#Lost and Foundations

[zombunnys]

i havent drawn this little lady in forever

not my finalized design for her by any means, i would've liked to push it to be more inhuman and weird

[cubbihue]

I'm curious,

If an Fairy changes court, like Upper(Fairy) to Circuit(Pixie), what happens to the Lower court(Anti-fairy) counterpart?

Do they just cease to exist? Will they come back if the change is reversed? Will they have any idea of what happened?

In addition to that, does the Leisure court(specialty fairies) have a Lower court counterpart, or is it just the Upper court that has that?

And if it's only the upper court that has that, why only them?

Besides Timmy, Pixies and Leisure fairies actually can't change courts! They're stuck the way they're born because they technically lack a living counterpart!

Leisure Fairies are bound to their specialty, while Pixies are bound to their work. But Uppers and Lowers are bound to each other, which is why they can swap places. If a fairy's counterpart dies or disappears, so does the original and vis-versa.

The only exception to this rule is if the "Binding" of the fairies are changed before the counterpart dies.

Additional fun fact! There's technically 4 Fairy "realms". They're stacked on top of each other, and it's progressively harder to get to each one the higher they are (Only Leisure Fairies can access ""Olympus"", for example). They have official names but nobody bothers to use them.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[klickbot]

The robot squinted and moved back slightly as a finger got near his camera aperture.

"Not like them..." he repeated in a quizzical tone, debating internally if Tanjiro were lieing or simply didn't know better. Whatever conclusion he came to, the bot decided it not worth dwelling on. The solar allergy was a new one to him though, for a demon anyway. "Well, if you should ever tire of that box, you might try the market near the docks. There are a number of sellers there who specialize in magical items that- oh... Hello?" the bot paused suddenly as if interrupted by an unseen person only he could hear. "Yes? Well no I hadn't gone outside, I've been busy talking with guests like you asked m- Statues? So? What about them? Ah... hah. What do you mean? I thought you wanted me to take the rest of the evening off to- No, no I didn't say it wasn't important just that I- ah. Well. Yes sir. Right away." The bot paused and then sighed, looking a bit more tired and stressed than he had a moment ago. While the bot was speaking to someone unseen, Tanjiro may have noticed a few familiar smells that might be of interest. The first, a smell similar to a demon from his world- but also the smell of... the ocean? That one was quite close, perhaps thirty feet away at most, near the lobby lounge. The second also a demonic-like scent but... some sort of knight's metallic armor and... tea? This one was much further, past the lobby fountain. Then a third distinct smell was someone, or something near the elevators. It was reminiscent of the flowers in which he found himself surrounded when he first realized he was in this world. Perhaps that person had been in that location too, and might know something about how he got there? "I do apologize, but it appears there has been- ah... that I must get back to work. Best of luck to you retracing your steps, and if you are ever truly lost, you could always try the Ferrymaster to take you back home. That is the main mode of transportation to and from the island, you know. Though I really must be going. I hope you enjoy your stay!" he told the two of him in his best customer service voice, trying to hide a number of things at this point as he flew toward one of the resort's exits. @slayingblades

Being reassured by her brother, Nezuko looked around once more. Then to this flying robot. And then back to Tanjiro. As her cautiousness waned down a bit, she stood up. Since she's not exposed to the sun, it should be fine for her to wander a bit in this hotel, right?

Anyway, her form began to shift, turning into a young teen that made her look only a couple years younger than her brother. She was about to poke Klick's eye, only for the older sibling to hold her to refrain from such an attempt.

"She's Nezuko, my sister. She was turned into a demon but she's not like them." He shortly explained, hoping this robot doesn't see Nezuko as a threat. "Since she can't be exposed to the sun, I had to keep her hiding in this box."

"Mm-mm~" his sister nodded in response, unable to speak due to that bamboo nuzzle on her mouth. While it can be taken off, they were advised not to. Perhaps it's what's keeping her from consuming any human blood.

[johnskleats]

Azula would have lost the Final Agni Kai no matter what. Here's why:

Azula is insecure. That's why she takes cheap shots. She did it with Katara, and she did it with Aang in CoD, AND she did it with Iroh striking him with lightning. One could even argue that her behavior in CoD foreshadows some of what happens in the Agni Kai, where in CoD, Katara fights Azula, and Zuko saves her, whereas in the Final Agni Kai, Zuko fights Azula and saves Katara. It's a little mismatch of dynamics.

Azula cheating (constantly), is a staple of dishonorable behavior, which I think is interesting.

We see her "play with her food" like a cat, with the Dai Lee and other opponents she encounters. She tricks them and manipulates them and there's no threat. Killing Aang with lightning was SUPREMELY stupid on her part, and she wouldn't have done it unless she was cornered. She didn't even stick around to make sure he was dead or have any of them followed-- because she was scared. Zuko NEVER flees in fights out of fear. He doubles down like a lunatic and tries to get himself killed instead. Azula is not willing to risk her life, and that's why she's a worse fighter. The insecurity gets to her head and she psychs herself out

Azula has a lot of fire power (lol), but Zuko has the heart and commitment to see actions through to the end. That's why he would have won, had Azula not cheated.

By the end, they were evenly matched in firepower anyway. They did the Raging Line of Flames Competing Colors thing and met in the middle, and stayed there. That's how animation tells us about their ability.

Azula's seat of power in her firebending is spite and fear. She's not even mad, bro.

Zuko's seat of power, at the end, is light and life and love. One is a powder keg that runs out after you blow it up once, and the other is like an oil fire in a parking lot. There's essentially infinite fuel there.

Zuko would have certainly outlasted her. And did, if you think about it. Because she panicked.

Azula's entire persona is a mask, just as Zuko's bravado and pettiness in the first season was a mask. (Funny, that he can only be himself when he's hidden the scar with the blue spirit mask, therefore freeing himself of the shame and the mark that brands him as a villain)

They show us that Azula's mask is not only slipping, but cracking, crumbling in the mirror scene. That's why it's there: to show the audience that all of her running has finally caught up with her.

This world that Azula created has been a sham from the beginning. Castles in the sky to make up for what she lacks: love.

Which is why she would never win against Zuko if they both reached their full potential, as they did during the comet.

[aroaceleovaldez]

The himbo, malewife, goofball -fication of percy jackson is such a crime by both the fans and riordan. It has made Mr not like percabeth as a couple because in all posts and in later books annabeth is such a girlboss, while Percy's dumb and can't fight his way out of a paperbag without her. All the posts are about how annabeth will be an architect and percy would love to be a trophy husband.

Even the humor in the books went from Percy's sharp wit and snark to 'my pancakes can't drown because I'm a son of poseidon.'

And now this recommendation letter bullshit.

Honestly now I'd wish percy just separated from annabeth (but they remain best friends.) He stays home with his family, becomes a camp counselor, helps young demigods, holds God's accountable and eventually becomes a social activist. (I also dislike him doing something marine biology related. It's clear he hates academics but he always wants to help people. Him helping demigods and mortals is such a wholesome profession for him.)

I fully agree with the first half of this, though I slightly disagree with part of the latter.

The later-series and fanon mischaracterization of Percy is at least a solid 50% ableism minimum, full stop. He's being warped into a very stereotyped ADHD character and the exact reason why he's being characterized as "dumb" is because of ableism. Percy is a very intelligent character! That's exactly why he's so in sync with Annabeth and they're such a strong duo! It's just generally Annabeth is more book/academically smart.

I disagree with where you say he hates academics - because that's one of the common misconceptions about his character. Percy doesn't hate learning or academic subjects! He's not even bad at them! We know explicitly that when he is in an accommodating environment he is interested in learning and gets significantly better grades! Percy only dislikes school because it is generally an environment that systematically he struggles with. It's literally just he has a learning disability (two, actually)! That's it! When his learning disability is accommodated for he does well! It's almost like that's what accommodations are all about! We know this from the first series! It's discussed pretty in-depth! Percy isn't a dumb character and he doesn't hate learning, he's just been let down by school systems so much that he's inherently distrustful of them. If they actually accommodate him though then he does just fine!

And that's exactly what CHB was all about and why New Rome University was supposed to be such a big thing for him! CHB is a learning environment geared for demigods. NRU is a demigod college. Both inherently imply an environment meant to cater to and accommodate students with ADHD and dyslexia! They are both systematically structured to be able to accommodate him! Heck, CHB and CJ even both address in the wider themes of the series a metaphor about how ADHD and dyslexia are commonly seen as childhood disabilities, and how it can be more difficult to find accommodations into adulthood because of that attitude but those disabilities don't just go away - that's why CHB is a summer camp but they talk about how demigods outside of CHB don't often fare well. The metaphor there is those who are not getting help or accommodations are struggling. Because that's how that works! This is a fully intentional metaphor from the first series! CHB is never framed as being perfect for demigods, because one of the entire central conflicts of the series is Percy and Luke going back and forth about this flawed system meant to help and support them but still letting people fall through the cracks. The "claim your kids by 13" thing is a metaphor about how acknowledging a child's disabilities (and possibly getting a diagnosis) earlier/as early as possible means they will have more time to learn and build up resources and support for themselves to be able to use later in life. One of CHB's major flaws is that it can accommodate demigods to a certain point, but it can only do so much before those demigods have to leave (the metaphor being accommodating school systems when those disabled students do not have any other forms of accommodations in their lives.)

And that's why Camp Jupiter was framed as being so revolutionary for Percy because it had an environment acknowledging that this is not just a childhood disability, adults with ADHD/dyslexia exist too and still need and deserve accommodations, AND is a place where those accommodations are available. That's why Camp Jupiter and NRU are treated as such special and important things to Percy, because it's essentially Percy being shown this type of thing can and does exist and it is available to him. It is an option he never thought was possible. Percy never thought he'd be able to go to college because he would not be able to go through school without accommodations, but NRU proves otherwise.

The part that's absolutely stupid is Rick then proceeded to retcon NRU so that apparently it's not a full college and Percy still has to take classes at normal mortal college which DEFEATS THE ENTIRE PURPOSE OF NRU EXISTING. Rick has fully retconned that demigods struggle past the ages of 16-18 when they're on their own (see above elaborated metaphors) and in doing so we have fully killed all symbolism in literally all of that. It's so stupid. And by having the plot of the CoTG trilogy entirely be that Percy is not actually allowed access to NRU in the first place because he is a son of Poseidon and has to do extra to even be accepted is stupid!

All that to say, I agree the marine biology feels like a huge cop-out and a disservice to his character by reducing him to just a son of Poseidon. The literal only reason why it's the default option people take for him is because oh, fish thing, fish guy. But I feel like everyone ignores the really obvious answer for what Percy would want to do which is - writing. Both his parents are writers/authors and he clearly admires that about them. Percy likes telling stories! He canonically is already a published author in-universe! That's what the books ARE in-universe! The first series fully exists in their universe and Percy is the author! This is explicit canonical information! Percy canonically has help physically writing it down (accommodations) but he is still the credited author! Percy is a writer! Already! Canonically! Why are we making him a marine biologist he already has a profession that ties into his character significantly more. Like you said, Percy likes helping people. That's what the books in-universe are supposed to be for! It's point blank at the beginning of the series! Book one! The thing everybody quotes all the time! The books exist because it is Percy trying to give advice to other demigods who don't know what's going on yet! It's Percy's writing down his experiences to help new demigods understand and contextualize their experiences so they can understand themselves better and figure out what's going on - WHICH IN ITSELF IS ALSO A METAPHOR ABOUT ADHD/DYSLEXIA! Because the core of the series has and always will be built around ADHD/dyslexia! Percy as a protagonist EXPLICITLY was created so that ADHD/dyslexic kids could see themselves as a hero!

Sorry that all was a very tangential rant but my point being: Absolutely. Percy in newer stuff in the franchise and in fanon is horrifically mischaracterized in ways that are functionally either fully ableist (shoutout TSATS for just outright claiming Percy is intentionally lazy and skips school out of disinterest, which is like the number one ableist attitude towards kids with learning disabilities) or a complete erasure of Percy's disabilities. Also I think he should be a writing major not a marine biologist.

[kisslovegoodbye]

David Keith Lynch (January 20, 1946 – January 15, 2025)

David Lynch ploughed a highly idiosyncratic furrow in American cinema: from his beginnings as an art student making experimental short films, to the cult success of his surreal first feature Eraserhead, and on to a string of award-winning films including Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart andMulholland Drive, as well as the landmark TV show Twin Peaks. He received three best director Oscar nominations (for Blue Velvet, The Elephant Man and Mulholland Drive), and was given an honorary lifetime achievement Oscar in 2019.

Mr Lynch also avidly practiced transcendental meditation, setting up the David Lynch Foundation for Consciousness-Based Education and World Peace in 2005

He won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes film festival for Wild at Heart in 1990.

Rest in Power !

Sandro Miller, "David Lynch and his Doppelgänger, October, 2016, Hollywood Hills, California" 

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

[brainrotisseriechicken]

(unfinished) a bunch of clef hands

(i think ben takes photos of altos hands when hes distracted)

[bitedownme]

What it feels like to kiss the Scarlet King since he doesn’t have lips 🤔

: His face is mostly hard and smooth like chitin, I can compare it to kissing a skull. :

[mcytegg]

drastics.

[that-dharma-swan]

Most Requested Powderpoint

[placingglaciers]

Is Nick supposed to "redeem" himself by saving June (and maybe the other handmaids) from hanging? Any ideas?

I'm actually really irritated he has to redeem himself at all, tbh. Like, why are we doing this now? What did he do that was so "unforgivable"? Was he supposed to let himself get killed??? And how helpful would that be for June and this flimsy Mayday group? Wharton was gonna find out the plan no matter what, and lying to him would get Nick in even more trouble than ever. Nick didn't know the women were gonna get killed, and besides, Mayday was alright with them dying in the first place. So we're blaming Nick for all of this? Nick was supposed to die for a futile plan set up by Luke, of all people? Come on.

ANYWAY

If redeeming Nick is gonna make everyone happy and win everybody over, then fine, let's do it. Nick fans already know who he is and what he is capable of doing, so whatever plot that suddenly gets him in good graces better not be boring lol. I want the blood, sweat, tears, yearning, passion, the whole shebang. Let's see Nick at his full potential. LET'S GOOOOOO

So, how can we wrap this up and redeem Nick? Bear with me, I have an overactive imagination, and most of my theories never come true:

If Nick suddenly becomes superhuman and saves all the handmaids on his own, then yeah, this could work. I'm just trying to think of ways that he can get everyone out of the nooses in time lol. Faulty ropes? He ends up killing all the Guardians right before the handmaids are hanged? A distraction in the distance? His own secret group of Eyes coming in to save the day? A call back to the season two gallows, and suddenly all the handmaids are pregnant and therefore can't be subjected to violence?? lollll And what is he supposed to do with all these handmaids once he saves them?

Maybe it's as simple as getting Janine and Charlotte out of Gilead. After all, Janine was the main reason June went to Jezebel's anyway. In fact, she foolishly wanted Janine to leave with them that night. Nick even made sure she was spared from the massacre. We have gotten a lot of footage of Charlotte and Janine's wish to be her mom, not to mention Lawrence has a soft spot for them, so this could be a way for Nick to "make it up" to June. Besides, I'm sure Nick has some beef with Commander Bell after telling Wharton he was seen at Jezebel's and thus ruining everything. But it would be cool to see Janine kill Bell.

Perhaps he actually doesn't do anything to be redeemed?? Maybe he gets turned in to the Eyes for all his past rebel activity and involvement with June. June gets word, finally sees the fault of her ways, how much she can't lose Nick, understands why Nick did what he had to do, and saves him instead. I'd like to see June put herself on the line for him, to fight for their love as much as Nick has done in the past. I know this might seem like a stretch and would involve putting more faith in June than she deserves, but it could happen.

The "you're just like them" line from June could have reminded Nick what kind of position he's in. Being a Commander was not something that he rightfully earned, nor what he wanted. It was punishment. We have seen him struggle with this rise to power for half the series already. Perhaps if he were just "some driver," the whole Jezebel's situation probably would not have escalated the way that it did. In the flashback with June at his apartment, he was insecure about being a "nobody." But it seems that being "nothing" and "nobody" could give him the keys to being a better rebel asset. I know this seems ironic, but I feel like Nick has come across more roadblocks while being a powerful Commander than a Guardian/driver, especially now that Wharton and Serena are basically gonna be "King and Queen" of Gilead. No thanks! He might either ask to be demoted or somehow given the option to be demoted, thus giving him more freedom to help the resistance. I'm not sure how this could play out, but it would be interesting to see at least. We know he most likely isn't a Commander by the time The Testaments comes into play, so he might already be on this road. Which, BY THE WAY, he's deep underground with rebel activity in the sequel. So, yes, he will be "redeemed," just a matter of how, I guess. We have three episodes for them to fix this giant mess that they created. Ugh.

[brightshaw-shipper]

Dr. Bright, suddenly and frustratedly: Aw, I lost The Game.

Dr. Shaw, confused: What's The Game?

Researcher Talloran, irate: Damn it, Bright! I had a two-million-year streak going! I lost The Game!

Dr. Iceberg: *groans in frustration* I lost The Game.

Dr. Shaw: What's The Game, guys?

Dr. Clef: Jack! Why? I lost The Game.

Dr. Kondraki, walking into the room: Aw, Alto, why'd you have to do that? I lost The Game.

Dr. Clef: Don't blame me, blame Jack! He started it!

Dr. Shaw: Guys, what's The Game?!

Dr. Bright: You don't want to know.

[schneiderenjoyer]

Today's the day Sonetto got her glass calligraphy penwand! Ironically, it's made in Venice, Italy.

[reuxben]

Here’s our MTGinktober for “Road," starring Azusa, Lost but Seeking; Sakura-Tribe Elder; and Captivating Crossroads! They've been at this for so long they forgot who's asking who for directions.

Click this post’s Source link for this piece’s Making-Of.

More MTGinktober here.

Daily art updates on Instagram, Twitter, and Bluesky.

Reuxben