#occasionally because of rouge? yeah maybe

[indigonite]

Lunch Break

(original under the cut)

(source)

[sistertotheknowitall]

Masterpost

“But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m missing my spleen.”

“Oh cool, yeah, missing organs suck. I’m missing a kidney and part of my liver. Oh! And my gallbladder but that was more of a necessary evil, it was like, poisoning me or something.” Danny was so focused on applying pressure to his wound (and maybe being a bit too light headed) that he didn’t notice how silent his friend had gotten. Like-wise the comms had gone equally quiet as Gotham’s vigilante family realized that they knew very little about this kid.

It was concerning how quickly they all started to see him as a friend considering it was them as vigilantes he interacted with the most. Tim was the only one who saw him frequently when out of the suit because he was a regular at Danny’s day job. (He worked as a barista in the coffee shop Tim favored.) The others saw him occasionally but more often than not it was just in passing. Steph, Duke, and Dick had to stop themselves from approaching him on the street.

It was odd, one day he had just moved to Gotham, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and then the next he was a constant presence in their lives. Usually armed and ready with a concerning or odd quip, it had started with him being another victim of the city’s petty criminals and had snowballed from there.

Now it wasn’t like the bats saw Danny everyday, but it was expected that he would cross paths with at least three of them before the end of the week. They ran into him more often than any other Gothamite, including the criminals and rouges they fought.

At first the constant meetings by “coincidence” was suspicious. If he wasn’t the one being saved from a mugging, kidnapping, or city wide villain assault, then he was near by and trying to help.

(“Trying to help” usually meant drawing attention to himself so the original victim could escape. Once it had meant Danny armed with a baseball bat against four grown men. Bruce and Dick have tried to talk to him about putting himself in harms way but the kid is surprisingly elusive when he wants to be. Yet, even when avoiding Batman and his eldest, Danny could be found on the patrol route of another family member.)

But honestly? The guy seemed just as exhausted as they were of seeing each other. By the twelfth time in a month, Danny had accused them of stalking him.

The background check Bruce and Tim had run came back clean and he never seemed to be involved in the various criminal activities. He was just there, a weirdly unlucky bystander. So as far as Dick and the others could see, Danny was a completely normal dude. He just said strange things and wasn’t intimidated by them, he actually made it a point to be unhelpful sometimes. When trying to learn his name he gave them the run around for two months. (“I know about stranger danger. I don’t care how often you say you’re the ‘good guys.’ I’m not falling for it.”)

On one memorable occasion Danny had disappeared for a week and a half. When they started to assume the worse, he popped back up behind the counter at work. Tim had relaxed significantly when he entered the shop to Danny organizing pastries in the display case. Once he’d placed his order, the young CEO asked Danny if he’d been on vacation. To which Danny had just sighed and told Tim “I wish, but no I was called to court to handle some affairs I couldn’t get out of.” (After a check to see if Danny had gotten charged with something and coming back empty, Tim had concluded that it was an odd way to say he had had jury duty.)

Thinking about it now, outside a stray comment or two, Danny didn’t talk about himself or his life. They knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, “they were much more goal oriented than that joke of a kidnapper, but I think drugs do that to a person.” (It was still unclear if he meant his parents were kidnappers themselves or on drugs.) They knew he had an older sister who would “kill me again if she finds out I was in another bank robbery.” They also knew he was, possibly, depressed after last week’s comment of “is it considered murder if you’re already dead but, like, still alive?” (Damian had saved him from a drug ring but after another “baby ninja” comment the young Robin had threatened to give Danny back to his would-be murderers.)

Dick knew Danny was a weird guy who never wanted to elaborate on the things he said. (Jason was still confused on what he meant by “rotted milk soul.”) That didn’t mean the comments themselves didn’t say a lot about him. And tonight’s comment, accompanied by the prominent and jagged autopsy scars, said more than Danny was probably willing to share.

Part one

[glozzavid]

Imagine Wimp Choso Kano

W!!Choso who’s two years into being a legal adult and has had zero romantic interactions but somehow got a date with you, and has been trying to prepare the best date (having never been on one himself) for you because he’s still reeling over the fact you know he exists.

W!Choso who has spent the day of the date hyping himself up and mentally preparing himself only for his parents to unannounced and unexpectedly drop of his younger brother Yuji, before leaving no other information. Him having no other choice but to bring his elevan year old brother to his first date. Having to deal with Yuji constant teasing on the drive to the park Café, “So she’s real, right? We talked about how anime girls don’t count-”

W!Choso's eye twitched at Yuji's comment, feeling his irritation spike.

“Shut up, I told you that in confidence!!” he huffed, his face still flushed with embarrassment.

He hadn’t wanted to admit to his younger brother that he occasionally got emotional over fictional characters, but Yuji had caught him off guard at a vulnerable moment.

“And I don’t even do that anymore!” he added defensively, even though he absolutely still did.

“So you're actually going out with someone? I thought you were going to be a lonely forever!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with amazement and amusement.

Him having to deal with Yuji giving him ‘pointers’ and telling him he’d show him how to truly charm, “A lady who is in a higher bracket in every sense than you.”

When they make it to the Café they both spot you in a cute light blue sundress, soft smile on your lips as you sit at a table outside.

“That girl willing agreed to go on a date with you? Is this a blind date that’s actually blind?”

W!Choso fighting the urge to smack the kid behind the head and repeatedly telling him to behave. As they walk up, before he can explain Yuji presence, the pinkette walks up to you, pushing his brother aside, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles before saying:

“On shon tay, and what is the name of this fallen angel that has blessed me with her beauty?”

He says suave and smirked, giving you a gapped tooth grin.

W!Chose who’s regretting not just having cancelled the date, “Please, ignore him. I try to.”

but immediately relived when you wave it off with laughter, explaining you also have younger siblings and get it.

W!Choso presently surprised how well the date was going, despite Yuji trying to insert himself into the conversation with an (attempted) flirt, but yet you managed to acknowledged both Yuji and remain focus on him and the conversation.

W!Choso admiring the way the setting sun reflected on your skin, giving you an ethereal glow, and the way the sundress gracefully highlighted your figure. Suddenly wondering if most people kiss at the end of the date, or if he’s thinking five dates ahead… what were the societal norms in dates?? Then his gaze following to your lips, seeing as they always were curved into a pleasing grin. Wondering if the gloss you wore had a flavor to it, and what it would taste like on his own…

W!Choso who’s carrying a tired Yuji in his arms back to his car at the end of the date, you happily accompanying them, to say farewell.

“Thanks, again, for being so… understanding about Yuji. I know it was last minute.”

“Don’t worry about it, it was fun.” You say leaning against the door of your car, “Maybe next time I can bring my sister, and have a playdate-date.” You say teasing.

But W!Choso only picked up on the words ‘next time’, meaning that you actually wanted to see him again after this and he didn’t completely mess up the date, and feeling his face heat up with a rouge tint over his cheeks. Suddenly remembering he had to speak, he mutters, “Oh, uhm yeah, I’d love that.”

He’s very much in love, and goes home picturing the color scheme for the tables for your guys’s wedding.

[dear-ao3]

Bucket!

you did encourage the camera angles, soooo

this is more opinion but there are some facts in here if you count the mild history of cameras in F1 as facts.

F1’s main problem with cameras (imo) is that they really want to “keep people in the action” which they’ve done by keeping cars in the direct center of your screen all the times, and putting cameras at sections with wider angles of view. This is nice, because the sort of limited camera angles from before made it occasionally difficult to keep track of race action.

HOWEVER

They sort of swapped to this wide, central shot style, instead of implementing it. One thing F1 did really well was letting you feel and understand the power of these cars, even through a TV screen. The camera whipped around to follow Raikkonen absolutely sending his car through Eau Rouge (absolute madlad btw) or the Schumacher brothers chasing each other through that wide right hander in Silverstone. The cars felt fast, they felt close, and a lot of that was due to the very stationary cameras relatively close to the track, and the fact that the operators didn’t seem to feel the need to adjust the zoom angle every microsecond to keep the car perfectly centered on your TVs screen. Like sure, I couldn’t see all the pretty sponsor logos, or maybe I didn’t always catch the honestly fascinating front or rear wings of the 2000s (next up on the fact list?), but that was part of the magic. The cars were screaming past so quickly you could hardly keep them in frame at all.

This started going away in the 2010s. By 2020 it was nearly gone completely, and watching races just felt sort of stagnant: no matter how fast I knew Hamilton and Vettel were throwing themselves through every corner, they always seemed to be moving at the same speed.

But things are starting to change.

New cams like the ones on front wings, on/inside driver helmets, and the saving grace of the mid-season camera development upgrades (lol), the gyro cam. These are SO COOL, and the gyro cam in particular feels FAST, I think because the mildly warped field of view makes the motion blur heavier while still keeping that crisp video quality we’ve come to expect from modern cameras, combined with the defining feature of it rolling with the horizon as the car experienced angle changes itself.

Also just angles in general, like the ones at the Monaco pool chicane and tunnel, and some of the ones at Singapore this year, they just bring back that close-to-the-track action.

Interestingly, if you go back and watch recordings from the 1970s and 80s, you’ll notice they actually had some of these. The onboard cameras back then were genuinely exciting, and I watch them all the time. I’d recommend that any F1 fan do that, even if just to see the evolution of driving styles and cars. 

I think F1 is finally listening to fans saying they liked the more stationary cameras, the wild onboards, stuff like that. You can feel the speed of the cars like back in the 2000’s and early 2010’s.

mildly considering starting a bucket blog ngl but also the anon-bucket-question is fun what do you think

BUCKET!!!!

this is really cool. i had not thought about the camera angles before but now that you mention it....yeah youre fucking RIGHT!!!! and yes the gyro camera was fucking cool i loved it it was wonderful and insane.

alternatively i like sometimes when the camera angle shows one of the cameras on the edge of the screen WHIPPING around to capture the car (tho a shame that we dont get that angle).

10/10 as usual. i patiently await more facts :)

[lowpolyshadow]

i transcribed the sonadow bumblekast episode so you don't have to

hopefully the formatting isn't really weird lol

Kyle: So this time, for Pride Month, we get to address the hypothetical fandom ship that's probably helped more than a few Sonic fans figure out their sexuality: Sonadow! A lot of straight fans probably had Rouge or Sally be their awakening, so don't throw stones. 

Ian: True, true. 

Kyle: Shadow is not quite in a place where it's easy to imagine him having a healthy romantic relationship. But it is honestly a bit problematic to have one character shift until they're suitable for another, unless it's a mutual situation. How would you execute the character growth for Shadow and Sonic that would most help enable Sonadow? 

Ian: There would have to be an understood vulnerability to Shadow, he would have to open up to a degree that makes him more accessible at a personal level, and it doesn't take much? We've seen hints of it throughout his appearances, it would just need to become established, and that I think is all you really need to build that bridge because Sonic is casual and accepting enough as he is, and he's going to allow Shadow to be who he is which is kind of prickly and standoffish as you would have that occasional moment where Shadow lets his guard down and is more empathetic or emotionally available. But otherwise they would both play it fairly cool and aloof I think (lol). 

Kyle: Yeah, they're together. What of it? So? Big deal. I like it.  There are obviously a lot of different popular ships in Sonic. In order to make one really stand out, you'd probably need to really spark intrigue on it before pushing the two characters together. How would you arrange the first key romantic spark that was intended to drive the fans towards wanting them together? 

Ian: I think it stems more from the characters already having good chemistry. I mean you look at the fandom in general and the fleet of ships that are sailing and all of them are based off of the fact that these characters are fun in their interactions regardless of who we're talking about. So if it were an intention of building something from scratch, for most of the Sonic cast, I think the work's already been done and there's already a great deal of trust and mutual respect between most of the characters. It would just be a matter of realizing that there is more than respect, there's more than kinship, there's a romantic affinity, and for one of those characters to make that realization and start to pursue it in their own particular way.  And then it becomes a question of well, is the object of their affection going to reciprocate? And if they don't, which leads to an interesting story of, now that they are on this path, yeah, they know that this is an option, do they come around to it? Or do they not? Are both characters kind of interested but they don't want to take that first step and so you have that carrot on a stick that is ever so effective for however long you want to run it? 

(laughing) 

Kyle: There's nothing that gets, uh, Sonic's motor running more than being called a faker. Apparently. 

(more laughing) 

Ian: Oh, he'll show you how real he is. 

Kyle: Oh, no! This is a family show, sir!

(even more laughing) 

With that idea fresh in our minds, how would you make it official for the two of them? 

Ian: God, if that ever came to pass. (lol) 

Kyle: I feel like it would have to be kind of like, understated? Like it would just kind of happen? 

Ian: Yeah, I've, they're both so cool and aloof in their own way, I don't see them making any kind of dramatic declaration or ... suddenly turning all mushy and lovey-dovey, it's not who they are. Um ... I, you know, the adventure concludes and they're standing side by side on the hillside looking at the sunset and the wreckage ... and they share, you know, a compliment, and instead of like a fist bump or a "see you next time" and, y'know, one of them runs off ... maybe they throw arms around each other or something and just kind of stand there. Again, they're not gonna be all "mweh mehmehmeh" ... tonsil action, it's, I see them being very chill about it all. 

(lol) 

Kyle: Also, keep in mind everyone, this is all just ... 'fan ideas', this is probably never gonna happen, it's very unlikely, we're just having fun here. 

Ian: It's hypothetical situations that I am approaching as reasonably and as authentically as I can. 

Kyle: Yes, yes, just to keep that in mind, just keeping everybody on the same page here. 

Ian: I am not endorsing, I am not unendorsing, 

I am just answering questions. Everybody simmer. 

Kyle: Let's assume that for whatever reason Shadow decided to seek out advice from the following, and whoever he asked has to answer with an honest attempt at the best advice they could offer. How would Professor Gerald, Dr. Eggman, the Commander, and Black Doom advise him? 

Ian: Gerald would be the most wholesome and effective, I think. I think he understands people better than ... certainly a lot of his family. Uh, and would advise Shadow to look inward to ask himself what he really wants, and to ruminate on that and then act with caution, you know, don't be hasty on this particular thing. Like all great research, it takes time to get the results that, you know, you want, or the results that will come to be - don't take anything as a given, but don't be afraid to pursue the truth, whatever that may be.  Eggman would scoff at the notion and, you know, sarcastically offer to set him up on a date, making it quite clear that it would all be a trap and an ambush and whatever. The Commander ... I don't see as being a very romantic individual, but I think he might be direct about that, right. He would say that his partner was someone he managed to find for himself, but that was largely thanks to her, and her efforts, because he was kind of clueless about this, but Shadow is also kind of in the same boat so you know, maybe ... at least be aware of your surroundings? If someone is prepared to make that gesture, be ... ready to receive it and understand it for what it is. How do you do that? He's not quite sure how he figured it out himself but you know, he's not good at this sort of thing.  And Black Doom would again, scoff. Love is a weakness, it is a distraction at best, a malady at worst, it is ... an affliction of the mind. An illusion created by inferior beings to facilitate necessary natural processes. You do not need love, you do not need anyone, you are my Ultimate Weapon now go get me them Chaos Emeralds. 

Kyle: (laughing) Those damn fourth Chaos Emeralds! They're all fourth!

Ian: (mimicking Black Doom) Honestly, Shadow, what's love got to do, got to do with it. What's love but a second hand emotion. 

Kyle: (laughing) Well, we all know Shadow can't resist a dying wish. Let's say in the aftermath of a terrifying evil scheme, Eggman once more had to team up with the heroes to save the world, but he died in the process, leaving Sage and her brothers in the care of his uncle and uncle-in-law. Assuming that if money were real, GUN would pay the kind of money that would keep a classy act like Rouge on staff so the boys don't need to change their heroics too much, how would they do as parents to Sage, Orbot, Cubot, and after a while if she so chose, potentially Belle? 

(THIS IS METAL ERASURE >:( whatever he doesn't wanna be part of this family anyways)

Ian: I'm a little lost in the wording on who is acting as surrogate parents here.

Kyle: I think it might supposed to be Sonic and Shadow ... but Rouge is also there? I think? 

Ian: Well I mean someone would have to look after the kids because it ain't gonna be them. 

Kyle: (laughing) No, I guess not?!

Ian: I mean, Sonic would Sonic would kind of show up for birthdays and events and to check in but he's ... he's not the stay at home dad. He's not the stay in one place dad, he's the dad who gets his steps in, if you catch my meaning.

Kyle: Okay, no, it was more an example of they’re ... willing to pay Rouge ... so they would be willing to also pay them ... so ... but ... I guess Rouge would not be the caretaker. So ... they would have to be the caretakers ... I don't think it would go well! Luckily, I think they're self-sufficient ... for the most part ... (starting to lose it)

Ian: I mean I can't really see GUN letting them off ... interestingly, to anyone. They would be on facility. But it would be Sonic and Shadow weighing heavily saying they're not captives, they're not tech to be assimilated into the greater GUN network, they are wards of your facility, right? Right? Which again, Sonic would be checking in on occasion to make sure that it's going well. And maybe Shadow would kind of become a satellite agent of GUN, just keep tabs on everything, check in on the others to some degree ... but ... we wouldn't have a case of My Two Dads on this one, they're not the parental types.

Kyle: We probably shouldn't trust GUN with child care. Probably not. Even robot children.

Ian: And ... you don't even need them to be a pair to get the kind of ... bickering parental - conflicting parental guidelines in this scenario. Sonic would be very much, ehhh let them stay up, let him eat ice cream, let them do whatever they want, Shadow's like no, they need discipline, you're going to spoil them.

Kyle: Worst fathers ever.

Ian: Belle I ... I, again, I can't really see as a parental role but I could see her as the put upon babysitter. She tries her best to look after them and keep things under control but ... honestly ... they're Egg tech, they're not going to cooperate all that much.

Kyle: ... Yeah ... yeah I guess ... Belle would have to be the older sister and she'd probably end up being the one who does most of the work. Ugh.

Ian: Someone who tried to stop the caper of stealing the Commander's loafer or something. "I'm gonna get in trouble you guys! Stop!"

Kyle: Alright. Shadow is immortal, he will probably outlive Sonic. Unfortunately, given Sonic's lifestyle, that may not be that hard ... although given Shadow's first adventure, it could go either way. Sonic would probably understand that Shadow copes with things like this better when he has a sense of meaningful purpose to focus on. This seems like the type of thing Shadow would project onto his partner if it came to it, so what would each other ... so what if ... so what would each of their dying wishes to each other be?

Ian: Morbid. 

Kyle: (lol) 

Ian: You're going for the beautiful sadness type of thing I think. Uh, Sonic's would be ... what he wishes for everyone, is to be true to yourself and to live free. Perhaps that be true to yourself ringing a little more resoundly in Shadow's case, you know, don't close yourself off ... again. You know, be free to open up to someone else again down the road, and just be honest with yourself and be free to make that choice. 

Kyle: Open your heart, Shadow, it'll be alright.

(laughing)

Dammit! You would do that. 

Ian: Yeah, I absolutely would. 

(more laughing)

As for Shadow ... he would want Sonic to endure, you know, to just continue to carry on ... to not be defeated by anything. To find a way to escape death and just continue being, because, you know who else can replace him? Nobody. He would want that to endure forever.

Kyle: Yep. Good thing Sonic's got extra lives.

So Sonic and Shadow have gotten engaged, and they're trying to figure out how to approach their family name. Would Sonic take Shadow's last name, or Shadow take Sonic's, each keep their own, or each add the other's with a hyphen? Given Shadow's right to certain other last names, there could be a timeline with a Sonic Robotnik or (losing it) Sonic Doom.

Ian: No, they'd go with their current surnames, and as a sign of solidarity, they would just swap them so it would become Sonic the Hedgehog and Shadow the Hedgehog.

Kyle: Right, okay, okay ... good, good. Yeah, okay, it'll be fine, as long as Shadow doesn't take Maurice or something we'll be good.

(laughing)

Sonic and Shadow the Hedgehog. No relation.

Ian: We could hyphenate it! Sonic the Hedgehog-Hedgehog! (Shadow voice) Don't make me regret my decisions. 

Kyle: Too late, he already does. He already does.  Sonic has a great found family, and presumably in order to get Shadow to a point where he could date Sonic we'd be dealing with a much more Team Dark take on Shadow, who also has that. How would they both adapt to regularly hanging out with each other's found family? 

Ian: Uhhh ... The Sonic side of things is always very opening and it's ... open and accepting. And that's ... hilarious ... to the Team Dark side of things, because you can take such advantage of that. I think there would be attempts made on Team Sonic's side to incorporate everyone into the big happy family and eventually it would come to the understanding that, you know, there's appreciation ... there's respect, but there also needs to be distance. It's okay that they only get together for like, the holidays, and then they all keep to themselves. Nothing against anybody it's just, you know, oil and water don't necessarily mix all the time. And the time Rouge stole the Christmas presents ... Knuckles’s still a little salty about that one. 

Kyle: Aw. Poor Knuckles.  I play a lot of DnD with my boyfriend, he's big into it and happy to have another person for his DnD groups. Meanwhile I always enjoyed the little bit I got to play, but didn't get the opportunity as much in the past. It is unfortunately, for him, very much a ... forever DM for the group he has assembled. With this new little family we've assembled around the Sonadow pairing, who would be their forever DM? Omega is a war forged Barbarian, right? I mean yes. I mean ... you mean in the game? I mean he could be whatever he wants in the game, but in real life, yes.

Ian: I think you could make a case he's war forged Barbarian in every connotation of the word. 

Kyle: Pretty much! 

Ian: Uh ... I can't remember how we ... because I feel like this ties into just general DnD, we've been asked this before ... I would think Tails would be the DM. 

Kyle: Yeah ... yeah, Tails is the one who has the most, uh ... patience, I think, to really learn stuff. Amy maybe. 

Ian: Maybe ... I mean, he would like to construct the campaigns, he would be the better rules lawyer between the two of them. Um, I think he might be a little more of a stickler than Amy, I think Amy would allow for a little more rule of cool, but I don't think Tails would be obnoxious about it, you know. If you roll a one and things have gone very badly, he'd be trying to help you figure out a way around it. It's like, you know, okay, this is a bad situation! What do you see around you that could stop you from being on fire? Or, Amy! Don't you remember you have this particular Scroll of Healing or whatever? I - I haven't played DnD I don't know.

Kyle: I mean, yeah, that exists, it's fine, you got it. 

Ian: He wouldn't be a "rocks fall, everyone dies" DM, but he would be someone who's like, no, you can't fudge the numbers, you miss. "How do you mean I miss, I'm right in his face!" You rolled a two, what can I tell you! 

Kyle: He might think about "rocks fall, everyone dies" for a second, though, once again fed up - 

Ian Every turn, Omega's like "I KILL EVERYONE IN THE ROOM." Even the party? "YES." No, you can't do that! "IT IS IN CHARACTER." I don't care!!!!

(laughing) 

Kyle: Oh man, yeah, I mean, I don't know how long it would take for him to get fed up with Monty Python references but ... (lol) Probably not very long. Uh, and it turns out Monty Python is an actual python comedian in their world, and ... (losing it again) I'm here for it. That'd be cool. Time for the coveted Digimon question! I don't know who's coveting the Digimon questions, but alright, I guess Twilord is. In Digimon, there's a concept of DNA digivolution, where two digimon can fuse together. Sometimes this phenomenon creates a mental link between the Tamers and lets them glimpse each other's thoughts and feelings. This admittedly varies a bit so you have a lot of creative freedom on your solution. Assume the two of them were closeted for lack of it having come up yet, from those whose Digimon starters you might've ... you might choose to have DNA digivolve with Sonic's or Shadow's partners ... which partners figure it out from the basic mental connection, and of them how would they handle knowing without being told? I'm assuming that ... like, they have not confessed their love for each other but they somehow use this to figure it out.

Ian: And really ... Digimon ... it's not asking about the Digimon themselves, it's acting as Sonic and Shadow are the trainers, right. 

Kyle: Right. 

Ian: Uh ... The hardest question of this is who is more obtuse between the two of them ... 

Kyle: (LMAO) Yes. That's the answer. 

Ian: Shadow ... in general ... might be a little quicker on the draw ... so he would make the realization and that might prompt him to ... open up ... whereas Sonic just already kind of took it as a given, it wasn't really a realization to him, so he didn't really think much of it. 

Kyle: I guess ... Yeah, I guess that kind of fits. I guess that fits. 

Ian: (Shadow voice) Once we were linked, I cam to a realization ... and well, now that I know it's reciprocated, I guess I can say I'm really into you.  (Sonic voice) Oh yeah, I already knew. 

Kyle: (laughing) Yeah, everyone's into me. No, no that's not what I mean - 

Ian: (Shadow voice) It means you don't have a romantic bone in your body. 

Kyle: (LOSING IT me too dude) I think the idea ... apparently .. I'm getting word that the idea behind this question was that they haven't told anyone yet, and their friends find out this way.

Ian: Ohhh, okay. 

Kyle: Okay. Well here's the thing ... Most people in Sonic's world are very accepting and everything, so I don't think it would ... be a big deal? (lol) 

Ian: Yeah, I mean, if anything ... the biggest reaction would come out of Amy. There might be shock she found out ... Well, shocked at first, but if she found out, and they haven't really opened up to each other yet about it, she would go hardcore matchmaker. 

Kyle: Oh, no! (laughing) 

Ian: Like, if they both feel that way, and they aren't being honest with their affections, ohhhh no no no, she will not let that stand. Nope. She will move heaven and earth to see love realized. 

Kyle: (laughing) Even if it's not Sonic loving her, I guess, huh? (more laughing)

Ian: Disappointed, sure ... but, y'know, fine. What she wants is for him to be open and true with himself, and true with others. Love is a powerful force in the universe, and she will see its will done. 

Kyle: Yeah (lol), she is a true ally, yes. 

Ian: A real intense ally. 

Kyle: (laughing) Kind of frightening. 

Ian: Again, put down the torches and pitchforks, this is a hypothetical, this is for funsies. Let it be. 

Kyle: Yes, let's have some fun. 

Ian: Moving on, he's got a question for you, Kyle. 

Kyle: Alright. 

Ian: So in terms of romantic progression for fictional characters, you would say that after the romcom where the parents get home together in the sitcom where they all have to live their lives together ... can you please pitch me three episode ideas for the up and never coming sitcom, The Hedge Hogs, for me to rate?

Kyle: Oh, no. Uh, I didn't read this before we started! Uh ... hm ... come up with these on the fly ... um ... I'm like, not great at that. Let me think here ... Let me think here …

Ian: Let me help you out. 

Kyle: Okay, hit me. 

Ian: Fast and the Furious ... they both run out to get takeout quickly and they deal with incorrect orders. 

Kyle: Okay - 

Ian: Becomes a conflict of their personalities where Sonic's like hey, I'll take the pickles off! And Shadow's like he said no pickles. 

Kyle: Okay .. ! (laughing) Yeah, that's good. That's good. Um ... Hm ... hmm ... God, I really am bad at this (lol). I feel like there has to be one where they're trying to drive somewhere and they can't decide ... they'd like get lost, and then one of them is like, you don't need directions - it'd probably be Sonic, Sonic would be driving and he refuses to ask for directions, and Shadow's like trying to get him to pull over and ask for it. 

Ian: (Shadow voice) Please, pull over. 

Kyle: (laughing) Yeah, yeah ... I mean, that's another trope of sitcoms. (lol) 

Ian: Here's one for you ... Surprise Control - Sonic and Shadow are each trying to prepare a birthday surprise party for the other, not realizing that, son of a gun, they share the same birthday! No, they've never actually discussed this or put it together. Hijinx ensue. 

Kyle: (laughing) Do they, actually? - No, nono, Sonic Adventure 2's like a few days before ... but, you know, it's funnier if they do. 

Ian: Rouge is the first one to figure it out and she runs interference to make sure nobody clears it up for them. 

Kyle: (laughing) Yeah, yeah, I like that one ... Alright, let's see - 

Ian: Turns into a big blow up where they're both angry that neither of them knew what each other's actual birthday was, and then the tension is broken when Omega pops out of the cake like Marilyn Monroe. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE TWO OF YOU. 

Kyle: (laughing) And then ... he sets off the fireworks. Which are actually just …

Ian: Omega, not inside the HOUSE- !!!! 

Kyle: (LAUGHING) Which are actually just more DAKKA.

Ian: Has to be inside an apartment complex so Eggman can pull a Newman(?). "Hello, Sonic." 

Kyle: (losing it) Ohhh, nooo ... 

Ian: "I hear you've got the prime time cable package. Mind if I come in to play games on it?" ... Yeah, sure I guess, it's fine - "COME ON KIDS, HE SAID IT'S FINE!" 

Kyle: (still laughing) Oh, no .... 

Ian: Orbot ... Cubot ... Tribot ... a few Egg pawns ... 

Kyle: (laughing) Uh, who's the Kramer in this situation? (laughing) Knuckles?

Ian: Big the Cat. 

Kyle: Okay. 

Ian: Exact same mannerisms. 

Kyle: OKAY. (laughs) Yeah, okay. 

Ian: You know, mid conversation busts down the door, (Big voice) Froggy? Froggy, where are you? 

Kyle: (truly shitting it now) Oh, no ... Oh, no ... Oh nohoho ... The episode where Shadow's parents all come over for the holidays ... All four of them ... 

Ian: (cackles) (Shadow voice) Why do I have so many parents ... 

(laughing) 

(Black Doom voice) Now, we shall air our grievances on this festivus ... Shadow, finish the bowl. 

Kyle: (losing his mind) 

Ian: (Black Doom voice) Festivus ... is for the rest of us ... 

Kyle: Oh, boy. Oh boy. Terrible. I love it. I love it ... Alright, I think that's enough.

Ian: It certainly is. Happy pride month to all of you celebrating. Be good to yourselves, be good to each other, and we will see you next time.

[ramlightly]

Oh Boy! I'm rubbing my hands together. Here's a few for you.

Dandelion: lots of options, here. Personally, I'd say a classic fougere is a good basis. These are kind of "old fashioned" men's scents with a base of oakmoss combined w hay, lavender, citrus, and occasional spices.

Lots of variation here, so you could probably have one that had topnotes of bergamot with the base of oakmoss and clove for sweetness. I'd personally add smoke or deep wood notes, because... Demon. An actual example of this is DS and Durga's Burning Barbershop, which is pricey but sticks in your brain after you smell it.

Other than that for Mr. Dandelion, I'd say juniper, basalm (piney), bergamot, and other ozonic, sharp scents. Martini-type deal, you know? Maybe it's a daytime/nighttime split.

Fr. Basil: not gonna lie, I googled 1880s men's scents, and most are a lot chiller than what I noted for Dandelion. Lots of water based scents, using floral waters. A big one is lavender, which remains popular today in some men's scents, and orange blossom. Personally, I'd say lavender and wood- simple, classic, masculine but refined. Or, yaknow, church incense does tend to stick to you! (I don't have any specific references for this one, but Alkemia perfumes has a bunch of interesting incense scents)

Lapis: something expensive. Saffron, almond, ambergris. The scent that comes immediately to mind is Baccarat Rouge 540- which is indeed mad expensive. Tons of copycats that smell just as good, though!

Malady: blood. I've never smelled it, but many who smell Inexcusable Evil by Toskovat' say it does straight up just... Smell like that. (Sorry, Malady)

I know this is long, but thanks for letting me ramble! Your work is lovely, and inspired me to let myself write more. Thank you for sharing it!

Oooooh, thank you!! These are so fun!

Ohhh, that all sounds good for Dandelion. Smoke is a good choice! I was also talking to folks about bergamot, clove, and sandalwood. Not sure how that would all fit together though,

I like the idea of something simple for Basil. Lavender suits him, feels like a scent he would consider comforting. So, yeah, he would probably smell like incense and lavender.

You sound spot on for Lapis, he would love to smell that kind of deluxe, beautiful, and expensive! Though he would more likely to steal it rather than try to buy it lol.

And Malady... yeah... yeah..... that works for him lol.

[rosewaterandivy]

Through Me Prequel - ii. the fool

Summary: Eddie and the Lady of the Lake, feat. advice from one Steve 'The King' Harrington.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader, eventual Steddie x fem!reader in the series

WC: 6.3k

Warnings/Themes: cursing, criticism of religion (catholicism/xtiantiy mostly), religious themes, canon-typical violence, death, idolatry via smut, blasphemy, heretical notions, angst, occasional fluff (as a treat), Biblical & western literary canon and media references/allusions

A/N: This is the second of three prequels centering on the three main characters. If you're up on your tarot know-how, you can glean some info from the banner, etc. 👀

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not. This (*) is a singal to check the footnote at the end!

Enjoy! 💜

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“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster. For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Tuesday, July 2, 1985

Eddie meets you for the first time on a normal Tuesday evening. 

Well, meets is a generous term for what transpires. He all but stumbles upon you as he’s leaving Reefer Rick’s, struck dumb at the sight of a woman walking fully clothed into the lake.

“Shit!”

He drops the lunchbox from his hand; the metal clanging against the rocks as it rolls to a stop on the shore. “Hey!” He yells, trying to get you to stop or at least turn around before doing something drastic. 

Nothing.

Continuing to wade into the water, he has no choice to trail after you in an attempt to prevent a visit from the Hawkin’s P.D. and a coroner’s report.

Eddie Munson did not have time for this, not today. But he couldn’t very well just leave you here to your own devices. Which, judging by the water nearing your waist, were far from altruistic. 

“Fucking hell,” he grouses, toeing off his sneakers and fumbling with his belt buckle.

You, mystery woman with an apparent death-wish, may be fine with soaking wet clothes but Eddie was not. Wet denim was simply not his jam— it was bad enough he’d have to wash his hair after this, but walking around in wet jeans, just asking for raw, chafed skin? 

No, thank you.

His jeans and shirt joined the pile at the edge of the lake as he psyched himself up to dive in after you.

“You got this Munson,” he says to himself, clad in his boxers and shaking out his arms to rid himself of nervous energy. He keeps an eye on you, head and shoulders still above the water though you’ve waded farther from him now.

Bounces on the balls of his feet and cracks his knuckles. “S’just like riding a bike, muscle memory. No sweat.”

Because, yeah he could swim. But, my god, at what cost? Wasn’t worth the hassle in his humble (and correct) opinion. 

Oh well.

The water is not at cold as he’d anticipated, but that’s probably due to the summer heat. He treads water, careful not to spook you. Eddie knows he’s not an athlete, he’s no King Steve, but figures that logically it’s easier to talk someone down who isn’t startled.  

Eddie never gets the chance to find out.

Because one moment you’re a few feet away, head and shoulders above the surface of the water. Arms buoyant at your side, floating upon the dark blue of the lake. And in an instant you’re gone, leaving nothing but small wakes in your absence.

As if he dreamt you up.

He turns, checking that you aren’t somehow behind him. And sure enough, he is well and truly alone and briefly wonders if he’s made the whole thing up. Thinks that maybe sampling the product before a walk in the woods wasn’t the best idea.

A splash draws his attention to the center of the lake. Something causing the waters to surge, swirling in a way that can only be described as ominous. Eddie cocks his head in interest— curious, purely from an observational standpoint, of course.

An arm breeches the indigo water, sword held aloft. Fingers wrapped delicately to grasp, nestled beneath the pommel, the blade emitting a bright glow.

There’s no fucking way—

A second arm appears, scabbard in hand.

Then your head crests the waves, wet and glorious. Beads of water dripping down the full of your cheeks, mouth graced with a beatific smile. A shake of your head before you begin to swim toward the shore.

“It’s Eddie, right?”

A hum in the coming dark. Gooseflesh blooming on his skin at the sound of your voice. Far too distracted to notice the subtle buzz in the cage of his ribs.

He struggles to speak, a rarity for him. Nods instead, awe-struck. You sail just out of reach, swimming in a lazy backstroke, sword and scabbard still in hand.

“You make a habit of following strange women into bodies of water?” 

“Just the pretty ones.”

He could kick himself. Open mouth, insert foot. Just about to give up and end it all when a bark of laughter slips from your throat. 

“Doesn’t bode well for you.” You tip your head back in the water, hair fanning out like a halo.

Eddie wades a bit closer now, relieved that he’d misread the situation and intrigued as to how someone could swim to the middle of Lover’s Lake, dive down and swim for god knows how long, only to surface with an actual sword in hand.

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Well.” You open your eyes taking him in, pale against the warm hues of fading summer light. Water sloshes as you return the sword to its scabbard, glow extinguished for now. “What if I lured you here under false pretenses?”

“Mmm.” He hums, crossing his arms against his chest, revealing a cluster of bats at his elbow and something else you can’t quite make out further up. “You mean you weren’t trying to drown yourself in Lover’s Lake?”

Pulling your bottom lip between, you huff a laugh. “Shit, is that what it looked like? Yikes.”

Feet grazing the beginning of the shoreline, you reorient yourself and stand. Water cascading from your form.

Eddie gulps, audibly, as it all appears to him in slow motion. Beads of water trail down your thighs, the deep blue denim of your daisy dukes doing fuck-all to contain the globes of your ass. And it only gets worse for him from there.

Water continues to drip from your top, washed one too many times and threadbare. He can see the soft skin of your stomach and the flared curve of your hips. The white of your bra a beacon in the fading light, perfectly cupping the swell of your breasts. And, oh god— is that lace?

His dick jumps at the thought.

You, of course, are oblivious to Eddie’s state. Slotting the scabbard through a belt loop of your shorts, you turn, hair whipping wetly against your back, hands at your hips, and ask.

“You coming, or what?”

It takes him a minute to snap out of it. Muttering something under his breath (“Pretty sure I just did, thanks.”) before saying, “Uh, yeah. Just gimme a second.”

Eddie cannot believe he is at Steve Harrington’s house right now, and it's not to deal party favors. 

But when you’d asked if he minded a stop back at the place you’re crashing at, he wasn’t about to refuse. Not when he got to ogle your legs as they worked the manual floor shift— calf muscle flexing and ankle rocking forward, thighs slightly damp from your dip in Lover’s Lake.

He swallows and shakes himself from his reverie.

You trot upstairs as toss over your shoulder, “Be just a sec!” Leaving Eddie to his own devices in the Harrington house. 

He tentatively steps into the living room— two fire places, seems a bit much, but whatever— and spies a note on the sideboard underneath the cordless phone. 

“So,” he asks over burgers later at the diner. “How do you know Harrington?”

And, to your credit, you don’t balk. In fact, you don’t even blink before tearing into your dinner. After you’d changed back at Steve’s place, you offered to take Eddie out to dinner:

“As a thank you,” You said, shoving your feet into a pair of boots. “Y’know, for checking on me at the lake.”

“No need,” He replied, mentally cataloging any potential blackmail he could use on Harrington. But, damn him, there were no incriminating childhood photos to be found.

There were no photos, period.

“C’mon, can’t let my knight in shining armor go unrewarded, can I?” 

He barely repressed a shudder at that, relishing in how raspy and low your voice had gotten.

“I could be persuaded…”

Which is how the pair of you wound up at the diner, chowing down on burgers and fries with a bit a flirty banter thrown in.

“Well Rhett,” You drawl in a near perfect imitation of Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett O’Hara, “I suppose you could call him a gentleman caller.”

Eddie only rolls his eyes, but you see a smile tug on the other side of his face.

You scrunch up your nose in laughter, “We’re buddies, he’s just letting me crash with him when I’m in town.”

“Regular ne'er do well, are you?”

A snort.

“Gee, thanks.” You slurp from your soda, “Nah, just get called away for work a lot.”

He nods amicably, questions answered for the moment. You take another bite and watch him do the same. Casually, you shake the ketchup bottle and squirt out a few dollops on to the wax paper of your basket. Then, you add a few globs of mayonnaise and mix them together with a fry before popping it into your mouth.

Immediately, Eddie balks with a cough and sputter. You start laughing so hard you drop the few fries in your hand all over the table. “I can’t do it.” He groans, waving to your dip of choice, “This isn’t right. This isn’t what God wanted.”

“God is dead, bitch.” You reply, with a grin and signal for the check.

Rolling up to Forest Hills, you eye Eddie as he pinches his nose. He feels the worst headache of his life coming on and the oddest tickle in his nose.

He leans his head back against the headrest and you see the trickle of blood making its way toward his lips. 

“Hey, lean forward not back.”

“What?”

A sigh. You keep one hand on the wheel and wind the other behind him to press on his upper back, “You lean forward for a bloody nose dude, not back.” A slight push as you drive through the trailer park. “Breathe through your mouth and spit out any blood.”

“I’m not gonna spit blood in your car!”

“She’s seen much worse, trust me.” After checking that Eddie is with the program— he valiantly rolls down the window and elects to spit out of the car instead— you take your hand back and keep an eye out for his place.

He points it out soon enough and the pair of you hustle into the trailer before the sky cracks open with a roll of thunder and a deluge of rain. Grabbing the sword from your backseat, you meet him on the porch as he fumbles with his keys.

Ushering him inside, you toss the relic onto the sofa and beeline for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Finding an old bottle of ibuprofen, you pop the top and quickly fill a glass with water. 

“Ed?” You call out, not sure if he fell into a heap on the sofa or wandered elsewhere.

“Bedroom.”

Following the sound of his voice, nasally from pinching his nose, you round the corner and find him sitting on his bed. The bleeding from his nose seemed to dissipate, and you handed him the water and four pills.

“If your head isn’t better, take another dose of four pills in eight or so hours.” 

He nods and swallows the pills with a slug of water before collapsing back on the bed with a groan. His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes a deep breath. And you hate to leave him like this, you really do, but Salvation, Iowa is a calling.

“I’m sorry Eddie, but I’ve gotta go to work. Are you gonna be okay? Is there someone—”

“Wayne, my uncle. He’s at the plant, but he’ll be back tonight.” He breathes out, “Go, go, I’ll be fine.”

With a sigh, you stand back upright and begin to untie his shoes. “It’s bad enough you’re gonna pass out in your jeans, over my dead body are you sleeping with shoes on.”

“Okay boss, whatever you say,” He croaks out.

“Can I leave something here for safe-keeping?” You ask, grabbing a nearby blanket to toss over him. 

Eddie cracks an eye open, “Your sword?”

With a smile, you tap the side of your nose with a finger and point at him. “Got it in one, my man.”

He grins at that, “Sure girly, I’ll keep your sword and sheath.”

“Thanks,” You say with a chuckle. “See you later alligator.”

Eddie gives you a half-assed wave, “In a while crocodile.”

Monday, August 19, 1985

Eddie’s got a battered notebook on one knee and an ashtray balanced precariously on the other, clad in, wait for it— Garfield boxers that have seen better days. You’d nearly seen his dick twice and hadn’t even been there for half an hour.

“So what’s your deal?” Eddie asks from his position on the couch.

You sit back and pretend to busy yourself with cleaning your knives because the heat crawling up your neck is about to choke you blue.

Returning to Hawkins after a few weeks working on the coast— wailing women, wendigos, and shifters, oh my— you’d pulled up at Eddie and Wayne’s trailer certainly looking a bit worse for wear. So, after a shower and saying so-long to Wayne as he left for work, out of a lack for anything better to do you began to clean your knives. Which were disgusting, covered in dried, caked on blood and god knows what else.

“What do you mean?” You ask back from the sink, running warm water over your hunting knife, mindful not to catch the gut hook with your fingers— wouldn’t want to be put in a position to explain why your own blood was a rather unusual color and viscosity.

Eddie takes a sip from a lukewarm beer and pulls a face. “You know what I mean,” He says, rising from the couch. You squirt some dish soap into your hand begin to work it onto the blade. 

“You leave for work, are gone, for like over a month,” He sets the empty can on the counter. You can feel the heat radiating from his body as he leans next to you, and exhales. “You call from Oregon, California, and Colorado but never say what it is you’re up to,” Eddie cocks his head in your direction, inquisitive, “Or when you’ll be back. And then you roll up tonight with no notice looking like hell warmed over.”

“You forgot something.” 

“Yeah? Do tell.”

So, you groan, because he’s hounding you and after a month and some change it’s bound to happen.

“First of all, my gig isn't as exciting as you think it is.” You mutter, scratching your nail against a particularly stubborn glot of viscera, finding the task a distraction under his persistent gaze. “And secondly, you forgot that I left a sword with you.”

“Right,” He laughs, “How could I forget that?”

“It’s, um,” You cut the water and let the blade soak, watching as it floats lazily to the bottom of the sink. “Well, y’know the Arthurian legends and stuff. The Round Table and all of that?”

“Uh, sure.”

“So,” You sigh, a knot of tension working its way to the base of your skull, and breathe out in a rush, "The sword shoved into the back of your closet is kindofExcalibur?”

Eddie, silent as the grave, stretches to open the topmost cabinet above the sink. You watch with idle curiosity, noting how the hem of his shirt rides up to expose his stomach. Before you can get distracted by the whisper of hair trailing beneath the band his boxers, he returns with a handle of whiskey.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need something stronger for this explanation.”

But you tell him, truthfully and genuinely. That you’re a kind of hunter of sorts, for lack of a more apt term, dealing predominantly with the supernatural and otherworldly, an exorcist when needed, and master of the hidden arts—

(“Like, magic?”

“Sure.”

“It’s real?!

“Uh, in a sense.”)

—You’re a lone wolf. The last of your kind. And, as a result, your work takes you all over the world with little to no notice. A nomadic existence is normal for you, or, at least, it was until passing through Hawkins back in ‘83. Something or someone kept drawing you back whenever you had the time. 

By the time you're finished with this rambling explanation, Eddie's had a few drinks.

Well, maybe more than a few.

“I think I’m gonna vomit.” Eddie whispers. He sets his glass down on the formica table, feet kicked up on the chair between you. “How’re you not as drunk as me right now? You’re not even tipsy!”

You snort whiskey into your lungs in the middle of his lament and spend the next five minutes with your insides on fire. Eddie has his head in his hands and there are tears coming out of his eyes from laughing at your predicament.

Turns out, you didn’t have the heart to tell Eddie that the only thing that could get you remotely sloshed is rosewater.

Saturday, September 21, 1985

Three blinks on the clock when he’s pulled from his bed and dragged into the living room. Eddie had been given roughly thirty seconds to pull his pants on and sit on the sofa before Harrington nearly kicked down the door. There are a million words a minute being thrown around and he’s vaguely aware of a knife being strapped onto your ankle.

“St-stop!" He sputters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "Constantine! Cut it out!”

“Angel…” Steve warns, taking the blade from you. You’re already geared up, raring to go.

You relent with a pout, walking across the room to lean against the far wall, dressed in a cropped Hawkins Athletics shirt and sweats as you watch Eddie fumble stupidly, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His elbow knocks into the table, ankle twists when he tries to stand up. It’s a nightmare and Eddie’s about to burst into tears.

“—so how’s that sound?” You point to the table with yet another knife (where did you get that?), papers scattered about as if he’s caught anything you’ve been saying. Eddie’s still chasing off sheep in his brain. “We can swing in tonight, grab the intel, take out hostil—” his eyes shut.

“Babe,” Eddie sighs, using a common pet name to address you. He hopes it’ll get you to let him off the hook, “It’s… so late. Early? Steve is already up. I wanna go back to bed.”

“But there’s a—” He can’t keep up. The vocabulary is beyond his comprehension when he’s on the verge of curling up into the fetal position under the table. You’re spewing words like the spear of destiny and reconnaissance, but he swears you’ve just said take out hostiles, too.

At this point, he’s about to snap—the despair churning into rage. It’s not his fault; he’s a mess in the mornings. “It is three in the goddamn a.m. I need at least six more hours before I can function. Can someone please explain to me, in tiny words, why I’m being accosted in my own home?”

There’s a beat of silence before Steve pipes up, prying the latest knife you’ve procured from your fingers.

“She wants to go with you.” He deadpans. “Wants to make out with you in the impala. Wants to touch your butt. Wants to fuck your brains out.”

A grin stretches across his face while you and Eddie look on, shocked. For the first time in ten minutes, Eddie’s eyes are wide open while yours have shut tightly, clenched like you’re trying to will the moment away.

“Small enough words? I can go smaller.”

“W-what…”

“She. Likes. You.” He punctuates with claps.

“Steve!”

“But you— and her— How—?”

“Don’t think about it too much.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “We try not to.”

Eddie whips around to stare at you, flinching at his questioning mouth. Steve cackles and cracks his knuckles, whistling about how his work here is done and makes his exit, stage right, kissing you loudly on the mouth as he goes. Left alone now, you bashfully hide behind your hands as Eddie blinks at you owlishly. “S-sorry about… that.”

Wide awake and practically on fire with the slew of information, Eddie feels strangely refreshed. A grin matching Steve’s earlier one makes its way over his lips as he swings his arms and steps until he’s next to you. “Sugar…” He croons, “If you wanted to touch my butt, all you had to do was ask.”

He wiggles his fingers.

“Honestly, babe? I’ve been waiting for you to touch my butt for months.”

_

The only way you can convince Eddie go is by having Steve tag along. So, you’d rolled up to the dilapidated barn, and he wasn’t sure exactly how many weapons you’d strapped to yourself, just knew that it was a lot and he was incredibly turned on by it.

Given strict instructions by you to stay out of sight with a wink directed at Steve, you’d kissed both of them goodbye and walked inside. Not five minutes later, Steve was climbing out of the front seat with a bat and popping open the trunk.

“Dude,” Eddie hissed, “She said to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbles, rifling through the chaos of the trunk. “Stay out of sight, which is do-able. We’ll just sneak up to the loft…”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and thinks he can’t be serious.

“Ah, gotcha!”

The trunk closes with a soft thud and the next thing Eddie knows, Steve’s opened his door and hauled him out of the car. Setting him back on his feet, Steve smooths the creases from where he’d grabbed Eddie’s shirt.

“Okay Munson,” He says, eyes glancing toward the barn. “We’re going to head in there, slow and stealthy,” Hands him a bat with nails ran through it. “Use this if things get dicey.”

He grips the bat. “What about you?”

Steve produces what can only be described as a heavily modified shotgun from behind his back. There is an honest to god crucifix on it, and a flashlight. Eddie struggles to pick his jaw off of the ground.

Casually, he loads the slugs into the rotating cylinder. Deeming it a job well done, Steve doesn’t even wait for Eddie as he walks toward the ladder leading to the hayloft. 

“What even is that thing?” He asks once he’s caught up to Steve, who’s currently making his way up the ladder.

“The Holy Shotgun? S’what it looks like Munson.”

Eddie can only shake his head and climb up after Steve.

_

He could scream.  

Steve is seemingly unfazed.

This thing— a skinwalker, apparently, sneers and growls into your ear— a threat that makes your teeth gnash. He squeezes your throat between his forearm and his shoulder.

“Take one more step and I gut her like a fish.”

Ah shit.

They’d been found out, a couple of walkers lurking in the rafters attacked just as they’d ascended the ladder. So much for slow and stealthy, the second his feet hit the floor Eddie was swinging that bat like his life depended on it. And Steve actually had to fire that monstrosity of a shotgun, which was… well, hot, to be fair.

But you’d been distracted from the noise and had wound up disarmed by the skinwalker just below them.

Steve takes the step. Eddie’s eyes are about to pop out of his head when the hand not clasped on you lands the silver glint of a blade poised at your throat.

“Fuck! Don’t!”

“Go ahead.” Steve urges impassively, ignoring Eddie’s pleas. “Do it.”

Eddie doesn’t know because he’s still new to this. Because he hasn’t been with you for long. Hasn’t seen you close up in a fight yet.  

He’s only seen the sweetness, only a tiny spark of a flame behind closed doors when you sidle up alongside him on movie nights with a shared blanket and chatter vehemently over the more objectionable parts of decapitation.

“There’s no way! Munson, are you seein’ this shit?” As you toss another handful of popcorn into your mouth, half of it ends up on your chest. “Severing the carotid artery? There’s way more fuckin’ blood than that!

Steve knows the bite and the bark. He knows the claws and the flashing teeth. So he steps again, his cheek dripping a splash of blood from one of the dead walkers. In the blink of an eye, you pluck the blade from your opponent's grasp and slide it home on the unsuspecting walker, and the dagger retracts, giving him a full showing of how it rips from the soft palate of your enemy.

Poor idiot, Steve thinks. Never stood a chance.

Eddie’s gasp breaks the silence, and the thud of the corpse follows.

“S-sweetheart?” He murmurs when you peer up at him. “Y-you okay?”

They descend the ladder quickly, leaving the bodies where they fell.

A grin. Wicked and all teeth— one he’s never seen. Steve slips his arm around your waist, pulls you in for a sloppy kiss, smudging the red from his face to yours.

Eddie’s own blood rushes straight down. Nervous. Aroused.

“She look okay?” Steve smirks. “‘Bout time you find out.”

You approach cautiously, not wanting to spook him. Drink in his surprised face when you rub your thigh over his groin where he grows. “Hey, Ed. Didn’t mean to keep you in the dark… just didn’t want to scare you away.”

Then, you push his head back into the wall, lick the blood out of your mouth and press into him with your whole body.

Eddie moans— quivering, whimpering.  

He melts like butter against your lips.

Steve purrs. Poor guy, he smiles fondly, ravenously. Eddie never stood a chance.

November, 1985

After that, the tension melted away between the three of you, and things went back to normal.

Well, as normal as you could get when hunting things that go bump in the night. 

As he’d come to expect, your work took you all over the place with little to no notice. A phone call would come through, either at his place or Steve’s, and you’d be off again, shouldering a worn bag and dashing off into the night.

It was an adjustment, both your penchant for abrupt exits and Eddie finding himself spending more time with the former King of Hawkins High. 

When you weren’t crashing at Forest Hills, it was Loch Nora. Not that Eddie minded, per se, the Harringtons had an abundance of space and seemingly no cares about whatever their only son got up to on his own.

But he couldn’t bring himself to coexist with Steve in your absence, it wasn’t like the two of them were exactly friends, shared Hellfire gremlins aside. So, like clockwork, as the sound of the impala’s engine faded into the distance, Eddie would grab his things and head home.

Which is how you found him on a bright autumn morning, sleeping away the day back at Forest Hills. You’d let yourself in with the spare key and tiptoed back to his bedroom. 

Eddie, for all his high cheekbones and Raphaelite curls, is a complete disaster artist when it comes to sleep. Starfishes out so his lanky frame takes up each corner of the bed, tosses, turns, and is liable to kick on occasion. 

Good thing bony elbows and knees aren’t a detriment to you.

The warm autumn sun lazes through the blinds as it pleases, shafts of light illuminating his exposed chest, dancing along his rib cage as it rises and falls with his breaths. Leaning on the doorjamb, you let yourself take it all in— the messy room, haphazardly “organized” books and records, bed clothes rucked down to his hips, a lone leg kicked out from beneath them, his foot grazing the floor as he sleeps.

Stepping further into the room, you quietly close the door and toe off your boots. The articles of clothing drop with each step you take— jacket landing in a thud by the closet, pants falling in a heap by the desk. Down to your shirt, underwear, and socks, you sidle under the covers alongside him, luxuriating in the heat that radiates from him. 

Curling against his back, you rub your face against his shoulder blade, nose grazing against the fine hairs there. In sleep, he recognizes your presence, a deep contented sigh tumbling from his partially open mouth, body relaxing against yours. 

A cold hand skirts down his torso, nudging him awake before it settles at his hip. Groggily, Eddie’s head turns toward you with a hum. Cracks one eye open in interest, his hand running down the back of your thigh and giving it a squeeze. 

“Cold?”

At the rumble of his voice, that low rasp he gets just after waking, sent a ripple through you, a thrumming whirl along your skin and a surge of heat that pooled in your gut. 

A nod against his back, your chilled hand curling at his hip. 

He turns in your grasp with an, “Alright, c’mere, sugar.” Calloused fingers hiking your leg up and over his hip, drawing your chest to his at the movement. Your hand settles at his ribs, fingers ghosting along the notches of bone. 

“Better?”

Head settling into his chest, you nod, desperate to eek out each ray of heat you could. Breathing in the familiar aroma of coffee, weed, and cigarettes cut through with a crisp note of soap and skin. As you lose yourself to comfort and your eyes begin to drift shut, Eddie cradles the nape of your neck, his thumb rubbing idly against the base of your skull.

It’s not often he gets to see you like this, relaxed and languid like a cat seeking out the sun. It’s even less often he gets to have you free of responsibility and obligation. And it’s a rare occurrence indeed to have you to himself.

“But you— and her— How—?”

“Don’t think about it too much… We try not to.”

And well, Eddie had done just that. 

Up to this point, it had been kisses on cheeks, looped pinkies, clasped hands, a frenzied make out here and there, flimsy cotton giving way to the prodding of ring-clad fingers, breaths falling in percussive puffs from a spit-slick mouth, the furrow of your brow as you fell apart beautifully for him.

Eddie is well-aware he’s not the only horse in your stable, but that’s a conversation for another time. Right now, he is fully aware that you are blissfully pliant in his bed and his blood is steadily rushing south.

Nudges you towards consciousness by peppering kisses along your face—eyelids, cheeks, and nose while skillfully skirting past your lips to graze against the shell of your ear, “Missed you, angel.”

A small smile pulls at your lips as you open your eyes. “Missed you too, babe.”

His fingers traced your collarbones through the threadbare fabric of your shirt, caressing the dips and hollows. Arching toward him, your lips nearly brush, barely a breath apart. A faint sigh falls from your mouth as Eddie drags his lips against yours, kissing you so delicately your toes curled.

Eddie turns and lays you out beneath him. His fingers lace with yours as he dips down to kiss the breath from your lungs, languorous and endless. A delighted spark zips up your spine, a heady warmth enveloping your limbs. For there are few things in life that feel better than lying under a devoted lover.

As a general rule, he didn’t devote himself to much. Easier to cut and run with fewer strings attached, a thing learned time and again in his life. But that doesn’t diminish his desire to do so, at least, not when it came to you. And if he failed to notice the wisp of crimson thread knotting against his finger and looping him to yours (and subsequently Steve’s), who can blame him?

Stranger things happen every day.

Finally, Eddie drew his mouth away from yours, pupils so blown his eyes were nearly black. He slowly traces the swell of your breasts with a fingertip. His hips shift against your own in a slow grind. Buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in deeply as his fingers continue to wander down.

There’s a few beats of silence— heavy breaths and shuddering gasps as he blows a cool breath against the column of your throat. A ghosting of lips against your own, “G’na let me take care of you?”

You swallow thickly, “Uh huh.”

Fingers slip against damp heat, a soft curse escaping lips, a bruising kiss, an apt tongue. A canting of hips as clothes are shed, fervent and impatient hands caressing in the warmth of the autumn sun. Sweet nothings whispered against exposed skin: c’mon baby, feel good angel?

His voice vibrates through your chest, husky and low, in between sponged kisses along your throat and jaw. Lewd wet noises punctuated with bitten curses, groans, and whines of, “Eddie— Please, I—“

A wicked smile settles along his lips as he works you through it, fingers urging you toward the precipice. Molten lava swoops and pools low in your abdomen with each press and thrust of his hand. The sheer heat of it is near blinding. 

“Need you,” You plead, grinding up against him, “I’m burning up.”

He bites back a groan in favor of crushing his lips against your own. His tongue slides against your own sweet and heavy with promise into the cavern of your mouth.

“S’okay, I’ve got you.” His free hand snakes along the column of your spine, freeing you from your shirt as a moan is pulled from you. “So fuckin’ gorgeous,” He whispers pulling back to look at you. You whimper in response, too far gone to process the compliment.

The pair of you are entwined like vines, his hand palms against the base of your spine. Your hand winds its way into his hair, gripping for purchase. His eyes fall shut with a moan as you slot your lips against his. 

You rock up into him as you briefly part to toss the shirt elsewhere. The bra comes off swiftly in the effort to get your hot little hands back on him. Bumbling through a mantle of heat, as if you’re cursed by it. Burning away at the core. 

Jesus wept– Eddie’s already slick with precome and throbbing with need. You pump him once and feel his groan rattle through your chest. Pulling your mouth from his, you stick two fingers in and sluice them up with spit, “Need to feel you,” You whine with a lingering kiss and a slow drag of your fist around his cock. 

At this point, you honestly might explode. 

Salvation comes in the form of a ragged thrust and choked gasp. 

Eddie moans at your touch, hands dragging down his chest, and bites his lip, flicks his tongue over his teeth, and swallows thickly. You’re so hot. And tight. And wet. Tries to lessen his grip at your hips because it feels like he could honestly break you— holy hell— but soon enough he bottoms out in spectacular fashion. 

Coming back to himself, he pulls back so that his cockhead catches inside your cunt. But before he can even catch his breath, you cant your hips up, lock your legs at the small of his back to pull him back in and he nearly loses his damn mind.

He’s never felt something so perfect before. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through punching the air from his lungs. And all he can do is ride it out— soft rolls of your hips against his quick fast bucks. Soft mewls and stuttering breaths filling the dappled sunlit room.

He repeats your name, like a penitent at prayer.

Your hands are everywhere. On his chest, his stomach, fingers hooking into his open mouth. And it is divine. His cock is entirely drenched in you and he swears he could come just like this, with you open and gasping beneath him.

Eddie memorizes the cherry wet of your mouth, the furrow of your brow, eyes rolling back and lost to pleasure. You’re a fucking vision, one that he’d be happy to supplicate himself to for the rest of his days. Rising up, his mouth finds your shoulder and bites at the glistening skin there. Eddie’s grip is tight at the nape of your neck, your entire body folded against him and pulled taut like a bowstring. 

He kisses you desperately, tongue surfing into your mouth like an inferno. Shuddering against him, you’re startled as he walks his fingers closer and closer to the wet heat between your legs. “Come for me angel,” He purrs just as his thumb presses against your clit. 

The tether inside of you snaps as you kiss him stupid— a blaze of white light. The inferno continues to rage as you let out a strangled pant, “Eddie.”

“There it is,” He bites against your jaw, “…Yes.”

"Fuck.” You blink the spots from your vision. God. Your entire body quakes.

Frantic circles against your clit and a few more sloppy thrusts, a demand of “Gimme all of it.” 

He slams into you once more before the inevitable descent, your eyes screwing shut as you try to remember how to breathe. And it’s all Eddie can do to lick your jaw, push his tongue into your mouth, and work you through it.

An ephemeral, throbbing sensation falls from you. Slides right out to soak his thighs as he chokes on his own breath from the way you arch up and into him, your perfect tits pressing against his chest while your walls seize him like a vise.

When Eddie comes it's with an invocation of your name chased by an errant fuck or yesyesyes. It shatters him entirely, fueled solely by the desire to dive deep and spill into you. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, mouth open and gasping against damp skin.

And just like that, everything feels brand new. The world has sloughed from your shoulders and it's pure bliss in the comedown. 

The whisper fate pulls taut— a nearly indiscernible thread of crimson looped for three.

[mapofthewrld]

teammates

in which ; after a long battle, the team takes a nap in their living room. it's only when the sun starts to set when sonic wakes up, surrounded by his sleeping friends <3

it's hard for sonic to tell where he is. only the crinkling of a magazine page grounds him, making him aware of his own consciousness. slowly, he is able to feel the softness of fur beside him, the fabric of the couch under him, and the quiet snores of another nearby. and, of course, the occasional crinkle of plastic paper.

with a soft grunt, he opens his eyes. warm sunlight floods his vision. after assessing his situation, he concludes it is reflecting off of the wall from the window behind him; one he recognizes as his own.

as his vision settles and he deems himself awake, he peers around him. four sleeping forms are all laying around his living room. a black hedgehog with red highlights is slumped over an armchair, drool threatening to fall from his lips. a red echidna and an orange fox (both he recognizes as his brothers) share the couch with him. knuckles snores away with his feet hanging off the edge, while his head is in the lap of tails, who's namesakes are touching his two brothers respectively. his head is resting softly on sonic's shoulder.

as he looks down, he sees a faint pink hue from beside his other armchair. upon closer inspection, it appears to be a pink hedgehog, leaned up against the chair on the ground. her head is lulled back, and he can see gentle breaths from the rise and fall of her chest.

but it seems there is another. lounging on the chair, legs crossed and arms folded, looking lazily at a magazine, sat a white bat. her emerald green eyes scanned the pages swiftly. she moved her hand to turn another page (the source of the crinkling, it seems) before she glanced up at sonic. surprised, she put her hand back down and leaned back.

"good morning, sleeping blue-ty."

a soft chuckle came from both sonic and rouge's lips. it seems, when not engaged in battle, the two had much in common. "hey rouge," came a quiet whisper. sonic's head gently swerved, looking aimlessly around his living room. "what time is it?"

rouge, closing her magazine, smiles and sets it down beside her. "oh, it's about sunset. you should probably just go back to sleep, since you'll be going soon anyways."

sonic snorted. "me? trust me, i've had more than eno... yawn.... enough sleep today. i'm ready to take on the day!" he quickly realizes his mistake, covering his mouth with both gloved hands. none of the sleeping parties seem to have been bothered.

"i didn't take you as the night type."

"oh, yeah? and you are?"

"...i'm a bat, blue."

"oh. right."

rouge gives a giggle at her friend forgetting her nocturnal habits. she grabs her magazine from off the table beside her, choosing to open it to a different page this time. "but seriously, just go back to sleep. i'll take care of everything here."

sonic laughs softly. "you're only here because you want to raid my kitchen." with a melodramatic gasp, rouge lays a hand on her chest in mock offense. "me? staying for just your food? i'll have you know i came over to check on you lot! just for that.... i think i get the rights to make some mac n cheese before i leave."

the two chuckle, and sonic nods. "whatever you say, rouge." he slumps back down into the couch, careful not to wake his brothers. as he settles back in, tails grabs his arm, cuddling into it. his two tails twitch in unison. sonic rests his head on top of tails'. in the company of his brothers and friends (his teammates...), he thinks that, just maybe, everything is perfect.

[handfulofmuses]

BumbleKast Skunks 2.0

Question: What if Tangle had to team up with Rough and Tumble to save the world? How would it go?

Flynn: Surprisingly well. It would be a comedy of errors, for sure but they would succeed. I think she would manage to be plucky and upbeat enough to kind of wrangle them into a functioning trio. And maybe they would huff and puff about taking orders from someone that isn’t in their dynamic duo but her energy is kind of infectious and she got a couple of good ideas and she gets in on the rhyming schemes with them so maybe she ain’t all that bad.

Flynn: Maybe they are like “NO! You can’t join the rhymes, that’s OUR thing!” and she is like “Alright, uh, can I beat box for you then? Add a little bit of rhythm to it?” and they are just GAAAAASP! like she just divined the purest truth they ever heard.

—-

Question: How would Rough and Tumble celebrate Thanksgiving?

Flynn: By stealing someone elses. They light a fire on someone’s lawn. They run out with a fire extinguisher and then they lock them out of their own house.

Kyle: It’s not thanks giving, it’s thanks stealing.

Flynn: They are shouting compliments through the window: “THIS IS DELICIOUS! YOU SHOULD TRY SOME HAHAHAHAHA!

Kyle: Rude. Funny, but rude. They’re not gonna steal from Vanilla though they know better.

Flynn: Oh, they have learned their lesson.

—

Question: Somehow, Rough and Tumble trade places with Bebop and Rocksteady for a day. How do the skunks adjust to being in the 80s TMNT Universe?

Flynn: Rough and Tumble are right at home.

Kyle: I was gonna say! Not much has changed.

Flynn: Like, at most they would be confused in what city they are in, but then Shredder shows up and is like “you work for me now” and they are like “okay” and they get beat up by the turtles.

—-

Question: If Rough and Tumble met Bebop and Rocksteady, would they become friends, rivals, or friendly rivals?

Flynn: Yes.

Flynn: Not in that order but all of those at some point. They would probably fight first and then they would become pals and then they would fight afterwards and then kind of have a mutual love-hate relationship. It would be fun, no matter what.

—

Question: It's been a while since we last saw Rough and Tumble. Where do you guys think they are now and what are they doing?

Flynn: They will be showing up again. They’re out there, living their worst life.

Kyle: Which is their best life for them.

Flynn: Don’t you worry. They’re okay.

Kyle: Okay. Good. Glad to hear it. I want to hear that. I want to see them again.

Flynn: They may get tripped up and they may occasionally stumble, but there is no stopping Rough and Tumble.

—

Question: Rough and Tumble win the lottery and become millionaires! What are they doing with all that money?

Flynn: First thing they do is to do the whole pile of money to just dive and throw it around like confetti because that’s what you do.

Kyle, laughing: They would reenact the intro of Ducktales, of course.

Flynn: Yeah! I mean, that’s what you do, obviously! They’ve seen enough media.

Flynn: Make the bed out of money. Have snowball fights with the money. Sculpt things with the money. And eventually they realize - wait, they have money! They can spend this! “Oh crap tear down all the structures” “but I really like this one” “NO NO NO ITS TIME TO SPEND IT” and then they start to blow all the cash and then they actually go “wait a minute there is two of us, how do we split this evenly?” and then it becomes a fight over what’s left and by the end of it Rouge has stolen it all

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (New Year's Special)

Summary: Our two directors have gone back to the city in time for their studio's annual new year's party.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 3,698

Warnings: Mentions of bad relationships, sickness, trauma

Author's notes: Yeah, this ended up being more in depth about characters than I thought it would be. But I bring you dancing! And a duet! So maybe you can forgive me? Also I'm hinting at the backstory I've been slowly working on for Empress. Anyway, in this chapter Snatcher and Empress are singing "Anything You Can Do" by Bernadette Peters and Tom Wopat (I do recommend listening to it). Anyway, enjoy! And happy new year!

“Sir, that's more than enough,” Owlice said calmly, refusing to fill his glass again.

“But lassie, I've only had a wee bit ta drink,” Conductor replied, voice slurring slightly.

“You've had almost two bottles sir, I refuse to serve you any more drinks,” Owlice insisted before walking quickly to someone else ordering a drink.

Conductor leaned forward, making a grab for the abandoned bottle of alcohol.

As if in a flash Owlice was back beside him, swiping the bottle away from his outstretched hand.

“Sir! Please, stop!” She protested. “You're already drunk and I'm sure you'll thank me tomorrow when you don't have a murderous hangover!”

The director scowled. “I'm not drunk. I'm just a lil’ bit tipsy.”

A flipper landed on his shoulder.

“I'll take it from here.”

Owlice let out a huff and put the bottle on a shelf behind her before walking away again.

“Angel, please stop worrying Owlice,” Grooves pleaded, sitting down on the barstool beside him.

Conductor pulled the penguin in for a kiss before stopping and eyeing him warily. “Yer not tryin’ to make me do anything dumb, are ye?”

“I'm here to stop you from doing anything dumb. It's why I'm staying sober,” Grooves argued.

Conductor shrugged before kissing Grooves. After a while he pulled back and frowned.

“Wait…you aren't gonna drink?”

“No, because you're already drunk and I like being able to make decisions without being affected by things I had earlier in the night,” Grooves responded.

“Yer really pretty,” Conductor sighed with a dopey grin, watching as the different coloured lights highlighted Grooves' features.

“You never usually say this sorta stuff.”

“Cause I'm a coward. I care a-” he paused momentarily. “-a lot about what you think of me. Don't want to muck up and say somethin' stupid.”

“Really?” Grooves asked quietly.

Conductor nodded enthusiastically, feathers ruffling as he spoke again. “You're one of the best things to ever happen to me, sweetheart. I dinnae want ta ruin that because I said something stupid.”

The music changed, playing a slower tune and Conductor excitedly hit the bar counter a few times.

“Our song!!!”

“We have a song?” Grooves inquired as Conductor pulled him over to the dancefloor.

“Christmas! Remember? We danced to this when it played on the radio at Roxie’s house!” Conductor explained as the intro of the song finished.

“That certain night. The night we met. There was magic abroad in the air.”

Conductor reached his arms up to loop around Grooves' neck as the two of them slowly swayed back and forth.

“There were angels dining at the Ritz. And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”

Conductor leaned in for another quick kiss, missing Grooves' beak so planting one on his cheek instead.

“I love you,” Conductor whispered.

Grooves chuckled and dipped him towards the floor. “You really are as rare as a diamond, you know that?”

Conductor giggled and his face flushed.

“I may be right. I may be wrong. But I'm perfectly willing to swear. That when you turned and smiled at me, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”

They continued to dance through the instrumental break, with Grooves occasionally spinning and dipping Conductor.

“The streets of town were paved with stars. It was such a romantic affair,” Conductor sang along under his breath, earning a soft gaze of admiration from his companion. “And as we kissed and said goodnight, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”

He pulled Grooves down to him again, pressing a tender kiss to his beak.

“I know ‘cause I was there. That night in Berkeley Square.”

“Come on. Let's go watch the fireworks.”

Empress sighed as a giggly Conductor ran past, dragging a rather confused but happy Grooves behind him.

The cat raised her wine glass and takes another sip.

The owl almost never acted like this when drunk.

Whenever she saw him drunk it was because he was upset and trying to forget.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Snatcher asked beside her.

She turned and fixed him with a disapproving look, resulting in the ghost raising his hands defensively.

“Fine. Be quiet and mysterious.”

Empress let out another sigh and put her glass down. “We both know you can't stay quiet for long so just say whatever it is.”

Snatcher frowned momentarily before smiling at her. “Can you dance?”

“Of course I can, I'm an actress,” she scoffed before fixing him a look as the ghost offered her a hand. “No. Absolutely not. It would ruin my credibility.”

“Believe me, there are far worse rumours going around about you than what may spawn from you dancing,” Snatcher replied with a roll of his eyes.

The gang boss narrowed her eyes and decided to interrogate him about that later before placing her paw in his outstretched hand.

The ghost grinned like he'd won the lottery and pulled her onto the dancefloor before snapping his fingers.

The DJ looks confused as his music is entirely replaced by the opening chords of a song.

Empress shook her head with a withering look. “You did not.”

“I did!” Snatcher cheered, looking far too pleased with himself.

“We are not dancing to this.”

The music ground to a halt as Snatcher's expression turned sour.

“Please Em? It's such a good song. Plus it's kind of your fault for introducing me to your tastes in music. Come on, it's a duet too,” he pleads.

“If we have to,” she conceded.Snatcher snapped his fingers.

Empress lets out a huff of laughter at the outfit she's transformed into, marvelling briefly at the fine fabrics of the deep purple suit.

Snatcher's own purple body is cloaked in a dark red suit, reminiscent of her usual colours.

The music starts up again.

“Anything you can do, I can do better,” Empress begins.

“Ha!”

Empress briefly wonders if the ghost had a camera hidden somewhere, recording this ordeal.

“I can do anything better than you.”

“No you can't,” Snatcher replied, grinning ear to ear.

“Yes I can,” Empress teased, jabbing one claw at his chest.

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can,” Empress continued, noting with a tinge of anxiety that most of the birds in the room are now focused on the pair of them.

Oh Snatcher was going to pay for this little stunt.

“No you can't!” Snatcher looks a few seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“Yes I can, yes I can!” Empress argued, jumping onto a table to prove her point.

Snatcher walked toward her with a hint of challenge in his mismatched eyes. “Anything you can be, I can be greater. Sooner or later I'm greater than you.”

Empress let out a snort of laughter. “No you're not.”

Snatcher planted both hands on the table. “Yes I am.”

“No you're not.”

“Yes I am.”

Empress jumped as Snatcher dragged the cloth off the table.

Empress isn't sure what happened to the few drinks on the table.

She's too focused on how much fun she's having.

“No you're not.” The end of her tail smacks him in the side of his head.

“Yes I am, yes I am!”

Snatcher goes to stand on the table as well until the cat jumps back down off the other side.

“I can shoot a partridge with a single cartridge,” Snatcher boasted.

“I can get a sparrow with a bow and arrow,” Empress retorted, letting out a squeak of surprise as a tendril of shadow wound around her leg.

Snatcher stalks up to stand beside her. “I can live on bread and cheese.”

“And only on that?”

“Yep.”

“So can a rat,” Empress points out, gently batting him in the face.

Snatcher pulled a mock offended face before slipping an arm around her waist and taking hold of her paw with the other.

“Any note you can sing I can sing higher.” Snatcher dipped her towards the floor.

If it weren't for the shadows clinging to their legs, they probably would have both fallen over.

“I can sing any note higher than you.”

Oh. Oh she understood.

He was trying to make it harder for her to get air into her lungs because wasn't upright.

Well, too bad she was a trained actor and he wasn't.

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

Higher.

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

No, higher!

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

Snatcher's voice cracked as he continued. “No you can't.”

“Yes I can!” Empress finished the verse, pushing her vocals to their limits.

Snatcher righted them and stared at her with wide eyes. “How do you sing that high?”

“I'm a girl.”

A beat of silence.

A slow applause almost started up.

“Anything you can say I can say softer,” Snatcher challenged, as Empress pushed away from him.

“I can say anything softer than you.”

The shadows around her feet melted away but Snatcher fell into step just behind her as she walked backwards.

“No you can't,” Snatcher said just below his usual volume.

“Yes I can.”

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

All the while growing quieter.

“No you can't.” Snatcher's voice had grown to a mere murmur that she was straining to still hear.

“Yes I can,” Empress forced out between clenched teeth before giving up and shouting. “Yes I can!”

“I can drink my liquor faster than a flicker,” Snatcher pointed out, picking up a nearby glass of alcohol and downing it.

“I can drink it quicker.” Empress snatched up a glass and proved her point. “And get even sicker.”

“I can open any safe,” Snatcher bragged, leaning against the side of a table and dramatically holding a hand to his chest.

“Without being caught?” Empress inquired, leaning into his personal space.

“Too bad.”

“That's what I thought, you crook,” Empress whispered, before standing back.

Snatcher seemed almost flustered but composed himself as she continued.

“Any note you can hold, I can hold longer.”

“I can hold any note longer than you.”

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

Each final word lasted longer than the previous.

“No you can't.” To Snatcher's credit, he held the word for a good while.

Empress narrowed her eyes, smirked, took in a deep breath.

“Yes I-”

The word stretched in the room, earning fascinated looks from the audience that had gathered to watch them.

“-can!”

Empress gasped for air as she finished her line.

“Yes you can!”

The crowd applauded as she sucked in lungfuls of air.

“Where do you keep all that air?”

Empress pointed to her chest.

“Oh. Anything you can say, I can say faster.”

Empress' tail swept along the floor as she recovered just in time for her next line. “I can say anything faster than you.”

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can!”

“No you can't.”

“Yes I can!”

It didn't even feel like words anymore, closer to a jumbled mess.

But it was fast and that was the important thing.

“No you can't.”

“Yes, yes I can!”

Both took a mere second to catch their breath before Snatcher vaulted out their - still clear - table.

“I can jump a hurdle.”

“I can wear a girdle.”

“I can knit a sweater,” Snatcher said, holding up a - miraculously appeared - bit of knitting and a couple needles.

“I can fill it better,” Empress bragged, gesturing at her body which now had the added sweater, the same colour and pattern as the scrap Snatcher was holding.

“I can do most anything…” Snatcher tried as Empress trotted back over to him.

“Can you bake a pie?” She asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“Neither can I.”

The ghost prince grins as her tail swept across his nose. “Anything you can sing, I can sing sweeter.”

“I can sing anything sweeter than you.”

“No you can't,” Snatcher said, words velvety as they rolled off his tongue.

“Yes I can,” Empress purred, running one paw up his arm.

Snatcher's eyes went wide but he fixed her a smirk before another rope of shadows tugged her closer to him. “No you can't.”

“Yes, I can,” Empress continued, brushing some of his hair back out the way of his face.

“No, you can't,” Snatcher said quietly, his thumb skimming over the back of her paw as he held it.

“Yes, I can.” Empress narrowed her eyes at him with determination.

“No, you can't,” Snatcher breathed but loosened his grip, the shadows melting away to nothing.

“Oh, yes, I can.” Empress stepped back towards the table, smiling as the shadows reformed into steps underneath her feet.

“No, you can't, can't, can't,” Snatcher growled playfully.

“Yes, I can, can, can,” Empress cheered triumphantly as she stepped up onto the table.

“No, you can't!” and “Yes, I can!” rang out simultaneously.

The music came to a stop and the room burst into applause and cheers.

Empress fell backwards into Snatcher's waiting arms, smiling at the ghost.

Snatcher's gaze softened as he looked at her before he seemed to realise something.

His eyes went wide and he put her down, quickly mumbling something that she didn't catch before leaving.

Probably just fresh air.

Coming down from her musical high was a jarring return to reality.

Oh peck she was wearing a suit.

A purple suit.

Similar to the one she wore when Majesty used to hold parties.

One paw flew to her mouth while the other shoved birds out her way.

She didn't need this.

These memories.

The nausea that came with them.

Not today, not tomorrow, not next week, not anymore, not ever.

Snatcher bolted the door shut to the room that was now doubling as his office.

It was on the owl side of the studio so it was unlikely that anyone attending the party on the penguin side that anyone would come looking for him.

He let out a string of repetitive curses as frost crept around the handle and down the door, slithering to coat more and more of the room.

Why was this happening?

He'd been fine with his powers recently, the curse hadn't been sapping strength the way it did when he first absorbed it.

So why did it have to be playing up now?

“You're fine, you're fine, you're fine,” Snatcher whispered to himself, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as he paced around the slippery room.

“Nothing’s wrong, you're okay, you're fine.”

Slowly his form shifted.

It started slowly.

His legs faded away as he floated.

His body shifted shape as his arms stretched.

His hair shifted to a ruff around his neck.

“Peck,” the ghost swore as he realised what had happened.

He curled in on himself, pooling in one corner of the - now freezing - room.

Okay, no, go back over what had happened.

He'd realised Empress seemed uncomfortable.

He'd wanted to help her unwind a little so proposed they dance, which also turned into a duet.

Which then turned into performing in front of what felt like half the studio.

And it was great to see her smile at the end of it.

Snatcher's eyes widened as ice began to try and freeze over his still form.

“Pecking hell.”

He got up again, forcing his body back to his humanoid form to do more laps of the room.

He just had to wait it out.

Empress rinsed her mouth out with water from the sink before stopping and staring at her reflection.

Peck she looked like a mess.

She glanced guiltily at the shredded suit beside her before running a paw over the sweater she was wearing.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door.

“Occupied!” Empress growled, hating how clogged up her voice sounded.

“Auntie Em, let me in."

Empress strode over to the entrance of the group bathroom, opening it and glaring down at the owl.

“Roxie, what the peck do you want?” She demanded.

The young owl’s feathers were glowing blue, the purple markings around her wrists a rusty orange colour.

A black jumpsuit somehow didn't burn away from the flames that covered Roxie’s body.

“Roxie, where is your necklace?”

“I'm getting used to not having it. No wonder no bird wants to use the toilet with you being grouchy in there though. I mean seriously, did you have to take a whole group toilet?”

Empress sighed, closed the door and picked up the scrapped suit before reopening it and stepping outside.

Flames flickered on Roxie’s shoulders as she led Empress towards a quieter part of the studio.

“Your voice sounds different without it,” Empress commented as Roxie opened a door.

They stepped out into cool night air, far enough away from the party that it was relatively quiet.

“Yeah? So what?” Roxie snapped.

Empress watched as the owl wrapped her talons around the metal railing, twisting it out of shape from heat and pressure.

The cat slowly walked over to stand beside her, hesitating to put a paw on her shoulder.

As if sensing it, the flames died down until they were only pooling around Roxie’s hands.

“You know you can talk to me about it.”

“I know.” Roxie heaved a sigh, distorted by the sound of crackling logs on a fire. “So, I saw your duet. You two seem good together.”

Empress' ears press back against her head as her mind registers what's been said. “What? Me? With him? No. We're just friends.”

“Suit yourself. Maybe I'm just wishing healthy relationships onto other people,” Roxie replied.

Empress finally placed her paw on Roxie’s shoulder.

“You're always welcome to stay with me in the metro if stuff happens. Or I can help with the little ones.”

The one good thing that had come out of the gang she was first in; learning to care for those younger than you.

It sure was useful when she had to look after Badge when they were still kittens.

“Thanks auntie but I'll be fine. I'm moving to the city anyway.”

“Good to hear you're finally closer to home.”

“I'd hardly call it close to the metro-”

“You pecking idiot, I'm talking about your father,” Empress interrupted.

Roxie’s flames flared again and the cat withdrew her paw.

“Look, kid, your dad loves you. He was never good at showing that but you're his only chick. He's so proud of you. I am too. And I'm sure-”

Empress forced herself through it.

“I'm sure your mum is too. She isn't around anymore but if she could see the bird you've become- peck Roxie, she'd be proud of you no matter what you were like.”

The smell of burning finally left the air and Empress looked down as a pair of arms wrapped around her middle.

“Do you really mean it?”

Empress blinks as her mind takes her back to Scarlett's funeral.

When she first met Roxie and the chick looked so afraid and so alone.

“Of course I do, fire-starter. Your mum loved you so much.”

“Thanks auntie,” Roxie sniffed as she stepped back. “Um, we should probably head back to the party.”

“I'm going to stay here a little longer. But you should find your dad before he drinks himself stupid.”

“Okay. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

Grooves didn't know what they were laughing about anymore.

Both him and Conductor were curled up together on a bench by the bonfire that had been constructed outside and he couldn't help but notice how the owl's attention was waning.

Grooves stopped laughing as Conductor let out a yelp and fell off the bench. “Oh peck, you okay?”

“I'm fine. I've been in worse scrapes than that in me life,” Conductor said with a shrug, cosying back up to Grooves' side.

“It's nearly midnight.”

“Mm.”

“There you are! I've been looking everywhere in this goddamned studio for you!”

Both directors turned around as Conductor's daughter walked up to them.

Embers flickered around her clenched fists and the smell of burning wood radiated from her.

“I've had it up to here tonight so I'd appreciate it if you could stay sober enough for me to drive you both back to Grooves' apartment!”

Her gaze softened as she looked past them at the raging fire.

Grooves felt a shift in Conductor before his partner sprung up from the bench and grabbed his daughter's arm.

“Alright lass, we'll go. Jus’ make sure you also rest and take it easy, okay?” Conductor's words were rushed as he led her away from the fire.

Grooves followed a step behind the two, not understanding quite what was happening.

Probably something to do with their fire spirit blood.

“Grooves, could ya find us some wee glasses of water?”

“Alright darlin’,” Grooves replied before quickly pulling Conductor aside. “Everything okay?”

His love sighed and made a face before settling on an answer. “I'll explain later. I promise.”

Grooves nodded before quickly kissing him. “I'm here if you want to talk about it, okay?”

“Thanks sweetheart.”

“Love you Connie.”

“I love yer too.”

Snatcher flinched violently as someone knocked on the door.

The ice that had receded slightly began to spread again.

He stayed quiet.

Whoever it was would leave.

“If you don't open up right now then I am going to go to storage, get Conductor's biggest explosives and blast my way in there!”

Snatcher rushed to the door and summoned a small flame in his hand, melting the lock just enough to open the door a little.

It jammed against some ice on the floor but it was wide enough for him to see Empress.

She looked tired, a half-lidded look levelling with his wide-eyed panic.

“Come on. I want to go home.”

Snatcher opened his mouth to say something before deciding better of it.

He shifted his form so he was thin enough to slip out.

“You could've just opened the door more.”

Snatcher's eyes welled with tears as he replied. “You should go home. I'm going to go to the forest for a little while.”

Empress reached for his shoulder as he dragged the door closed.

He jerked away from her touch.

“I'm sorry.”

It seemed like mere seconds before he was back in the forest.

The ghost scowled and set off towards the manor.

Something there might help.

He hoped.

[signofthestriking]

Yes Rouge, thank you for listening to my insane ramblings about DBZ and Just Dance

Sup. I'm the Ratman, another shithead with a blog. Glad you could make it. Lemme ramble about myself for a bit

Disclaimer: Would really recommend you follow this blog with caution if you're a minor. This may be a SFW blog, but I'm still an adult with little to no filter at times. I will only follow back adults if I see an age listed somewhere on their blog.

Blinkies.cafe for all your blinkie needs. #flashing lights will be used on all my posts with blinkies.

Who am I?

As far as names go, Ratman or The Boys work just fine.

Bit of an amateur cook. Autism be damned I can work a stove. Not a grill, that's scary.

I'm a seamstress when I feel adventurous. It's fun to dress up and cosplay a bit. Would love more time to do DIY shit.

Started T early 2021, top surgery late 2022.

I have cats. I love cats.

System-wise, we're a mixed bag. If you really must know, yes it started because of The Trauma. Although not everything has to do with our childhood lore. The soulbonds certainly don't.

If you guess a kintype of ours correctly I'll send you a Jolly Rancher in the mail /j

What do I post about?

Fandom, of course. Mainly DBZ and Just Dance, some Homestuck, maybe a bit of Undertale. The occasional Fablehaven if I'm really feeling it. Others to pop up as shit filters through my dash.

Fanfiction. Which I write when I feel like it. Will be tagging as #ratman scribbles in the future.

Art. I also draw when I feel like it. Tagged with #ratman doodles

Some serious topics I think are important, in some form or fashion. Will be tagged with #ratman rants if you need to avoid them.

#ratman after dark for anything particularly spicy. This gets a lot more use on my selfship sideblog

#ratmans lunacy for the kin-related rambles

Where else can you find me?

@saffronthreads is the very inactive selfship sideblog. 18+ ONLY.

Theres a system blog at @theboysbevibin too I guess?

@red-omega for stuff related to JD fictionkin

@jd-gifs for, well... Just Dance gifs

Who can interact? Anyone who wants to, unless I hit the block button. But let's lower rent with a few gunshots, since you're here.

Pupgender bi gay demiboy with paw/it pronouns? Fuck yeah. Lesbian men? Fuck yeah. Systems with origins that aren't all about trauma? Fuck yeah. Kin with something "problematic"? Fuck yeah. TransID? Nah, I draw the line at those bullshit "good faith identities" after what I've seen from that community in practice.

"Are you proship or anti?" No. Clutch my pearl.

Fuck purity culture and fuck sexual irresponsibilty in fandom spaces.

[lovetheangelshadow]

So I Finished DMing My First Campaign

It is pretty surreal. After two years I have at last finished my first DnD campaign. So funny story, I ended up being a forever DM because I was on a West March server for newbs and our DM for that day cancelled on us very last minute. I volunteered and got a one shot ready to go for our group and they actually liked it. Thus a couple months later after that server shut down I went on my own and worked out starting my own campaign.

This campaign almost died on the vine though and it had to do with players. At first we started with six players. Then I got a DM from one who said they had to drop out because of issues at home and were not in a good state to continue playing. Then a month later I got another DM from another player that they had to stop playing because their work schedule changed and they could not participate anymore. They were also on GMT+1 so it was understandable. Two sessions later another player just stopped showing up. No messages-nothing. I went an LFG on another server I am no longer part of and got another player. And then they ghosted two sessions later. I put an LFG on Roll20. We got another player. Everything is good until a month later. An argument happened between that player and the two original players on how to deal with an enemy situation. I THOUGHT we solved the problem. But next session? Gone. Gone from discord. Gone from the Roll20 lineup. I messaged the guy but nothing. I was mad. Mad enough to rant about it on the very rare times I post on Facebook. By some miracle one of my old chums from high school days messaged me and asked me if I needed players. So she and her husband joined for the rest of the 75% of the story still remaining. I'll admit I was a little nervous to be DMing for them because one of them had played since ADnD days and the other from 3rd edition. But it worked out. Occasionally I messed up a rule and they let me know. I listened because I wanted to improve.

These four chums had a habit of adopting bad guys. Like by the end of the campaign they had chosen to adopt at least seven: A cultist from a racist elf organization A wayward teen alchemist Two thieves who turned into puppets A giant ice wolf The BBEG's vessel And a djinn Like I had to make sheets for these guys and I didn't have the heart to kill them off. Thinking on my notes I know there are things I need to improve. I failed to interweave the paladin's backstory that the player decided to switch to a Druid character. I gave the rouge maybe too much screentime. I didn't give the fighter enough personal limelight (to be fair he kept switching characters). I could be a bit impatient with the bard player (they tended to sing IRL and I didn't have the heart to ask them to dial it back).

I also really don't do well with encounters. Like they could easily tear through them without much of a scratch (until the BBEG but hardly) and yes I did tweak stat blocks on the situation. I guess I do better with the RP part so I would need to let peeps know that's my skill. And there was a lot of story I actually had to cut out for time and bloat. I used to make maps for everything until the last arc where I admittedly started stealing maps off google. Most of it was because I sometimes I would just be too mentally exhausted from work to make maps on the fly. And yeah I did model a dungeon or two off some Zelda dungeons 😅. I would also reskin some Plug In/One shot adventures I had on file from time to time because work would just be too much.

I'm currently taking a break from long form campaigns but I am running a module or two this summer. I do have an idea for the next one but that's going to be way until October (or November) and one of my players wants to DM. So now it's my turn to mess with her 😈

This is going to be fun

[bowsers-keep]

Tides of Change Chapter 1 - Routine

Masterpost Link - Next >

Warden's daily routine is shaken up by a strange discovery.

For the past year, everything more or less went the same every day for Warden. It was a mix of mostly just patrolling around the borders, seeing if anyone in the village needed help, and mentoring the Feraligatr siblings. Of course there was the occasional event that shook things up a bit such as a festival or someone new arriving, mainly Ciel. Ciel was like Warden in the sense they were both people who had previously died and had their souls reside in a Golurk casing, with Warden having his resemble a Blastoise and Ciel’s being a mixture of the usual Golurk shape and a Charizard.

That was where the similarities between the two ended however, as Warden caught himself thinking about how just a few months ago everything felt a little less bright than they are now. As he roamed the dimly lit streets of the small village he called home, Warden thought about the strange Golurk, about how Ciel seemed to know exactly who they are despite having died and remembered about as much as Warden, how they seemed to brighten up the day of anyone they came across, he was jealous in a way.

Warden didn’t have a single clue one who he was or who he was meant to be, he was just going through this routine hoping it’d let him figure out something. The routine was the only real thing that kept him connected to reality, even then it didn’t really work as he seemed to have been so lost in thought that Warden bumped into the certain Golurk he was just thinking about. It seemed as if Ciel also wasn’t paying attention as to where he was going since he stumbled down to the ground upon contact.

“Oh my are you alright there? I don’t believe I was looking to where I was going.”, Warden said as he extended a hand to Ciel to help him up.

Ciel accepted Warden’s help on getting back up, he still didn’t have the greatest balance after all.

“Yeah I’m fine! Guess I didn’t notice you in the dark there!”, Ciel replied in his usual upbeat tone.

“Might I ask what you’re doing up at this hour?”, Warden asked, it was unusual for anyone but himself and a few other select members of the village to be up so late.

“Well um, there was this noise and it woke me up so I’ve just been looking for it.”, Ciel replied as he was vigorously making hand gestures to accompany his words.

“A noise? What kind of noise?”, Warden asked, he needed more information on this.

“Sounded kinda like yelling but I’m not sure, maybe it was some rouge Pokemon getting into a brawl or something, but it sounded like it was close by.”

“Then lead the way, I believe I may need to check this out.”, Warden changed his position and he spoke, signaling to Ciel that he would be following him to wherever the sound may have come from.

“Okay lets go then!”, Ciel then began walking again, supposedly towards where the sound came from.

The walk had taken a while, as Ciel wasn’t quite sure where the noise came from, but was certain it was around town somewhere. It was also very quiet as Ciel was the talkative one and he was focused on finding the source of the noise, even then he’d make the occasional “hmmm” and “maybe it’s this way…” noise. Another distinction between the two spirits in Golurk casings, Ciel was incredibly expressive with everything he did. Even a simple walk such as this said so much about who he was, with his occasional arm gestures, whatever he might’ve been mumbling to try and find out where their destination was, and how he walked with such a pep in his step.

Warden was quite the opposite however, and he wasn’t sure if this was simply because he hadn’t figured out who he was yet or if this was who he is. His voice ran flat in a very monotonous manner, and his steps were evenly spaced as their one distinction, and despite everything fitting perfectly with his muscle memory it still felt wrong. Maybe that’s why it took Warden so much longer to get the townsfolk to trust him than it did for Ciel, Ciel acted more like a person than Warden ever did.

“OH MY ARC WHAT IS THAT?!”, Ciel exclaimed pointing at something, pulling Warden out of his train of thought.

Looking over to whatever the cartoon character of a Golurk was pointing too, it seemed to be a roughed-up Garchomp with the color scheme of a Golurk, sort of like Warden in a way. Going closer to inspect it, whoever this was seemed to not be too hurt, though unconscious. They were also mumbling but it was too faint to make out words.

“We need to get them back to the village before whatever attacked them finds up. Ciel do you think you can take them back to Madame Clair’s clinic while I scan the area?”, Warden said as he picked up the unconscious Pokemon before handing them to Ciel.

“Got it!”, Ciel made sure to carefully have them safely in their arms before heading back the way they came.

Warden lingered in the zone for a while longer, confirming that whatever had attacked the Garchomp/Golurk was no longer present before heading back to town himself. Hopefully Madame Clair wouldn’t mind such a late-night intrusion.

[kirric-the-fan]

There's a problem with Tropical Rouge Precure.

So I've been watching precure of late, and something odd started happening when I got to Tropical Rouge: I frequently zoned out or mentally switched off from the story during the episodes, particularly in the first half of the season, which isn't something that had happened with other series in quite the same way.

I've been thinking about it, and It's taken me a little while, but I think I've figured out exactly why (and it's quite interesting from a writer's/narrative perspective.) (And if you've been struggling to get into it yourself, you might benefit from watching EPs 30 onwards)

Tropical Rouge's issue, is that it lacks driving narrative, which for a series with motivation as its theme, is a massive faux pas. It commits the cardinal sin of being boring.

This mainly applies to episodes 1-29. The issue is, we have the setup of Gran Ocean being in danger from the witch of delays and her minions, Laura being sent away to find the pretty cure, and then...nothing. She just sort of hangs out in the human world occasionally stopping the Yaranedas, and seems to forget about her home entirely.

This situation isn't helped by the lack of character development too- there's barely any in the first half of the season (at least, any that sticks), and while the activities the tropical club get up to are fun, it ends up becoming a bit too dull and repetitive monster of the week stuff as a result.

It's also the only precure series where I've got halfway through, and I still can't remember all the cures human names because they've been that forgettable. In fact, beyond Laura and Manatsu, I still couldn't remember the others names!

(For context, the only cure whose human name I've forgotten before is Chiyu, and that was a. After I'd watched the series and had seen other series too, and b. Because I mentally got stuck on Saaya and forgor (sorry Chiyu! Blue cure blindness. But I did remember you weren't called Saaya. I just couldn't remember your actual name!)

Returning to Laura and her lack of action: okay, it'd be understandable from one point of 'she's been told to find the pretty cure, and they'll help', but then like, yeah okay they don't know what they're doing. But Laura never pushes the matter, and it comes across like she doesn't care about what's happening to her home, and then we don't care.

All it would take is Laura to be a little more invested in protecting her home, maybe berating the cures for being so inept (maybe implying they're unmotivated), and the Cures seeking to respond to that, to add that connection and driving narrative through the season.

Ofc, the response from the cures would be that actually, they don't know how to be cures, or save Gran Ocean either, and while trying to get stronger and save a whole kingdom would be overwhelming, focusing on what they can do in the moment, and what's important in the moment will play to their strengths, keep them growing, and keep them going through. (And preserve their motivation). Which ties back nicely into the tropical club and its activities. Those activities would also naturally boost their cure skills (which I'm surprised we didn't see more of), and doing a wide variety of activities like that should naturally boost each of their character development (which is another bugbear, as it seems almost non-existent before episode 30. Like there's very little beyond the character's introductory episodes that seems to stick.)

Like, character-wise, Laura could still be keen to become the queen, but it could be used as more of a mask for her missing home. It would make her character a bit more likeable, as she is in danger of coming across as too obnoxious sometimes.

Before anyone says 'It's a kids show, it doesn't need a strong narrative', please know I am comparing it directly to other precure seasons: every single one is a kids show, and every single one (I have seen so far, 14-15/20) has had some cross season purpose, or even a distinct per-episode storyline (another point where Tropical Rouge seem to be weak. Even where the club is setting up activities for other clubs, there seems to be limited consequences or payoff for things going wrong/right. There's not so much to get invested in early on from a narrative point. It tends to be a bit wishy-washy, which isn't good, and a sunny upbeat coating can only go so far.)

So yeah. I think the most frustrating thing is that the potential was there, but the writing seemed to almost like constantly stop short.

Which for a series about motivation...

...almost feels like they were lacking it.

(And one additional comment about the movie: there was a moment in the movie, which I thought seemed to sum up all the series issues very well: when they all start singing towards the end, the characters do nothing but sing. For almost the whole song, all we see is them. As perfectly stationary characters, singing. There's no movement besides their mouths. It's boring, it drags, and it was the perfect opportunity to be showing all the MC's memories of the place the song was about. A simple narrative/directing choice that would have added depth and connection to the scene. And they didn't. I don't know whether it was a cost-cutting measure for whatever reason, but the sheer lack of any movement or emotion in the scene (beyond the actual vocal work, which was very nice. But if that's not well conveyed onto the characters, then what's the point?) kills it. It was immensely frustrating, and made me wonder if there were moments like that which dragged down the TV series pacing too (not that I specifically picked up anything like that during the watch, I will caveat that. )

TL;DR: Tropical Rouge lacks driving main storyline, has weak character development in the first half, and there is a moment in the movie that has cheap directing choices, which makes me wonder if that happened at times in the series too contributing to pulling it down.

Shorter TL;DR: Setting's great, storytelling; not so much.

[indianamoonshine]

Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue

Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.

Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook

“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.

Now he thinks he may be addicted.

Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.

Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.

“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”

|

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.

It was good old fashioned motivation.

Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”

Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.

You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”

|

You’re so goddamn beautiful.

When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.

“Yes.”

|

You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.

Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.

“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”

It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?

How long would it take to heal from that?

Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.

The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.

|

Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.

Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.

It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.

How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.

Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.

There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.

|

You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.

So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.

This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…

“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.

Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”

|

The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.

He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.

And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”

He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.

A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.

“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”

You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.

He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.

“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.

You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”

|

Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.

He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.

Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”

Stay with me. Stay with me.

You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Favorite genre of Tails fan art is art acknowledging that yeah he might be super genius smart but he's still an 8 year old kid who probably plays Roblox and probably likes all the other fandoms that unsupervised internet access children get into for the better or worse because what are you going to do? Put parental controls on his snack crumb ridden iPad? He'll just easily hack his way past it so there's no stopping him.

Yes, I'm fully saying Tails is 100% an iPad kid.

Going off this, Knuckles (of any universe/interpretation) doesn't seem to be the type to really have an interest or can figure technology out and Sonic while having most definitely more experience and knowledge with it I can see kind of being oblivious to it most of the time but occasionally he'll be chilling with Tails, whose just tapping away on his iPad, Sonic being as bored as he is in this moment will decide to glance over to see what his buddy is up to only to look over in horror to see him looking at some sort of creepypasta (stereotypical hyperealistic blood bleeding out of equally hyperealistic eyes and all) or sees him about to spend an RIDICULOUS amount of money on Roblox or something similar to it and decides he has to be the older familial figure and quickly take the iPad away, however Tails is the absolute master at the puppy dog eyes look so once Sonic returns back it's not long before he gives him the iPad back and at least makes him promise not to watch at least as many of those creepypasta videos or spend so much money on a video game like that again and attempts to look over Tails' shoulder more often to see what he's doing, you know like a good big brother should and even makes other people to always make sure what he's up to.

Ex:

Amy who'll probably try to help find other kid friendly stuff like cute (regular, non morbian) animal videos or show him other 'chill' games like animal crossing or stardew valley.

Knuckles which with his unfamiliarity with the internet and internet culture maybe will need some help how to differentiate safe and unsafe content for someone Tails' age, but once then he'll get the hang of it fairly quickly.

Shadow, which maybe you'd think wouldn't be the best of choices but actually the opposite in fact all it depends on is he's even willing to be around to 'chill' where he can even watch over what Tails is doing but when he does I think him and Tails actually get along very well and I can see them talking about machines and weaponry of the like and on a whim Shadow can turn any conversion or interaction with him into these types of discussions so he can distract the fox away from looking at unfit content for an 8 year old very easily.

Rouge, she doesn't hang with the Sonic team often but when she does she always has found a soft spot for Tails, he's just a small kid using such big words she finds so adorable. So she'll be quick to act and will introduce him to ASMR, the sensory pleasing safe kind with the soap cutting, slime squishing, or her personal favorite the shiny objects clinkering and the moment Tails is introduced to it he is HOOKED. Rouge can't help but to giggle at the sight of him glued to the screen as she hums to herself. Mission accomplished. Now, maybe while Tails is distracted she can snoop through a certain echidna's belongings and maybe find some clues about the current location of a certain green emerald?

Vanilla, she's a mother on her own so she definitely has more experience with this type of thing even though Cream is more of an outdoorsy play type of person than a technology kid. However, she knows her daughter can be a very good listener so sometimes she'll encourage Cream to ask Tails about one of his inventions to distract him from the iPad and both her and Cream will happily listen along to his info dumping with tea in hand as long as they need to.

(Movieverse!) Like with Cream, Maddie while not having parental experience of her own until these certain blue hedgehog, red echidna, and yellow fox arrived she is still an aunt with Jojo so she knows how to handle the situation a bit at least once Sonic tells her once going on, and Tom though with a bit less experience of course is there as support. It won't fix everything of course, like mention parental locks and controls will absolutely not work with Tails being a genius but at least they try like with the gameverse/primeverse examples make sure people are there with him as much to at least look over his shoulder time to time as well as limiting and scheduling his iPad time as reasonably as possible with it going into Maddie's bedside drawer at a certain time before bed.

Of course all of this will change as he grows older but at least for now he's eight years old, super smarts or not he deserves to be safe online.

Idk why I wrote all of this but I thought the idea was funny but this I kind splurged a bit thinking about just how important monitoring you children's internet access is even if it's a little bit and as long as it's within reason because unsupervised internet access and it's consequences I've seen time and time again is a BITCH. Maybe it's just the dad instincts coming out of me idk 🤷🏻‍♂️