my team here.

Then Percival... mostly because he's tall and big and the best human shield. I'm a little under 5"2 and about as threatening as a bunny rabbit wrapped in cotton wool. If I'm going to be any help at all, it's gonna have to be long distance, and I'm gonna need someone to cover me while I get the f out of the main short distance fighting.

Also I feel like Leon and Lancelot are the two most likely to probably have too much honour to straight up murder a 16 year old who is completely incapable of defending herself, even if they had a very, very good reason to want me dead. So that helps. Elyan I have no idea. Arthur maybe but I don't know if we're counting him here.

So yeah, Gwaine and Percival.

((BUT, if I get to meet with my team before the fighting, at least by a week or so, then Elyan and Arthur (and if no Arthur, then Leon). Because Arthur/Leon can try to teach me how to fight, they have experience doing that. And Elyan is a blacksmith so could probably make me some suitable weapons that I can comfortably actually lift.))

Is this too thought out? Maybe?

B) What do you believe is the worst decision that Arthur made?

Banishing Gwen. I know he was incredibly upset, and understandably so... But, firstly, I don't think that's a valid reason to rip someone from everything they know and love and send them away with nothing and nowhere to go. Gwen could have died. He must have known that.

And secondly, he never waited to hear an explanation. With Gwen having left the bracelet in the dungeon, he could have realised something was wrong. He could have at least come to the conclusion that Gwen was enchanted, if not that Lancelot wasn't himself.

I don't think it's his most unreasonable decision, but I think it is objectively his worst.

[high-justiciar]

Repentance

Darkshore. July, 628 K.C

After a setback in Lor’danel, Siphiah’s forces were bottlenecked to the south, caught between two renegade groups of sentinels and Black Moon soldiers. It was a ragtag bunch of any fighters the Kaldorei could spare, no doubt — but at the moment their efforts proved formidable enough to leave her outnumbered.

The situation warranted an outside perspective, one she regretted to employ; the Banshee’s High Ranger was here to ensure that everything moved along as planned. The two of them stood in a tent that served as a makeshift strategy room, pondering over a map of the area. Sif had scrounged up a few chess pieces to set the scene. She stared down a black rook on the table, wishing that the power of her gaze alone would be enough to knock it down. It wasn’t.

“Dawnbane.” The Ranger’s voice was hollow and metallic, an unmistakable marker of undeath. It was enough to make Siphiah’s jaw clench and ears twitch. “I suppose you have some sort of plan? I would love to hear it.”

“I do, Ma’am.” Sif rises to her full height and posture, while a heavy breath was exhaled. “My men can do little to combat them in the trees. They are in their element there, able to blend in and ambush.” She reaches a hand down to reposition the pieces, showing the worst case scenario: the white pawns picked off and knocked down one by one.

“...But if we remove their camouflage, force them to fight in the open, we will have the advantage. Their men are tired and weak. They cannot fend off a direct charge, whether they outnumber us or not.”

The Ranger’s sanguine gaze peers over the map, her lips twisted in consideration. “A brilliant plan in theory. Though, how do you expect to clear the forests? We have been unable to ship machinery this far.”

Siphiah hums her acknowledgement. “I am not proposing that we use machinery. This is a task I can handle alone.” From the table she lifts a globe, small enough to fit in her hand, filled with a thick liquid that hardly moved as she sloshed it about. She watched the Ranger’s eyes light with curiosity.

“Apothecary Black was able to source the materials for a dozen of these. Oil, pitch, resin from their pines. Lit by my flame, they will burn until there is nothing left but ash, Ranger. The Kaldorei will have nowhere to hide.”

The High Ranger cants her head, considering the proposition for long moment. Her gaze returns back to the map as she ponders. “...And you are sure that they will have no way to escape? To combat the flames?”

Siphiah does not answer verbally. Instead she gestures for the Ranger to follow her outside. Anticipating this query, she had already tested a patch of land just beyond the walls of camp. The flames had stretched nearly as far as the eye could see in either direction, leaving nothing standing except the charred remains of ancient tree trunks. Even the ground was scorched to dust.

The Justiciar nods then, answering finally, “...I am positive.”

They attacked at the first light of dawn, depriving the enemy forces of any advantage in the darkness. With the globes set in place, a single charge from Siphiah’s hand lit them in a chain reaction. Holy flames rippled across the trees, taking to canopies and lighting the bush ablaze. The armored Horde soldiers were now able to see and navigate through the forest, sabatons stomping down any fiery debris left in their path. Siphiah stood in wait.

Like rabbits driven from their burrows, the surviving Kaldorei fled the woods, playing right into the Justiciar’s hands. She and her officers were already in position to cut them down — offering no choice except to die by the blade, or the roaring flames. 

A flash of green suddenly streaked across Siphiah’s peripheral. She honed in on one of the Kaldorei soldiers leading a group away from the flames, using some sort of magical shield to keep them at bay. Her grasp tightened around the axe held over her shoulder: Inopia, a titanforged blade that glowed with molten heat. Sending a wicked swing downward, the axe drove a crack into the ground that widened into a maw, trapping the would-be escapees where they stood.

She rose her hand then, urging the flames forward. They surrounded the group in a sudden inferno. She watched as the spellblade was able to pull a single comrade from the fire, holding them close while she struggled to climb from the maw and charge out of the flames. Siphiah’s lip curled as the pair seemed to disappear from sight soon after.

Two survivors was a small price to pay for victory, she supposed.

Elwynn. December, 630 K.C

She had gotten too comfortable.

These days Siphiah walked to her camp outside the city with her hood left down, drinking in the scents of the wintery forest. Few tread this way this time of year, giving her time to reflect in silence. She appreciated the solitude, the privacy offered by the mountains to the west, the way the cold nipped her bare face. It was the last place she expected to stumble upon a ghost from her past. 

The crunch of snow alerted her. She turned to view the path marked by her footprints, but upon seeing nothing there, thinned her lips and continued on. A few paces were taken forward before the crunch sounded again. This time she was able to place it, and sent her power out to sense the hidden body.

An orb of Light flared to life in her hand. She whirled around to strike the assailant, though to her surprise, her spell was caught and held suspended in mid-air. Behind it stood a Kaldorei woman of impressive stature, snow piled upon her pauldrons and caught in the creases of her verdant plate armor. She had clearly been waiting out here for some time. 

The woman said nothing. With a flick of her fingers, the spell was reversed and slammed back into Siphiah with amplified force. It sent the Justiciar flying off her feet, tossed more than a dozen yards before she impacted a tree. It knocked the air straight from her lungs, leaving her crumpled and gasping on the ground.

Forcing her vision to focus, she looked up to watch the Kaldorei make her slow approach. Siphiah sent out her Light once more, though it fizzled upon making contact with the spellblade’s armor, harmlessly rippling off the plate. An enchantment more powerful than any she had seen. She was in the process of struggling to her feet when the woman grabbed her by the collar, lifting her from the snow with a strength that came from pure and utter adrenaline-fueled rage.

“Your flames will not save you now, Justiciar.” She spat the words in Siphiah’s face before throwing her to the side. Yet another tree was there to catch her, though the bark was not particularly forgiving. It bruised and bloodied her cheek, impacting her head with enough force to leave her disoriented.

Combat instincts kicked in. She reached back to draw her blade and swing it for the Kaldorei in a single motion, through it was instantly parried by her own. Both women held their ground, leaving them in a brief stalemate.

“Who are you.” Siphiah demanded, her sneer red with blood. The Kaldorei responded by breaking their guard, slamming her shoulder into Sif’s sternum to demobilize her once more. She bought herself enough time to sheathe her sword and attempt to restrain Sif’s arms. The Justiciar realized, with a start, that this was not an attempt to kill; it was an attempt to overpower and capture.

Lurching forward, she drove the spellblade backwards with her full force, sending them both tumbling out of the trees and down the hill that flanked the path. They rolled together in a mess of plate and flailing limbs, weapons lost along the way, and landed with Sif’s advantage. Planting herself atop the spellblade’s chest, she rained a series of vicious blows down upon her face, halted only when a blast of arcane knocked her off and into the snow.

The Kaldorei rose, growling her frustration while she dove to tackle Sif on the ground. She soon discovered that the Justiciar had an upper hand when it came to brute strength, no matter their height difference; Siphiah more or less threw the woman off, letting her reel while she got to her own feet.

“ENOUGH!” Siphiah’s voice boomed multi-layered, her eyes flaring bright gold. Wings burst from her back in a brilliant display of Light, leaving the spellblade blinded over the course of a full minute. When she was finally able to see through the colors burned into her vision, the Justiciar was long gone, escaped into the cover of the trees.

She snarled aloud, averting her gaze to the blood left in the snow. Galestrike reached out to wet her fingertips with it, muttering a spell under her breath. A red mist lifted from her hand, leaving behind an ethereal trail as it followed the source.

“...This is the last time you evade me, Justiciar.” She promises under her breath, clenching her fist and closing her eyes to face the image left behind.

[ducktracy]

113. a cartoonist’s nightmare (1935)

release date: september 14th, 1935

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: billy bletcher (beast, villains, pianist), tommy bond (beans)

so beans doesn’t actually have a voice credit—it seems he’s unknown for this cartoon. to me he sounds like tommy bond (who would provide his voice), but i’m no expert. regardless! beans’ first solo cartoon!

this is an interesting case to note. beans (and of course porky) would be the first star to debut in a merrie melodies cartoon as opposed to a looney tunes cartoon. there was a rule that merrie melodies couldn’t feature reoccurring characters—i hesitate to say that with confidence, since peter rabbit was used in country boy and my green fedora, and a buddy facsimile was used in mr. and mrs. is the name, but generally characters weren’t reused, much less brought over into other divisions (bosko was never in any merrie melodies, buddy wasn’t 100% established to be in a merrie melodies). so, beans is the first to be brought over! tex avery would also break the rule with daffy duck in egghead in 1938, bringing daffy over from looney tunes to merrie melodies and also reusing egghead from egghead rides again.

in terms of synopsis: a cartoonist is dutifully working on a beans cartoon, but falls asleep. the villain in his project comes to life and kidnaps the cartoonist, and it’s up to beans to save the day.

a precursor to termite terrace? animators bustle to and fro in a cartoon studio that looks like it was spawned from a love affair between dr. seuss and tim burton. a highly prestigious studio, as indicated by the sign out front: animated cartoon studio. a rather bored, anthropomorphic whistle (jack king’s disney roots seep into its design, animated by bob mckimson) nonchalantly checks it’s stopwatch and gives a tired bellow to indicate the day’s end.

the distance shot of the studio is impressive as all of the animators leave, lights switching off and even an animator jumping off the roof and traveling via umbrella. various workers bids the elderly groundskeeper goodnight as he locks up for the night.

a lone cartoonist diligently pumps out more work, adding to a towering stack of frames. the groundskeeper pokes his head in, asking “ya gonna work all night, son?” the cartoonist shrugs. “i gotta finish tonight.” with a bid of good luck, the groundskeeper leaves the animator to his work.

we then spot the fruits of his labor as a close up of the animator’s work is shown. he’s working on a beans cartoon, drawing a ferocious monster and painting him in. the monster comes to life and gives a terrorizing grunt, cornering a terrified beans. a fun choice to make the animator analyze his work, chuck jones providing the animation of the animator commentating “well, beans, i guess i’ll have to save ya from the villain again!” he sticks his hand into frame and pulls the monster off of beans. furious, the beast turns his attention to the animator instead. the animator uses this as an opportunity to paint some protective iron bars in front of beans, essentially jailing him. delighted, beans teases the beast by blowing a party streamer in his face.

eventually, the animator tires himself out and falls asleep. time marches on, and his drawings remain sentient. trouble arises as the villain reaches out of the frame and drags the animator inside, jack king providing one of his great perspective shots (above). i’ve come to really appreciate how he plays around with different perspectives and closeups, it brings a lot of liveliness and interest. obviously, the animator is wide awake by now, struggling as the villain takes him away. beans speaks his first lines (that isn’t limited to billy bletcher going NYEEEH in i haven’t got a hat)— “hey! let go of him!”

the beast drags the poor animator through the dungeons of the animated world—not far off from some working conditions at certain studios. as the beast drags his victim down a set of rickety stairs, a loose piece of board flies up and clobbers the villain on the head. the beast, assuming it was the work of the cartoonist, punches the sheepish animator in the face.

past the gag department, story department, and music department they go, each department barred behind an intimidating iron door. there’s some sort of weird lawn mower weapon—like a barbed mower. essentially, a painful prop. the animator accidentally prompts the handle to thwack the beast in the head, who gives him another pounding.

finally, the beast arrives at his destination: the cartoon villains chamber. sound effects are jarring and unfitting (yet almost humorously so) as a laser sound effect accompanies the monster punching the cartoonist, sending him flying. he bumps into a portrait of a kangaroo labeled “battling barney”. barney’s joey leaps out of its pouch and sends the cartoonist hurtling once more towards the main villain.

one by one the animator receives a plethora of beatings, from the beast to the octopus from mr. and mrs. is the name. thus sparks a musical segment from the villains, the villains lamenting about how they’ve been mistreated and now the cartoon will finally get his, the song a parody of “the teddy bear’s picnic”. i find it interesting that jack king included musical numbers in his cartoons. from the beginning, those working on the merrie melodies complained about how a nice story would be rolling along and then an arbitrary song would disrupt momentum. it seems as though king had the opposite gripe—he wanted to insert more music into his cartoons. an interesting choice. the lyrics are amusing and dark, the chorus going “the tables are turned and now you are in our clutches!” bletcher also reprises his role as the mad pianist from buddy the detective.

the villains reveal their motive: they want to force the animator down a bottomless pit, making him draw his demise. the poor cartoonist has no choice but to obey. he hesitantly draws a giant circle on the ground, preparing for his demise.

elsewhere, beans is still behind bars, sulking. someone dressed in a woman’s disguise sneaks beans a loaf of bread (the scene animated by bob clampett), much to beans’ delight as he exclaims “food!” he takes a big bite out of the bread, but recoils. inside the bread is a handsaw, perfect to cut the bars with. beans saws his way through the metal as we cut back to the kidnapped animator, peering into a bottomless pit.

after some stalling, the animator is thrown down the pit. it seems there IS a bottom, inhabited by a hungry alligator. narrowly does the cartoonist escape being eaten, a branch catching him by the pants. regardless, the cartoonist momentarily dives into the alligator’s mouth, the gator’s dentures dangling off his head. paul smith animates a closeup of the toothless and tearful alligator. not to fear—the cartoonist returns the alligator’s dentures, who thanks him with a snap of the jaws.

beans manages to saw his way out and make his escape. he runs ACROSS the stairs, floating on air instead of descending—a cartoon staple. sliding down a giant pole, beans skids along the ground and knocks into a barrel, the metal rings constricting around beans. a crash to the wall sends the rings flying back into their respective place on the barrel.

curious, beans pokes his head in to watch the torture. all of the villains are gathered around the pit, having a hearty laugh. concocting a plan, beans places two boots at the doorway of the chamber. don williams animates the two boots who come to life, matching forward towards the hairy beast and giving him a swift kick in the ass.

undoubtedly, the villain takes notice and spots beans teasing the villains at the door. beans dashes away and a chase breaks out as the villains follow. they all pass by the barrel from before... which is inhabited by a proud beans. the coast clear, beans darts back into the chamber and analyzes the pit, scratching his head as he thinks of a way to help the cartoonist. the cartoonist cries for help, the hungry jaws of the alligator nearing him as he perches on the branch that saved him.

with some quick thinking, beans yells “hey, catch this pencil!”, tossing down the pencil the cartoonist used in his suicide mission. the cartoonist catches it, beaming as he acknowledges his power. he draws an extendable ladder, turning the crank and scaling to safety.

never a peaceful moment in the cartooning business as the main beast pokes his head inside the chamber, growling at beans. they have a mini chase sequence as the animator scales to safety. the beast momentarily loses beans, who notices the animator and shushes him. an abrupt jump cut to beans holding a grease gun, lubricating the floor. he whistles to summon the attention of the villains, and his plan unfolds swimmingly. all of the villains slide straight into the bottomless pit. the cartoonist gives the hairy beast an extra punch for good luck, the beast struggling to stay on the ground. once all of the nuisances are in the pit, the animator enlists in the help of an eraser and erases the pit in the floor. beans and the cartoonist slap and shake hands together, beaming at their teamwork.

bob mckimson animates the scene of the elderly watchman shaking the animator awake as we fade back to the present. the cartoonist ogles at the audience, exclaiming “wotta dream!” a very literal title to the cartoon. he resumes his work, back to where he left off: the beast terrorizing beans, who’s cowering behind bars. in the style of bosko, the talk-ink kid, the cartoonist sucks the beast back into his pen, as well as the iron bars.

but his work isn’t done yet. as a reward, he sketches out a heaping plate of jello that has beans’ name written all over it. he calls “come and get it!” beans doesn’t have to be told twice—he gorges himself gleefully, eventually disregarding the spoon and licking it straight from the source. iris out.

this was a very creative and fun cartoon! a good choice for beans’ first solo act. it felt like a mashup of bosko, the talk-ink kid and duck amuck. i like beans—probably just the relief at the newness of a character and knowing things are starting to gain traction, but he’s cute. not as bland as buddy, but still maybe not as dimensional as bosko. the animation was intriguing and fun in the cartoon, and the underscore of the teddy bear’s picnic was an odd yet amusing choice. i certainly think this is king’s best entry yet. i haven’t seen all of king’s cartoons, but out of the ones i have, this is my favorite. a fun premise and lots of personality. the story doesn’t feel too dragged out or redundant, a nice balance between the cartoonist, the villains, and beans. jack king and tex avery would split the difference making the beans cartoons: jack king 7, tex 2, and friz freleng 2 (i haven’t got a hat and his cameo in country mouse). overall, a fun, high energy cartoon that’s worth a watch. though it doesn’t have many gags, the story and premise are interesting enough, as is the historical significance of it being beans’ first solo debut.

link!

[survivorwildwest]

Episode 4 - Snakes Live in There

Upon returning to camp, Elizabeth takes Hannah under her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Han.”

“No, it’s okay,” Hannah says, “I just realized, I was gonna have to fight for him and myself every time and I just can’t do that.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a mouse sniffs for food while the other animals sleep.

The next morning, Ben and Brandon wake up early in the Tsitsistas shelter and search the area for an idol.

“When I found it, it was in the hills. I think we should go there.”

“Whatever you say. What does it look like?”

“It’s just a gold nugget, like yay big,” he says, holding up a fist.

Brandon starts looking between the creases where the rocks meet and in holes at the bottom of the hill.

“Be careful. I think snakes live in there,” Ben warns him.

Brandon gets back to his feet and walks further up the hill. The particular hill they’re exploring is a gradual climb with various rock formations throughout the ascent creating a wall that increases with height as they climb. At its peak height of 40 feet is a natural pole, perfectly centered on the hill. There are smaller, similar towers cascading down the main pole. From above, the formation looks like a cinnamon roll. Brandon finds himself climbing the hill up its natural spiral. Ben gets distracted by a hare on a rock. They stare eye-to-eye until the hare hops away. 

“Brandon, did you see the rabbit--” Ben asks, but Brandon has already made it to the top of the hill, where he sees, just above eye level, something that doesn’t quite look like it belongs on this tower. He can’t get a good look at it, but what he can see looks gold. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around what he thinks is an idol. He pulls it down and looks in his hands. “Ben!” he calls.

“Did you find it?”

“Come here!”

Ben runs over and they read the attached note together, “Congratulations! You have found a hidden immunity. This may be played until there are five players remaining.”

They jump up and down briefly before sauntering back to camp where Lauren is reading the Tree Mail.

“Arrow,” guesses Kimmi.

“I like how they changed it around this time,” Kass says, “Usually the High Noon part is first.”

At high noon, the two tribes meet again for a reward challenge. “Tsitsistas, getting your first look at the new Suhtai tribe. Taylor voted out at the last tribal council.”

A few people are surprised to see someone they assumed was strong go. Michaela doesn’t seem shocked and nods to Hannah in quiet approval.

“Now, as you’re probably aware, since they’re on your buffs, there were two weapons of choice in the Wild West. The gun and the bow. For today’s reward challenge, you will be firing arrows at a target. First tribe to get a bullseye wins reward. Want to know what you’re playing for?”

They all wait with eager anticipation

“While chickens are nice,” Jeff says, “They’re not quite authentic. The winning tribe will receive rabbit traps to place around your camp.”

The two tribes strategize their order and begin. Colby fires first for Tsitsistas, but hits far from the bullseye. Todd fires for Suhtai. He’s closer than Colby, but still doesn’t hit the bullseye. Lauren takes her aim and rivals Todd’s placement.

“Shit,” Todd mutters.

Carl takes his shot, and first place should no one get a bullseye.

Ken is up next. He takes a long breath in and, closing his eyes, breathes out slowly. He pulls his arrow back and lets it go. It spins as it glides through the air and pierces the bullseye.

“Tsitsistas win reward,” Jeff shouts as he flings his hands in the air.

Back at the Tsitsistas camp, Colby leads the tribe in preparing rabbit traps. They then break off into groups to place them throughout their camp in “the most optimal positions.” Colby, Michaela and Kimmi take one near the peak of a hill. Brandon and Ben return to where they found the idol in an attempt to catch the rabbit Ben saw. Ken and Lauren take a casual stroll around the desert until they find somewhere that feels suitable.

“How’d you get so good at bow & arrows?”

“Well, it’s all about balance really. Just, being at peace with yourself and one with your body.”

“Totally, yeah. Being one with your body is so important.”

“Is that something you’ve found yourself able to do with soccer?”

“Yeah, definitely. Do you need help,” she asks as Ken struggles to balance the bait on the trigger plate.

“No, I got it,” he says, fumbling.

“Here, let me help,” she says as she reaches into the trap. She slips her fingers between Ken’s hand and the bait, then situates it on the trigger plate so it stays on. Ken maneuvers his hand out of the cage and around Lauren’s forearm. Centimeters separate his fingers and her wrist. The hair on her arm raises to meet Ken’s fingertips. As he removes his hand, he falls backward and catches himself with his other hand.

“I think we should be getting back to camp,” Lauren says, extending an arm to help him.

“Yeah, thanks.”

As the two of them find their way back to camp, they see Bi and Kass sitting on the stones around the fire, already returned from their trap placing.

“Sit, Sista” Kass says as she sees Lauren with Ken. They sit on stones across from the other two at the fire.

“I wanted to run something past you, and I talked to Bi about it and she agrees.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I’m afraid Kimmi could be a wildcard at the merge. She hasn’t shown any initiative to align herself with anyone. She said she’s open to anything at this point, and knowing her game from Cambodia, I don’t trust her.”

“I could do Kimmi. Could you vote Kimmi, Ken?”

“Well, I don’t like to vote anyone out but I suppose I could do that.”

On their way back to camp, Colby, Kimmi and Michaela run into Ben and Brandon.

“Whoa-ho-ho,” Ben says as if they’re encroaching on his property.

“Ben,” Kimmi says, “Who are you thinking?”

“Well, I know you guys are going to come after me again so how can I know to trust you?”

“What,” Michaela asks.

“Who are y’all thinking go next,” Ben asks.

“I don’t like how close Lauren and Ken are getting,” Michaela says.

“Yeah,” Brandon says, rubbing his chin and rocking back and forth.

“Just, consider it,” Colby tells them, “We’re not targeting you, Ben.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert one night, bats emerge from their cave.

On Morning Eleven, Carl collects the tree mail and gathers the tribe around the fire. Colby does the same for Tsitsistas.

“Where’s there a river,” Wardog asks. “I thought this was a desert.” “Probably near the lake we went to,” Todd reminds him.

At High Noon, the two tribes meet Jeff for the immunity challenge.

“We are standing on the Colorado River on the border of Nevada and Arizona.” Jeff tells them, “Here in Nevada, each tribe has a wagon full of supplies. Your job is to get your tribe’s wagon and supplies from here to the mat in Arizona. First tribe to get the wagon, all the supplies and all their tribe members on the mat wins immunity.”

The two tribes take a minute to strategize then they begin. Tsitsistas begins by placing smaller items in the wagon, but taking larger items across by hand, the tips of their toes just barely touching the rocky bottom of the river. It’s proving to be a more strenuous strategy than expected but they stick with it.

Suhtai carries their wagon and places it in the water. Russell, Carl, Wardog and Elizabeth hold the wagon in place while Todd, Wendy, Jerri and Hannah load the supplies onto the target. Tsitsistas has already placed a quarter of their items on the finish mat by the time Wendy and Jerri throw a rope over the wagon. They jump inside to catch their breath and their tribemates row.

About halfway across the river, Jerri joins in the rowing but notices it’s too late and alerts her tribe. Wendy grabs the rope, ties it around her waist, then around a bar in the wagon. She turns to her tribe and tells everyone to grab the heaviest thing they can and carry it on foot the rest of the way. She then dives into the river and begins swimming. By the time she gets to the other side, the rest of her tribe has dropped their supplies and carry the wagon to the mat as she jogs ahead of them. As soon as they drop the wagon, Wendy collapses into it and Jeff announces “Suhtai wins immunity!”

Jeff hands Suhtai immunity and everyone excitedly pushes Wendy forward to take it. She humbly obliges and has an excited tick and big smile when Jeff congratulates her.

Back at camp, everyone congratulates Wendy before heading back into their tents to rest.

At Tsitsistas, everyone sits around the fire, staring at the flames as they wait for someone else to get up. Ben finally says, “I’m going to get water. Does anyone need any?”

A few people grab their canteens and hand them to Ben when Kass volunteers to come along.

At the oasis, Kass runs her Kimmi plan by Ben. He appears dumbfounded and begins stammering, “I could… I mean, you make a lot of good points.”

“Who are you thinking otherwise?”

In a talking head, Kass says, “He’s just standing there, smacking his lips together and he’s just spewing nonsense. I don’t understand how I couldn’t win Survivor, twice, but this guy did it on his first try.”

“Ken or Lauren is what Colby and them are doing,” Ben says.

“Huh, okay. I guess that makes sense. What about Brandon?”

“He’ll vote however I vote.”

“Okay. That’s good to know.”

“You’re a hundred percent on Kimmi?”

“Yes.”

“How many people are with you?”

“Enough if we get you and Brandon.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to him about it.”

Back inside the shelter, Colby guts a rabbit as he and Michaela discuss the vote. “What are you thinking, cowboy? Lauren or Ken?”

“They’re both strong in challenges,” Colby says.

“Sure,” Michaela agrees.

“What about Kass? I think she could be a force to be reckoned with come merge.”

“Definitely.”

“Who do you think we have a better chance working with,” Colby asks.

“I’ll be straight-up with you, Colby. I gave you a name last time and you didn’t vote with me. I want you to decide.”

“Alright, fair. Ken.”

“Alright. Ken.”

As the temperature falls with dusk, Michaela finds Bi and Kass. She tells them, “It’s Ken.”

“Sounds good,” Kass and Bi agree. She sees Ben across the fire and mouths “Ken,” to which he nods.

With the moon’s beams lighting their way, Tsitsistas join Jeff around the Tribal Council Campfire once again.

“Is this starting to feel like Survivor yet,” Jeff asks.

“Oh, it’s been feeling like Survivor, Jeff,” Ben answers. “I went from almost being voted out last time to the swing vote this time.”

“That’s got to feel nice.”

“I’m not complaining!”

“So, we know the game at its core hasn’t changed. It’s still a game about connection. Have you felt connections forming in the tribe, Kass?”

Kass laughs with the rest of the tribe as she looks at Ken and Lauren, “There have been some… connections, Jeff, yes.”

“Clearly talking about you two.”

“Look, Jeff, I’m used to it,” Ken says, “everybody likes to assume I have some innate romantic attraction to every attractive woman, but that’s not why I came here. Even if Lauren is a strikingly beautiful woman.”

“Yeah, I--” Lauren stutters over her words when she receives his compliment, “I totally agree. I’m here to play Survivor. I’m sorry I find someone on my tribe attractive.”

“Even in denying it, Michaela,  they’re still flirting,” Jeff says.

“Let em flirt,” Michaela says, “Who cares? Doesn’t affect me. Give us a big bed for the next reward though, Jeff, then we might have a problem.”

“Kimmi, does this budding relationship between Ken and Lauren influence how you vote.”

“Of course,” Kimmi says, “This is a long game, and if you have as close a connection as those two do, you’ll go far.”

“This is a long game,” Bi says, “There are still a lot of things to worry about that aren’t a showmance.”

“Alright,” Jeff laughs, “It is time to vote. Kass, you’re up first.”

Everyone votes. Jeff tallies the votes then asks for any idols. Brandon looks over to Ben who shakes his head briefly only one time.

“Alright, I’ll read the votes. Kimmi, Kimmi, Kimmi, Ken, Ken, Ken, Kimmi, Fourth person voted out of Survivor: Wild West, Kimmi.”

Kimmi hugs everyone goodbye before Jeff tells her that the tribe has spoken and snuffs her torch. Everyone voted for Kimmi except Kimmi, Colby and Michaela.

Read Episode 5 here

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

 @thecorteztwins

Based on your idea about Pyro being unable to lift Haven.  It was supposed to be funny, but this is Legacy Virus Pyro, so it got a little angsty.

               It was, according to Dominic, a quick-and-easy, in-and-out job.  Some fabulously wealthy Indian bird was holed up in one of New York’s luxury hotels, and they were going to ransom her for her family’s considerable wealth.  And if the job went south, they’d just snatch up whatever cash and valuables she had in her room – he’d seen her in the papers, her earrings alone were probably worth thousands – and run off.  Quick-and-easy was about all St. John could handle these days, but he had still angrily shrugged off Dominic’s “You sure you’re up to this?” because fuck, he wasn’t an invalid yet, was he?  So he had lied, grinning with gritted teeth, and claimed that he was just dandy, that today was one of the “good” days.

               Of course, there had been complications.  Complications in the form of a hulking, muscular brute that claimed to be the rich chick’s brother.  And he had powers.  At least there were no bloody X-Men in sight.  Yet.

               “Go up the stairs, Johnny, I’ll handle this,” Avalanche ordered, as they both picked themselves up off the hotel lobby floor.  The big guy had knocked them off their feet with a gust of wind, and now a storm was lashing the plate glass windows with rain and hail.  It had been a clear sunny day just moments ago.

               “You okay on your own?”  St. John didn’t want to leave Dominic fighting solo with a guy who appeared to be a male Storm, and he really didn’t want to be ushered away from the “rough stuff,” like some kind of delicate child that needed protection.  He tried to ignore the burning in his lungs.

               “I got it, man, just finish the job!”  Dominic shoved him towards the stairs while sending a seismic wave rippling across the lobby floor, knocking the big guy off his feet.

               “Right.”  Pyro sprinted up the stairs, letting adrenaline do the work, hoping he could make it to the luxury penthouse suite before he had a chance to feel how very tired he was. He needed to get this done, because it was for Dominic.  Or rather, it was for Dominic’s ex-wife, who apparently needed a pot of money for heart surgery.  St. John wasn’t entirely sure why Dominic was so hell-bent on helping a woman who had broken his heart, but if it was so important, St. John would have his back. Dominic had stuck his neck out trying to help him find a cure in the Savage Land, and St. John wasn’t going to die owing anyone favors.

               There were guards at the door, of course, but a quick blast of flame made them drop their super-heated guns, and then a red bull made of fire chased them down the hall.  There had been a red bull in some book he’d read years ago, but damned if he could remember the title now.  He grinned as the guards bolted through the emergency exit.  He still “had it,” even if using his powers now sent sharp, stabbing pains though his head.  The lock on the door quickly melted, and he kicked it open.

               The woman did not look surprised.  Perhaps her brother had already informed her of the danger.  She sat upright on a chaise lounge, with her flowing robes and impossibly long hair pooled around her, hands folded in her lap.

               “Did you kill the guards?  I hope you didn’t.  They are good men, with families.”          

               “Nah, they…..ran like rabbits….guess you….guess you didn’t pay them enough…..”  The run upstairs was catching up with him now, and he couldn’t help gasping for breath.

               “I don’t want them to die for me,” said the woman.  She hadn’t moved from her position on the couch, one of several scattered around the lavish suite.  It was bigger than most apartments St. John had seen, and filled with fine furniture, and what appeared to be Indian artwork, similar to what he’d seen a lifetime ago as a travel writer.  Radha Dastoor, the woman who called herself “Haven,” was supposedly some kind of charitable humanitarian, but of course she surrounded herself with luxury, like every other rich fuck Pyro had ever known.  Certainly none of them were willing to wear the sackcloth and ashes, in his experience.      

               “Well, that’s good then.  No one needs to die, love.  We’ll make this nice and easy, and you won’t even get a scratch on that pretty face of yours.”  She was stunningly beautiful, although there was something odd about her eyes, almost unnaturally calm.

               “Is this about my message?  Or do you simply want money?”

               “The latter.”  Perhaps in the Brotherhood days it would have been about her message – she was spreading some kind of New Age bullshit about humans and mutants living in harmony.  Magneto probably would have wanted her eliminated – or maybe not.  He could never keep track of the “Great Leader’s” ideology, and these days it was much harder to keep things straight in his head.

He grinned at her, and sent a jet of fire sweeping around the room.  It hovered around the walls, but didn’t actually touch or burn anything.  It would be a shame to destroy this swanky stuff, and this was just an intimidation tactic to get her up and out of the room faster.  To his surprise, she remained seated, staring at him without a hint of fear.

               “Look, darling, we’re not interested in hurting you, okay?  It’s very simple.  You’ve got money, and we need some.  With the fortune you’ve got, you won’t even miss it.  Now you just come with me, your lawyers will fork over some cash, and you can enjoy the rest of your day.”  

               “I’m afraid I can’t do that.  I’ve got a speech to give this evening.  And I’m not going to let myself be kidnapped.  It won’t end well for any of us.  Please put the fire out.  People will get hurt if it spreads.”

               “You seem to be confused, love.  You don’t get a choice in this.”  Pyro strode across the room, somewhere between amused and annoyed.  These rich types always thought the universe would somehow bend to their will, even if there was someone literally pointing a weapon at their faces.  He grabbed her wrist and attempted to pull her to her feet.  She yanked her hand back, stronger than he expected.

               “C’mon now, don’t struggle.  That’s how people get hurt.  I’m tryin’ to be gentle about this.”  Haven was looking up at him, eyebrows pursed together in what appeared to be concern.

               “You’re very thin,” she said.

               “Yeah, no shit, love.  I’ve always been a beanpole.”  He gritted his teeth, blinking away sweat that dripped down into his eyes.  The flame wall was lopsided and ragged at the edges, nowhere near his usual precision, and he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain it with the pounding in his head.  He leaned in, and she shrank away, probably getting entirely the wrong idea as he wrapped his arms around her, taking care not to put his hands anywhere inappropriate.  Pyro was known as a terrorist, thief, murderer and all-around criminal, but he wasn’t known as a rapist, and he didn’t want that on his reputation.  He tried to lift her from the couch, while she pushed against him and kicked.  

               “C’mon, don’t….” He gasped, his breath starting to catch in his throat as burning pain shot through his chest.  “Don’t make this…..I won’t hurt you, just…..just give me a bloody break, love!”  Why was she so unnaturally heavy?  And so freakishly tall?  Or had his arms really gotten that weak?  His grip slipped as she shoved him backwards, and he staggered, unable to stop the coughing fit that tore out of him.  He dropped to his knees, shoulders shaking.  For fucks sake, could he not hold it together long enough to pull off one easy job for Dominic?

               Suddenly, he felt a strong pair of arms wrap around his chest from behind.  Before he could struggle, he was being lifted up onto the couch, leaning back against the cushion as he wheezed.  The flame wall, which had mostly been maintained by his own concentration, had largely evaporated, and he waved a hand to extinguish the remnants that had fallen to the floor.  This didn’t need to get any more out of control than it already was.

               “You are extremely ill.”  Haven was now hovering over him, putting her hands on his cheeks and turning his head to peer into his eyes.  The mask hid the worst of the lesions, but he couldn’t really hide how sharp his cheekbones had become, jutting out of a gaunt face.  “You should be in a hospital.  I will arrange for –“      

               “No, no hospital!” Pyro snarled, although it came out as more of a croak.  Once he went into a hospital, he was never coming out.  They’d jam him full of tubes and keep him breathing long after he devolved into an incoherent, drooling, shitting sack of flesh.  And that was the best case scenario – if they recognized him and called the authorities, he’d breathe his last strapped down in a SHIELD holding cell.  He was going to die anyway, at least at his apartment he had booze and porn and some god-damned privacy.  And he had everything he needed to end things on his own terms, when it came to that.

               “They can’t help me,” he continued.  “It’s…..”  He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word “terminal,” even though it hung in his mind like a black flag.  “There’s no cure.”

               “I’m sorry,” said Haven, and the look of compassion on her face seemed to indicate that she actually meant it.  Usually people didn’t.  “I’m sorry” was usually such bullshit, better translated to, “Better you than me, mate.”  

               “Perhaps I could…..”  Haven stopped and trailed off, her head cocked to one side, as if listening to something Pyro could not hear.  “No? No, it seems it is not the right time. I’m sorry.  I don’t always understand the workings of the divine, but I most obey.”  She reached out and clutched his hand in hers.  

               Pyro shrugged as his breathing gradually came back under control, although it was still a painful wheeze.  Today had really not been one of the “good” days.  And obviously this woman was crazy.  A lot of rich types were, especially if they got religion.  But at least she appeared to be genuinely nice.  He felt oddly comforted sitting on the couch, holding her hand, even though either the police or some do-gooder X-Team was probably on their way.

               “Are you for real?  Most people aren’t this nice during a robbery.”

               “I try to see the world with compassion.  I want to ease suffering, and you are suffering.  Is that why you need money?  For treatment?”

               “Not treatment for me.  There’s no treatment for me.  A friend needs help.  He’s down there with your brother, probably getting’ his bell rung.”

               “Monsoon can be very….overenthusiastic, but he only wants to protect me.  I will contact him, and perhaps we can work this out peacefully.”

                 Dominic, with his face pressed against the shattered rubble of the hotel lobby, and a 200 lb man sitting on his back, reflected that this job had been a complete shit-show.  All the rich socialite “humanitarians” in New York city, and he had tried to rob and kidnap the woman with a mutant for a brother.  Above him, Monsoon shifted his weight, and Avalanche winced at the pressure on his ribs.  Maybe it was closer to 300 lbs?  Worse, he had dragged Johnny out into this, and the man was in no condition to be running around, no matter how many times he said he was “fine.”  He seemed to be running on pure, stubborn pride these days.

               “Look, fella, my partner is up there with your sister, so unless you want him to torch her, you’d better let me up,” he tried.  He could, of course, shake the entire building off its foundations.  And that would kill everyone inside, including him, Johnny, and the spoiled rich bitch they were here to rob.  Monsoon stared down at him, contemptuous and silent.  Then his phone chirped.

               “Yes?  Are you okay? Understood.”  He snapped the phone closed, and hauled Avalanche up to his feet, with one arm twisted around his back.

              “It’s over,” Monsoon said simply.  “She wants to talk to you.”  And he began to drag Avalanche over to the elevator.

               “Wait, what’s over?  What happened?  Is Pyro….” He trailed off.  Haven had a team of bodyguards with her, and they had probably been posted at her room. Bodyguards with guns, and Johnny was off his game these days.  Dominic would never be able to forgive himself if he’d gotten his best friend killed, even if it was the kind of death he might prefer over slowly wasting away. Monsoon was frustratingly silent as the elevator took them up.

               “Look, this is on me, okay?  This was my job, I pushed him into it.  You can have me, but let Pyro go, okay?”  The only thing worse than Johnny getting gunned down while doing him a favor would be Johnny dying in jail.  Dominic was ready to do anything to keep that from happening.  But he was met with only silence while being dragged down the hallway towards the room.  There were scorch marks on the carpet, but no blood, which made him sigh with relief.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to see when he was pushed through the doorway into Radha Dastoor’s suite, but he still stopped short in surprise.   

               Pyro was sitting on the sofa next to the woman who called herself Haven, both looking up as Avalanche came through the door.  Pyro had a blanket draped around his shoulders, and was clutching a steaming mug of something that smelled like spice.  He looked vaguely guilty behind his mask, while her face was a perfect picture of calm.

               “What….what the hell, man?”  Avalanche spluttered.  

               “I’m sorry, Dom,” Pyro shrugged, using one hand to gesture helplessly at Haven.  “She’s just…too nice.  I can’t do it, mate.  She’s too nice.”

               “Too nice?  Are you kidding me?!”  Monsoon let a heavy hand fall upon his shoulders, forcing Dominic to his knees while Haven glided over to him.  And as she knelt and began to coo over the bruises that her brother had left on his face, he realized exactly what Pyro meant.

Notes: Haven is probably going to write a check for Dominic’s wife’s treatment, and then let them go.  I realized I needed a reason why Haven wouldn’t attempt to heal Pyro like she tried with Jamie, so I’m thinking the Adversary told her “No,” because it didn’t want her to fail (and possibly destroy the faith she had in her cause).    

[mittensmorgul]

omg... wait, literally... in 14.08, while they’re all grieving Jack and Sam goes out to build a pyre, he feels like it’s once again a failure on his part when his ax breaks...

I need to do a rewatch of s14 and list all the potential moments we can now maybe chalk up to Chuck’s interference just nudging things in exceptionally tiny ways. Because that broken ax was the reason the rest of the episode happened this way. 

This is exactly the sort of thing I’ve been talking about since 14.20 aired. Chuck hasn’t been shoving the narrative around in huge ways, but even these tiny nudges have sweeping consequences, and all of s14 needs to be reexamined for points where the entire narrative hinges on these seemingly inconsequential occurrences.

If Sam had finished building his pyre by the time Dean and Cas showed up, they wouldn’t have had a wake, they’d have had a funeral pyre. Jack would’ve been permanently lost to Heaven... or perhaps the Empty would’ve quietly snatched him as it planned to do and he would’ve had his little Empty Tea Party with the entity and Billie way back then. There would’ve been no deal for Cas’s happiness, just mourning Jack without Chuck feeling the need to show up and shove events over his personal desired finish line in 14.20. But instead, they go back to the bunker and drink to Jack’s memory, leading to Dean asking Cas, “We did everything we could, right?”

Next thing Dean knows, he’s waking up hung over in the kitchen, and Cas and Sam have brought in Lily Sunder. And the rest of the plot happens.

Sam found Kevin’s Angel Tablet translations in this episode, and Donatello is mentioned as well-- aka the soulless prophet they gave the demon tablet to last year when they may potentially have been able to give him Kevin’s translations (which we all screamed about in s13 so I’ll refrain here) of the tablet they were ACTUALLY trying to read... but Sam brings Lily Sunder instead to try to read them (this is the sort of stuff she was a professor of in life so it’s sensible this time at least).

We learn about Anubis who took over God’s duty to measure the fates of humans, but was that ever something Chuck would’ve done? Interesting, because Anubis himself tells them that God never decided, that people’s fates rest solely (pffft) within themselves, their choices.

Kelly Kline is distressed that Jack has died, of course, as any mother would be, but this feels like a bigger statement from her, to which Jack replies, “things didn’t go as planned.” YA THINK?!

Heaven’s distress signal. I’ve wondered for a while now if there was ever really anything “wrong” with Heaven, or if it was another symptom of Chuck’s interference in things...

Every gate in Heaven was opened, even the ones Metatron’s supposedly irreversible spell closed, when the Shadow invaded.

Cas meets three angels once he arrives-- the first lies dead on the floor near Dumah, who is apparently still alive-- but we quickly learn the Shadow is just using her form. Inside Jack’s heaven they meet Naomi, who I suspect is also being controlled by the Shadow just based on what she tells Cas: That in order to save Heaven, they need to hand Jack over to the Shadow.

BECAUSE! Jack’s soul, according to Anubis, was destined for Heaven based on his own cumulative life choices. And this ending... doesn’t fit Chuck’s narrative. Resurrecting Jack fits Chuck’s narrative. And the Empty has been waiting for Jack... but it’s also been waiting for Chuck. Cas’s sacrifice to save Jack? THAT fits Chuck’s narrative.

What doesn’t fit Chuck’s narrative is these uppity humans actually standing up for themselves to his face, not wanting to play his game anymore. Everything that happens in this episode seems to be setting the stage for them finally seeing they’ve been playing a game all along.

Right down to Lily Sunder visiting Anubis after her death and learning her act of sacrifice was enough to earn her soul admission to Heaven. And this minor god who’d been given this job that used to be Chuck’s... smiles on her and lets her go on to Heaven.

Cas earns a reward from Heaven, too, from Naomi. She gives him Michael’s location, which she suddenly seems to know. Which brings me back to everything I’ve written in this rewatch about Michael just being an irritating symptom of Chuck’s influence over their lives, intentionally flimsy and there only to serve Chuck’s narrative, manipulating his favorite characters into making these same awful choices again.

(and a random note because it pleases the heck outta me... in the final scene, where TFW 2.0 is enjoying a meal in the kitchen together: THEY ALL HAVE BURGERS AND BEERS. EVEN CAS. This has been a strange progression of Cas vs Food since 14.01.

below a cut, because I am an obsessive person who paused 14.09 to compile all sorts of food-related nonsense from all of s14 here, and it’s a lot... >.>

14.01 Cas told Kipling the demon that he doesn’t eat or drink and even questioned why Kipling would bother with food. Cas orders water:

KIPLING: Castiel, you sure I can't get you anything hot and black? CASTIEL: Coffee has no effect on me. KIPLING: Hm. Me either. (sips his coffee) You know, not anymore, but it's like saltwater taffy or infants -- you know, I just like the taste.

but now? 14.08, Jack’s Heaven Memory revolves around food, too. They’re at a burger stand they stopped at while working the case in 13.06, the first case where Cas came back from the Empty, and therefore Jack’s happiest memory, we have to assume. We don’t know if Cas actually ate or drank anything in 13.06 (he didn’t have coffee with Dean, though, but the assumption is that Cas MADE the coffee for him), but he did explicitly mention to Jack that he doesn’t sleep at all. So he probably wouldn’t have bothered with eating or drinking anything at that point. Yet for Jack, part of the happiness of that particular memory WAS eating, the whole family together.

14.06: Not Cas, but JACK, as we know his body is beginning to suffer the loss of his grace, sits at the ktichen table making himself coffee, pouring tons of sugar into it because it doesn’t taste right to him anymore now that his grace is gone:

DEAN - Geez, what's up with the sugar? JACK - Well, without my powers everything tastes different so, I can't get this how I like it.

I’m pointing this out for two reasons: Jack and his relationship with food serves as an inverse parallel to Cas’s here, but also it’s the first sign that something is wrong with him (which we learn by the end of the episode is catastrophically wrong when his coughing fits lead to him passing out). Coffee, specifically, has long been a direct metaphor for Cas and his relationship with humanity, going all the way back to 8.21 when he ordered coffee at every Biggersons he popped through while evading the angels, and explained to one waitress the history of humanity’s relationship with the drink-- you learned it from the goats. That’s literally my Cas vs His Own Humanity tag, and has been for years. So Jack feeling this disconnect from the coffee he used to enjoy-- and adding tons of sugar in the way we’ve seen angels like Ishim do before (considering we’ll be reminded of Lily Sunder two episodes later) feels like the first portent of Jack’s internal collapse.

In this episode, Dean also orders pie for Jack, telling him “pie is important.” At the end of the episode, Dean and Jack again sit at the kitchen table, Jack drinking his coffee with way too much sugar, Dean with some whiskey:

and then Jack collapses.

14.07: Dean and Jack’s father-son bonding road trip involves burgers, and after Jack falls ill, Dean brings him a sandwich and a glass of milk that Jack never even gets to eat.

14.08: After Jack’s been resurrected with Lily’s soul magic, we have the family dinner mentioned above. And Jack is the ONLY one we see eating his burger, despite all four of them having the same food on their plates. Everyone else is just watching HIM enjoy his meal, because they’re just happy that Jack is back and supposedly “cured” of his imbalance that sickened him in the first place, and his enjoyment of his food serves as a visible example of that fact.

14.09: Crunch Cookie Crunch. Sugary cereal that Jack is apparently sneaking behind Sam’s back, alone in the darkened kitchen in the middle of the night. At least he’s eating? But during this scene, while talking with Cas about the deal Cas made with the Empty in 14.08... Cas not only eats some of the cereal himself, we learn that he took the decoder ring prize from the box and decoded the secret message. Cas... has eaten some of the cereal in the past. Alone, without witnesses. And taken the prize inside. While having a conversation about keeping Cas’s secret. Cookietacular. (and further tying Jack’s experiences with food to Cas’s)

interesting side note, but since I’m still playing 14.09 in the background while I type this, here we see Ketch again-- the guy resurrected for nothing more than plot device purposes-- again functioning as an entry point to another narrative rabbit hole, i.e. something that initially seems like a success but becomes an abject failure for Plot Reasons. He has found the Yeet Egg, but it’s halfway around the world where it’s of no use to any of them. And as he tells them this, he’s sitting in a cafe sipping a tiny cup of coffee. This is how Michael gets hold of and destroys one of the two remaining weapons they had against him-- he snatches it out of the U.S. Mail. Two of Chuck’s little symptoms acting up and playing their roles, forcing the narrative to do what he needs it to do.

14.13: While Dean and Sam share a family dinner with their parents, knowing it will be their last because they plan to put everything to rights, Cas from the past who never broke ranks with the angels is brought to a pizza joint by Zachariah, walking over empty burger wrappers in the alley on their way there, where he threatens to kill the inhabitants if they don’t tell them what they need to know. I mean... worst case scenario for the Pizza Man and Babysitter trope, right?

14.14: An episode that forces A LOT of focus onto food-- both through the MotW as a gourmet chef preparing his victims, as well as through Jack, Cas, Dean, and Sam eating:

The entire cold open is devoted to watching the gorgon prepare his food-- chopping onions, sauteing things, dancing around a fancy kitchen, and yet having to flee before he can enjoy his meal.

Jack coughs while standing at the counter, and blames “pepper” in the food for it, insisting he’s not dying (spoiler alert: he is actually dying and knows this, yet lies about it to everyone), immediately before Rowena reminds us, “Everything means something.”

Cas, Dean, and Jack sit at a diner drinking coffee. But... only Dean and Jack have mugs in front of them. Not Cas. And Dean’s the only one who actually drinks.

Castiel: What you're doing, even just sitting here and having a cup of coffee, is a Herculean feat. I can't imagine the willpower it's taking to keep Michael imprisoned.

And then later in the episode, Jack... eats Michael. He burns up what’s left of his own soul to cook it up, too. Gourmet cannibalism at its best. Nom.

14.15: In an episode where Sam and Cas are faced with a series of food-related red herrings ranging from milkshakes to tiny coffee cups to pot roast to martinis, Dean and Jack have several interactions with food that all mean something more in the narrative itself: from the Angel Food/Devil’s Food cake test, to Jack unable to find something the Gorgon’s snake will eat, to the cup of coffee Donatello serves Jack in a huge mug and uses as a prop in his explanation of how he manages to do the right thing even without a soul to guide him, and what it feels like to him to be soulless.

14.16: Jack is put in charge of doing the grocery shopping, because Dean thought that was a safe activity for him. He buys the food, but then all the other terrible things happen... and he doesn’t eat any of it himself. And despite beer being on the list TWICE, that’s the one thing he fails to buy.

14.17: Back to Cas vs Coffee, and a waffle, waiting for Anael in the diner. He’s already ordered himself the waffle and coffee, and while Anael rejects a cup of coffee from the waitress, Cas orders ANOTHER. Unfortunately it’s never delivered to him (that we see), but he did order it, which means he’s already drunk his first cup. He ordered a refill. (he didn’t eat the waffle).

but also, back in the bunker as Dean sets up Mousetrap for family game night, Mary and Jack prepare a TON of snack foods. Jack makes popcorn, that Dean once made for Cas back in 8.22. Which again reminds me of our ridiculous crack theory from early s9 that popcorn had some sort of magical properties to weaken angels after Hannah is thrown into a rack of popcorn by Adina and is unable to fight back afterward. lol at the theory, but popcorn was also directly involved in Bobby’s final memory of Sam and Dean as they debated movie-watching snack foods, so it’s directly connected to death and humanity both. And Cas eats it. but back to 14.17... 

They never get to eat all those snacks, because Sam never returns with the pizza he was supposed to be picking up, and they receive the emergency call from Donatello instead. Things go incredibly sideways from there.

(note that I might add to this as I finish rewatching the season, since I’m still on 14.09 and the rest is just from memory after that point-- hence putting it all under a read more cut)

[prairiesongserial]

Windfield Pass 10

Agnes still needed to find a place to stay the night, and a warm meal, if there was one to be had, but she and Owl needed to see the mayor before any of that.  Already, the day was darkening.  When Agnes and Owl reached the mayor’s house - a squat little cottage with a prettier vegetable garden than its neighbors’ - the family had already sat down to dinner, or so the man at the door told them.

A holler from the dining room told the man to show them in, anyway.  Agnes and Owl were led through the foyer and shown to the table.

The dining room was small, but fine - the table runner was lace, and the table beneath was sturdy, dark wood - this table hadn’t been made in Wyoming.  The craftsmanship was too good.  Mayor Willin himself was mid-sip from a glass of black-red wine.  His wife, Charlotte, sat primly across from him, her shoulders straight as a board.  Their adult son and his wife sat at the table, also.  Curiously, the table had been set for six, almost as if Agnes and Owl had been expected.

“Forgive the interruption,” Agnes said.  “I am more than happy to wait until after you’ve eaten, or come again tomorrow.”

“No, no, nonsense,” said the mayor.  Wine dripped down his mustache, and he dabbed it with a lace-lined napkin.  “Welcome, and please sit.  Yves, please serve our guests.”

The man who had answered the door reappeared with a tea service and began to serve Agnes and Owl.  Owl was jittery, more anxious now than she had been during the amputation of a man’s arm.  She knelt on her seat instead of sitting properly, then sat cross-legged, then knelt again.

“Now, let us set the story straight,” said Mayor Willin when Yves had gone again.  “Marge was here not an hour ago, and she had an interesting story to tell about the two of you, half of it a figment, I’m sure.  She is a nervous woman.  But then…” The mayor shifted in his seat, almost as if he were uncomfortable.  His wife gave him a sharp look.  “But then, something makes me wonder.  See, Marge’s gossip doesn’t often have more than the barest kernel of truth, bless her.  But then our esteemed hunters return from their excursion - days late.  Half of them dead.  One of them missing an arm, which I hear is your work, doctor.”

Agnes gave him the barest smile.

“And that made me wonder.  You see, Dr. Hopper, we didn’t expect you back in Windfield until the summer.  But you return here the very same day as our hunting party.  You early, they late.”

The mayor idly tapped his spoon against his plate.

“Our hunters are good, honest men, risking life and limb to protect our town.  And half of them died, Dr. Hopper.  Now, we appreciate all you’ve done for our town, and I’m sure Benjamin Frisk thanks you for sawing off his arm in a public shop.  But…” The mayor abruptly stopped tapping his spoon.  “But the brave men who survived the mutie attack saw something very strange.  The Weeper who bit out their fellows's throats was holding a walking stick.”

Agnes’s blood froze.

Yves returned to the dining room, leading two of the hunters Agnes had seen earlier that day.  Without so much as a glance at her, one of the hunters snatched her cane from its spot propped against the table.  He turned it over in his hands, testing the weight, then gave it to his compatriot.

“You will forgive me if I doubt your story about Pickton,” said the mayor.  “Boys?”

“This is the cane,” the hunter said with undisguised disgust.

“And now, Agnes, please speak.  Never let it be said that the mayor of Windfield denied a guest the opportunity to defend herself.”

Next to Agnes, Owl pushed her dinner around her plate. Her face was scrunched up with effort as she tried to keep up with the conversation.

“Here...is the truth,” said Agnes.  “In Harehaven, a few days ago, a family approached me.  They told me that a foundling had been left on the road - a normal child.  Human.  A practice that this town has some history with.”  She set her teeth.  “The Harehaven family didn’t have provisions for an extra child, not with winter so close at hand.  The family asked me to take her away and find her a more respectable placement.”

The mayor harrumphed loudly, but gave no further interruption.  Agnes continued.

“We were walking toward the pass when we were beset by muti...mutants.  We ran south, and at some point your hounds crossed our trail.  By the water.”

“But you kept running,” one of the hunters interrupted.

“With mutants that close at hand, so would you,” Agnes snapped.  “We forded the river.  We had lost all of our supplies, including my cane.  The next day, or perhaps the day after, I found it, washed up on the shore.  If a mutant happened to find it and drop it again, that is my good luck.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” barked the hunter.  “You, an old woman, with a child, in mutie country, with no food, soaking wet, manage to get from the south side of the Boysen to Windfield in, what, three days?  It’s impossible.  You didn’t take the pass.  Marge has it that you met the schoolchildren on their way into town, meaning you came from the south-west, meaning you crossed the damn Wind River mountains - in three days - with nothing to eat - ”

Owl had looked scared when the hunter raised his voice, but now she raised her plate over her head and dumped the little game hen and leafy greens on the floor.  She released the porcelain plate - expensive enough to be a family heirloom.  Agnes lunged to catch it, but wasn’t quite fast enough.  It shattered at the hunter’s feet. 

“Owl - ” Agnes began.

“Harehavenkind can go more than three days without nothing to eat, uncle,” she said, fixing the hunter with a hateful stare.  “And we don’t need glass plates neither.”

The room was silent.  Agnes felt as scared as a cornered rabbit, unable to begin to think of an explanation or apology for Owl.  Owl stood up on her chair, nose to nose with the hunter.

“I don’t want to live here.  I want to go home.”

The mayor wiped his mouth with his napkin, and delicately set it aside.

“That’s enough of that,” he said, ignoring Owl.  “Now, Dr. Hopper, I had hoped you would be more forthcoming, but I understand your reluctance.  You have the safety of the child to consider.  Here is what I think.”

The mayor waved for Yves to clear everyone’s plates, and he did, hesitating when he got to Owl’s place.  He left with the used dishes and returned shortly with a broom.

“I think…” began the mayor, “that the child is a Harehaven mutant which you are moving like contraband.  I think you did not wish to meet the hunting party by the Boysen River because you rightly feared the dogs would sniff her out as mutiekind.  And I think that you know the location of the Weeper who killed so many of our bravest.  And I think...that if you consider the safety of the child...you will help our hunters track her down.”

“Are you threatening Owl?” Agnes said, struggling to keep her voice even.  “A child?  A child who has nothing to do with…”

“What’s threatening?” Owl interjected, still standing on her chair defiantly.

“Contraband,” said the mayor easily.

“Agnes, what’s - ” Owl said, clearly agitated.

“I can’t help you,” Agnes growled, rising from her seat.  “I don’t know where she is.  Try the Boysen.”

“She led you through the mountains,” yelled one of the hunters.

“Agnes, what’s - ”

“Prove it,” Agnes shot back.

It was the wrong choice.  In seconds they were tearing her pack apart, searching it for any evidence of Selkie.  Agnes hadn’t thought she had anything to hide - but she hadn’t been careful, either.  One of the hunters held up a lump of charcoal, examined it, and tossed it away.  Sachets of herbs and bottles of tinctures piled up on the table, until finally the hunters found what they were looking for.

“What is that?” asked the mayor, gesturing for the object.

Agnes didn’t recognize it, either, at first.  Something Selkie had slipped in her bag?

Agnes squeezed her eyes closed.  It was the worst thing Selkie could have given her.  The mayor held the hunting knife up to the light, but Agnes knew it wasn’t hers.  Perhaps Selkie had thought it was, when she was gathering Agnes’s lost belongings after her encounter with the hunters.  Or maybe she had just thought Agnes could use a knife.

“It’s Benjamin’s knife,” one of the hunters said.  “She cut his fuckin’ arm off while his knife was in her backpack.”

“Forgive me...for taking what help I could find, no matter who it came from,” Agnes said carefully.  “If you had faced the threat of death, you might have made the same choice.”

“Our men didn’t have the luxury,” the hunter sneered.

“Then forgive an old woman and child for living.  We will leave, and you won’t have to be reminded of it anymore.”  Agnes picked Owl up under the arms and held her.  Owl was ready to leave, glaring at the other adults in the room. But the hunters hovered close.

The mayor cleared his throat.  

“Given the circumstances,” he said, “I think it is more than fair that you guide our hunters to the mutie’s nest so they may exact reparations for their loss.  We will forgive your contraband in exchange, though she must leave with you.”

“If I refuse?” Agnes said, heart pounding.  She was spitting mad, but her only weapon was her head.

“We kill her.”  The mayor daintily pointed the sheathed knife at Owl’s forehead.  “It’s not my habit to kill the thinking kind, but nothing about this situation is typical, is it?  I mean, the local doctor abetting muties?  Facilitating murder?  So you see why I’m willing to make an exception.”

Owl’s eyes flashed at the mayor.  She wriggled out of Agnes’s arms, and Agnes was forced to drop her.  Owl grabbed the broom out of Yves’s hands, who was too surprised to resist.

“What’s wrong with you?” Owl hollered at the mayor, leveling the handle at the broom at him like a sword.  A child’s display of bravado, as if this were a pretend game.  “That’s for skinning rabbits, and it’s sharp, so you have to be careful.”

The mayor lowered the knife to the table and smiled past Owl, as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

Agnes closed her eyes, gripping Owl’s shoulders hard.  All around her, the hunters, the mayor, the mayor’s family - they all breathed with sordid anticipation.  Either spectacle, Owl’s death or Selkie’s, would be enough for them.  Choose, doctor.  Choose which mutie dies.  Didn’t that mean that neither of them had to die, if either would suffice?

When Agnes opened her eyes, the mayor had handed the knife to one of the hunters for safe-keeping.

“I’m old,” said Agnes, softly.  “Why not…”

“We don’t kill normal folks,” piped up Charlotte.  “We aren’t monsters.”

Silence circled the table.  Finally, Agnes began to pack all her tinctures and herbs and vials back into her pack.

Windfield Pass 9 || Windfield Pass 11