#wynter answers

[a-wynterwonderland]

robussy

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

zombies: re-animated + text posts

[spacepiratericky]

"Don't tell me, you're a fairy of some sorts?"

She chuckles at that. "Y'know I think that's the first time I've ever been accused of that one. Most people seem to think I'm an *angel*."

[dogboyklug]

same question for sunrises family and stuff too

if sunrise gets a fursona i wanna know what feathers and quiet would have too

will have t draw later but uhhhhhhhhhhhh

quiet would prolly have a river or ocean otter as their fursona bc they. are an otter /lh

seafoam's is a bat. i had a specific bat in mind but i forgot their name. but basically Rouge.

feathers..................................................... raven. bcause hes goth

goldys is either a cornsnake or a golden retriever bc shes basic

tabbys is a black cat bc shes also basic and it makes for rlly cute art w her gf

yps's is prolly a bird of paradise i dont think hed have a fursona

and wynters is prolly an antelope of some kind! maybe a spiral-horned antelope bc they look awesome

[lavishbylaw]

@wynterlanding said:

"If I could leave this nightmare marriage and be with you? I would...in a heartbeat."

For Landon to admit that clued Genevieve in on the fact that he was truly suffering in his relationship. He was a man that was all about loyalty and trust. But how much loyalty do you give to someone who treats you so horribly? Even the most resilient of people can have their spirits worn down.

While he spoke as if his intentions were purely on romance with her, she couldn't help but think of his needs. Even if he did not want to be with her, Genevieve knew just how important it was for Landon to be able to take control of his life; To know his worth. Gently, she took one of his hands in her own, brushing her thumb against a couple of his knuckles in an attempt to soothe him.

"I know what she has done to you, ...and I know that it's done you some harm. And I know it may feel as if - you're stuck, but... I promise you that you're not, Landon. If you don't feel loved anymore, if you don't feel respected anymore? If you can't seem to work out the problems in your marriage, you can leave. Even if you really don't want to be with me. ...Even if you really don't want to be with anyone. Regardless, I would help you."

[awalkoflife-arc]

👯 + Lan and Sab

SEND ME 👯 + A RELATIONSHIP, AND I’LL CHOOSE THEM MATCHING HALLOWEEN COSTUMES! / lansab edition !

Sabrina is all about giving her man options so, here we have:

Vivian and Edward.

Marilyn and JFK.

Cinderella and Prince Charming.

( Can you tell she really wants Lan suited and booted ;) ?! )

[cass1x1]

[text]: are you going to the party on saturday? // [text]: wtf is the notebook even about?? “if you’re a bird then i’m a bird” ? they’re both humans (wyn/julian)

@kimsgoeun

[text]: are you going to the party on saturday?

[3:27pm] dunno yet [3:28pm] you? [3:30pm] if you want me to like be your designated or whatever i can do that [3:31pm] we could like go together or something. whatever

[text]: wtf is the notebook even about?? “if you’re a bird then i’m a bird” ? they’re both humans

[9:47am] how are you such a sap and also the least romantic person on the planet [9:49am] it's about being weirdos together and also about how hot ryan gosling is [9:50am] i don't get what you don't get

[porcelainseashore]

I guess the question is whether we also have Lucien to thank for bringing out the sadist in her? Did he quell or fuel her bloodlust in the end? Well, at least he taught her to survive. You're right though, Wynter is confused and a complete mess about who she is and what she feels. They do have that perfect "Mickey/Mallory" and "Bonnie/Clyde" pairing, so I don't blame you for wanting more of them and their shenanigans. However, this was the incident that made her leave her hometown. But that doesn't mean that Lucien ever stopped looking out for her 😉

Thank you for everything!! I love that you picked out your favorite line, it's so special to me to know which one it is <333

Poison Tree

Commissioned art by @medeaft

As Wynter lies dying in a stranger’s arms, she thinks back to her childhood home and the life she once led with the man who knew her inside-out, Lucien.

Content Warnings: Uncle/niece incest, blood, violence, murder, implied sexual content, pre-canon, coming of age, Catholic guilt, vampire turning, Giovannis being Giovannis.

And there she stood, wide-eyed and doe-like, transfixed at the sight of a stranger before her. Clothes tumbled out of laundry baskets, strewn across the floor, a river of dirtied cotton and cheap knock-offs from the dollar store. A distant rumble came from the side as a lone washer left unattended churned.

It wasn’t like Wynter to be caught unaware, freezing up, indecisive or unable to move, like a gazelle that had stalled a second too late. This stranger was different, more of an apparition behind her darkly veiled face, a shapeless expression shifting like sand, never holding one position for too long. Bony fingers swathed with Venetian lace creeping up her arms like second skin. Her scent layered with oriental spice and incense—the type you burned for the dead.

She should have ran. Trusted in her instincts and ran. Yet it felt as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life. Bathed in the somber aura of this foreign woman. Teeth gleaming and eyes shining. It was worse than getting mauled by a lion. You would think one would know pain after twenty-three years of living with it. But the adrenaline didn’t kick in.

“Welcome to The Family,” she heard a voice say. “Welcome home.”

Overhead, an ugly metallic duct groaned and burst, shooting jets of steam into the room. The very same rushes, hisses, and squeaks of the pipelines rattling around the house that Wynter grew up in the Deep South. It was an old thing, stately, Gothic and foreboding, with spiralling stairways and trick doors that led to nowhere. As a child, she watched the shadows that stalked her during the night intently, musing if they would whisk her off someplace far away. She wondered why they lived there—in a house that didn’t feel like a house. Her parents never knew who they truly were. Their lineage could be traced back to the merchants that occupied the trade routes along the Silk Road. But that was all they could boast about.

“We are hardworking people,” her father proclaimed. As if to be hardworking was a defining quality of character. Perhaps the house wasn’t a coincidence. It was only natural they were drawn subconsciously to the call of their blood, like her. Certain inclinations never really went away.

Wynter was only a day old, balloon-headed and wailing, when her uncle—her father’s brother—Lucien, cradled her tiny body in his arms. She beat her clenched fists against his chest, which were really more like pathetic bumps, and he laughed and remarked, “What a strong little girl you are.”

She smelled his freshly shampooed hair, just as well as she could drink in the scent of his blood, noisily gushing through his veins, like raging water in a storm drain. Everything was so loud and jarring. His flowy, dark blonde locks whipped around in the wind, tickling her nose as he bent down to kiss her cheek. She could hear his thundering heart while she stirred in her sleep. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

Everyone said she wouldn’t be able to remember that. But who were they to determine something so personal to her? The sensory overload was real. What she experienced now was real. She knew she wasn’t normal when the first thing she noticed in a person was their pulsating jugular.

Her childhood was filled with frilly dresses, lollipops, and sun-baked knees as she ran about in a dizzying fit before sprawling out on the front lawn in the muggy heat. Lucien was always close by, omnipresent, keeping an ever-watchful eye on his niece. She had assumed that his overprotectiveness was due to the nature of his work. They said that he was a Lieutenant at the Criminal Investigation Division in a neighboring city. It sounded important to her as a kid. What sounded less important was when her parents teased him about his eternal bachelor status.

“There’s still hope.” Wynter’s father clapped him on the back. Lucien’s tresses were now tarnished brown and graying, but his piercing blue eyes remained vivid and alert. They crinkled as he gave a self-deprecating smile. “I believe God has saved one for me.”

At Sunday Mass, her father placed his hand on her head sternly, a warning to be quiet and pray. An opalescent rosary dangled between her thumb and index finger. She pressed her palms together, letting the beads indent her skin, but her eyes wandered over to his younger brother across the pews. From afar, he mouthed the word, “Kneel,” and she obeyed him on the cold, hard marble before the Lord.

Adolescence brought out the best and worst of Wynter, depending on who you asked. Instead of heated arguments and slamming doors, there were awkward silences and the fear of being touched. She arched her back uncomfortably at the lightest brush of her shoulder. It prickled her skin, sent hot flashes through her spine, and she had to suppress the urge to snarl.

“What kind of child shies away from their mother’s touch?” Her parents couldn’t understand her. But they waved it off as a phase. Pain riddled her body in those days. Her chest swelled, there was tenderness in her thighs, and an aching throb that rippled like a current. Boys turned to look when she walked past. She bled and sweated a distinct odor of vile desire—it was getting more and more difficult to pretend to fit in.

The energy had to flow somewhere. Confused and overwhelmed, she locked it up in her wrists, her limbs, her face, until the seizures came. She hid out in the school restrooms, bashing her body against the toilet doors when nobody was around, willing the spirit to return to its flesh. All she could think about was her father’s belt around a boy’s neck, the leather creaking as it tightened. A pair of pale hands. Her pair of hands. And it pleased her. 

Lucien saw as Wynter withdrew into herself, spotted the signs where no one figured where to look. The hollows of her haunted eyes, her cheeks gaunt. She had a Beast even before she became one of them. In return, he fed and nurtured it. Satisfied her innate cravings by taking her on his hunting trips, where they set traps and shot fowl and game, each trophy more impressive than the next. He leaned his weight into her back, hand cupped over hers, her finger on the rifle’s trigger as she peered through the scope. Breathing in, his nose involuntarily nuzzled the crook of her neck. “Eyes on the prize, doll,” he rasped. Lips marking skin. She didn’t need to be told twice.

Her symptoms subsided as she learned to shoot a man dead. Arms outstretched, two hands gripping Lucien’s revolver high and tight, bracing for the recoil. Other times, she sat cross-legged, watching him strip and clean his gun with a blackened rag before oiling its parts. She enjoyed the methodical approach he took with it and imagined herself as his weapon, how his hands would smooth over her surfaces, ease the pain she had felt all these years. Only his touch was bearable.

As Wynter filled out, she took to hitching rides in cars with older men. It was performative—the rolled-down windows, the smokey, sweat-stained seats, her lips strawberry-sucked and forearms pressed against the frame, exchanging bold grins as their gaze lingered along the contours of her body. Assessing, calculating, the risk versus reward. On the weekends after church, she taxidermied fallen prey with her uncle, skinning and tanning, disassembling and putting them back together again. They worked quietly, and her skin bristled with life every time he came into contact, guiding her. But it was as close as they could ever be.

That terrible, sweltering summer, just crossing into alligator season, she got into the wrong car. And everything spiralled from there. Her would-be killer ended up as her victim; he didn’t expect her to fight back. Neither did he expect Lucien to lurk behind, in Wynter’s shadow, just as he had done since the day she was born. They strung the man up to a tree, his kneecaps blown off as he struggled and pleaded for his life. She noticed piss trailing down his pants as she pulled down hard on his legs. He gurgled. And it pleased her.

Lucien didn’t bat an eyelid when in a fury, Wynter hacked the man to pieces long after he was dead. He waited patiently until she had expended the last of her energy before covering up the mess into a ground-dug hole. Then, he asked if she wanted to go home.

She rubbed her eyes furiously until they were red and sore, a plum-bruised patch over the right. She rubbed them some more, wincing, and choking back mimicked sobs, but they remained dry.

“What is it, doll?” he urged. “Tell me, what is it you want?”

There was a sharp ache in her core, a guttural, strained sound she emitted, as if she had lost all concept of speech. She tugged at his arm, bloodied prints branding the rolled-up sleeve of his white collared shirt. His navy blue blazer had been tossed carelessly to the side. For a moment, he pursed his lips and hesitated, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. How could one escape generations of bad blood—was what they felt bad?—and the ghosts of their past? It had been destined before they existed, and no matter how much they tried to prevent turning into a replica of those that came before them, they were playing a losing game as their ancestors’ pawns.

When he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her in, she sighed into his chest, aware of the bob of his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed thickly in response. “I know, I know,” he whispered, threading his fingers through the waves of her ash black hair.

“Do you?”

Their eyes met. Almond-shaped. Two sides of the same coin. A flicker of recognition. 

He was sick. She was sick. They had poisoned their own well and drank from it freely. How could he ever say no to her? If they were damned, then so be it.

He knelt beside her, just as he knelt by his bedside every night, hands clasped fervently in prayer, begging the Lord to show him the way. A wooden cross hanging precariously by a nail above the headboard, threatening to smite him down. He placed his cheek against her womb, his sublime angel of death. Then he peeled off her denim shorts and she suckled the warm blood from his lips like a primordial offering.

Wrists pinned and panting, Wynter took in the dazzling blue sky. If there was a God, why would he make Lucien in her likeness? She arched her back, he shivered, and she bit back a moan.

At the end, he removed a bejeweled ring from his finger and slipped it onto hers. “You will always be a Della Passaglia.” She dreamed of midnight drives in the cool air, her head in Lucien’s lap, jazz blues on the radio as he whistled along to the tunes. She dreamed of keeping her maiden name, his teeth marks on her wedding garter, and all the possibilities that they couldn’t be. And then, she grabbed her clothes and ran.

In the present, Wynter found herself staring face up at the woman who called herself Violetta. Mahogany set eyes boring right through her. Her cruel mouth sticky and sanguine. She knew that the world was unkind to little girls and she had never been more than one. When Violetta Embraced her, she died alone screaming in agony, crying out for Lucien. But he wasn’t there.

Dividers by @diableriedoll

[gypsybelladonna]

tag drop for wynter hale

[talentforlying]

“on a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about nachos right now?”

the sound he makes would get them kicked out of a church. maybe even a particularly uppity nando's. he is not immune to the wonders of melted cheese on salty crisps. ' oh, i could MURDER a plate. sod a ten, the scale is drive. ' is he the one paying? will he try to weasel it onto her tab instead? who can say.

@lxvingdeadgxrl / RANDOM DIALOGUE STARTERS ( always accepting )

[percentstardust]

“I know I’m not exactly Simon Cowell. But we should not let them sing karaoke anymore. It’s bad…” (addison and wynter)

friends on valentine's day prompts | accepting | @ofsweetness

Wynter was not really paying attention to the karaoke singers. In fact, she was too busy staring a little too much at Wyatt. He was off to the side with Willa and he had not noticed her staring yet. Unless, he has noticed it, but, he has not looked back to indicate he has. Her feelings for him at this point are getting out of hand and she wants to not feel what she feels for him anymore. Especially since she is afraid to tell him she like likes him.

Wynter hears Addison speak and she turns to look at her. She has no idea who Simon Cowell is. She will agree, however, the pair on the stage needs to get off of it.

"I can get up there and make them leave, if that's what you want." She has been craving a little violence recently.

[a-wynterwonderland]

Rodimus Robussy

bro im gonna eat him out like a man starved, oh my god. he would make the most adorable sounds. he deserves it. such a good boy

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

more lore and tidbits from the re-animated series now that i've seen episodes 12-16:

seabrook was founded in 1837

zed calls eliza, liza, sometimes

there's a kid's show called my tiny horseys and zed's favorite character is sir isaac sparklepants

eliza, as a kid, accidentally flooded zombietown after fiddling with her parents' washing machine

there is a trivia competition called quizbrook

there is also apparently another quiz show where the contestants get vaporized if they take too long to answer

other than shrimptok, there is also shrimpstagram and shrimpterest (their instagram and pinterest if it was unclear)

addison had/has a stuffed platypus named snuggles

zed posted videos of himself as a kid, mainly dancing videos

wynter has a great-grandmother named wolfelia

silver doesn't just hurt the wolves, it can also damage and drain the moonstone (the draining part might've been just because it was a magical ax but i'm still throwing it out there)

addison owns a label maker (and labeled it...as well as almost everything else she can get her hands on, it seems)

zed had braces when he was younger

ashley's heart is made out of stone due to an accident with a potion

coach was in a death metal band called spawn when he was in high school and was replaced with his mom who is still with them in the present

both dae and zed are good at trickshots

there is a werewolf condition(???) called the moonies which are caused by the smoky moon (symptoms include: itchiness, hunger, sleepiness, acting like a dog, violent rage, partial wolf transformations, chasing your own tail (which they don't have), the urge to sniff disgusting things, a strong desire for head-pats, ticks, and fondness for fire hydrants and "bad to the bones" (whatever that means))

^non-werewolves can also have it if they use wolfsbane on themselves and touch a moonstone under the smoky moon but it's not permanent

there is a disease called spacefluenza that renders aliens bedridden and turns their skin purple (and little alien goo things are born from the some of the sneezes but they die almost instantly)

witch potions can expire (they still seem to work in a way so i don't really know what that entails)

zed and addison call each other babe

the aliens' electro-kinesis can apparently bring things to life

there is a hall-way of fame that cheerleaders can tryout to be a part of and bucky has the most pictures in it

part 1 part 3

[spacepiratericky]

*Hands here a pack of Huff N' Puffs.*

"Hmm... Never heard of this brand before. 'Course I don't really smoke anymore; gave it up entirely when I had my kid."

She considers it a moment. "Still..." She opens the pack, taking a cigarette and offering him one. "A social one now and again at this point in my life isn't gonna harm anyone."

[incorrectgallifreyquotes]

Wynter: Slam this door on my hand. Leela: Okay. Leela: *goes to slam the door* Wynter: What are you doing? You’re supposed to tell me breaking my fingers isn’t the answer? Leela: No, I honestly think this is the best option.

[lavishbylaw]

@wynterlanding said:

"I know I said we'd do dinner but I sort of lied about that being it." Landon smiled, offering her a light pink envelope. A pair of plane tickets for them to get out of the city were inside. A proper vacation away straight to the Bahamas. "Happy birthday, Genny B."

A look of curiosity affixed to Genevieve's face as she was offered the pastel-colored envelope. But as she took the envelope in her hands, she glanced up to Landon with a warm smile. Now, this isn't exactly what she expected. Maybe it's some sort of voucher for a service or product? Even if it were only just some sweet words, she'd be thankful for it.

"Oh my - what are you up to, Boo Barry?" She inquired of him as she thumbed the fold of the envelope to being to open it. Once the seal of the paper was broken, she retrieved what had been enclosed inside of it. "Let's see..."

Briefly scanning over the printed information on -- what seemed to be -- plane tickets, Genevieve's eyebrows hitched upwards as she looked back up to Landon. "Wait - Are these real? ...You're taking me to the Bahamas? Oh, my god -- And I know these were expensive, too!"