#they´re faring a bit better

[thegamingcatmom]

Eleazar Denali is a bean, but...

Eleazar is the lovable nerd who would, without a single doubt, study every inch of You if Tanya would let him. Over her undead body.

You´re crying over something and he´ll take a look at those salty tears before catching one on the tip of his finger, and he´ll go like-

"Huh, how very...fascinating."

(We´re still working on the tactfulness thing. He hasn´t gotten the hang of it quite yet...)

I mean, he´s trying. In his own way.

...IT´S BEEN A WHILE, AIGHT?? The poor thing´s not used to having a human around. Not a living one, at least.

He´ll learn...eventually.

Perhaps.

I mean, he´s got Carmen with him. Just look at her going like-

"It´s alright my love, you got this!"

...Only, she´s just as terrible when it comes to humaning. 🥲

(The effort´s very much there, however. It´s entirely charming.)

Good luck. You´ll need it.

[mixingandmelting]

hey so for the batboys, what kind of romantic accidents do you think happen to them? Like imagine Nightwing falling on top of s/o and you think it’s gonna be romantic but s/o just kneed him in the dick by accident and s/o banged their head on the floor?

Dick:

Ow. Ouch. Mother of all owies and her children. He’s in so much pain. A groan slips past his lips as he collapses all the while clutching where it hurts the most. To much of his shame as a vigilante and dog owner, he didn’t notice Haley’s toy lying there on the floor. And you happened to be standing right in front of him. It would’ve been more romantic had his lips landed on yours, maybe even going as far as starting a make-out session. Not getting mini-him kneed out of the reflex of your head slamming into wood. 

“Ow… Oh my god, Dick are you okay-?”

Glad to hear his misery relieves your pain from the snort you let out. Most definitely at him in fetal position, recovering from the unwarranted attack. He really does love you. Call him a sap all you want; he wouldn’t trade you for anything else in the world, all his desires and everything he dreams you take the shape of and embody. And he knows you feel the same way. Or so he hopes. Right now is the moment of truth. Whether you’ll spare him the embarrassment and comfort him like all other good significant others. He means, it is technically your fault so-

“Do, ahem, do you want ice? For you know… down there?”

Oh for crying out loud.  

“No.” He throws a feeble glare at you over his shoulder.You do realize he can see your shoulders shaking, right? Few minutes later and a nice back-patting session (much to his relief and humiliation), he’s sulking. Hardcore sulking. Leading to the repeat of what happened prior to the incident, this time with roles reserved where you’re following him around like a lost duckling and him continually walking away with his arms crossed. 

Jason:

Strings of curses leave his mouth, pain throbbing from his nose. That had to be one of the hardest headbutt he ever experienced. He was trying to prevent you from banging your head onto the corner of the table after he saw you trip. But as he pulled you toward him, his foot got stuck in the bottom ledge of the sofa that he failed to remember was right behind him.  Bet on your breath mingling with his, face too close for comfort. In all the wrong ways. 

Seems like you’re faring better than him, slowly sitting up on top of him and rubbing your head. 

“Oof, you alright Jaybi- Oh my god you’re bleeding!”

He pulls the hand that he was using to rub his nose away to check. Huh, he really is. He lets out a grunt which you mistake as him hurting when it’s from losing your warmth abruptly when you slide off him. He wanted you to stay, not leave. He can never get tired of your presence, always wanting to bask in it 24/7. Hence the scowl behind his hand when he fails miserably to grab and stop you before getting up to start the process in stopping the bleed. 

Soon you come back with tissues, ice, and wet towels. Stuffing tissues into the hand that’s cradling his nose, you hold the ice to the back of his neck with one hand while the other is wiping the rest of the blood off. 

You don’t notice the devious gleam in his eyes, too busy inspecting if he’s injured anywhere else . Good. With a satisfied smirk plasters his face, you yelp from surprise as he pulls up and plops you down back on his lap. Yep, he already feels much better. 

Tim: 

He can hear his heart beating in his ears, the other four of his senses going into overdrive. You’re so close, a sheet of paper’s width away from him. Should he do it? Maybe he should do it. Lean a little bit closer and he would have his lips on yours anyways, so why not? 

“Ow!”

“Who the- What? Ti-, no, Re-, no, Babe?”

He stumbles back and wheezes. He probably deserved getting punched in the guts. He saw you on your phone and a second away from bumping into one of Penguin’s men. So he panicked, okay? Grabbing and caging you in a random alley, against the brick wall before the worst case scenario happens. He doesn’t blame you, having everything occurred in the spur of the moment. And How would you know it was him anyways? 

Or that’s what he tells himself to feel better anyways. He used to tease you were made of stone whenever you jabbed him or did something silly. Now He’s starting to believe it’s true because man, despite you always being sweet and tender to him (to which he’ll always crave and cherish), you pack a mean punch. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you and I thought I was getting kidnapped-“

“It-it’s fine.” Another wheeze. “I should’ve told you it was me.” 

Your eyes say otherwise when you somehow manage to lift his shirt showing Purple and blue blooming on his side. An argument ensues with him listing reasons why he didn’t need to get checked by Alfred as he didn’t need his “siblings” getting their hands on more black mail. Until you pull him towards you. Needless to say, he walks out of the alley with you hand-in-hand, heading towards a nearby urgent care. 

Duke:

The two of you are sitting by the hospital’s entrance. Your eyes are puffy with his belongings in your lab. He’s simply holding on his crutches. All he wanted was to experience his heroic moment of saving his loved one. And today, the opportunity came after school. Served on a silver platter and everything. You had slipped on the last few steps of the stairs and he, like usual, was waiting for you at his usual spot that’s next to them. He, thankfully, was able to catch you. Just. Not in his arms. 

“Duke!?” 

“I’m okay…”

“Like hell, you are!”

You were inconsolable during the ride and after he got admitted to the ER. He kept telling you it was fine, that it was on him had he not second-guessed at the very last second on what posture he was supposed to take on. But no matter what he said, you were dead silent, not making eye contact with him. It only got worse when the doctor told him he not only fractured his ribs, he sprained his ankle. His heart broke when he saw your hands pressed onto your face. All he wanted was to make himself appear dependable, someone you can always count on. 

“What?”

Oh shit. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. Slowly you got up from your chair. He braced himself for what was to come. When Bruce entered the room, he didn't know, other than seeing man nodding on the side to everything you said. Fast forward back to now, where he continues to fidget next to you.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid for the next month, cause I’ll be checking in on you everyday.”

“Everyday?”

Dammit Bruce, he should've been benched for two months! Then he could’ve had two months of getting to hang out with you! 

Damian:

“Stop hitting me!”

“You stop hitting me!”

It’s been five minutes into the game of Hide-and-Seek Bat family version and somehow he’s stuck in a cabinet under the tea display case with you. It’s only because he loves you that stopped him from kicking you out (he ignores how it was you who found this place first). But now, he’s having second thoughts. The space can barely hold a single person and yet here two of you are, cramped and squished in the most uncomfortable positions. Forget about blushing or self awareness, it’s sweltering hot and difficult to breathe! You both tried everything, rearranging yourselves in every way and the only position that was deemed better than the rest is where your backs are against each other, arms wrapped around the thighs and feet propped up against the wooden walls. 

“Stop squirming or you’re going to get us caught!”

“Not everyone is as flexible as you!”

Quickly he jabs you, signalling another person entering the dining room. Though he found it odd. Just how poorly did everyone hide to get caught this easily? A minute passes. Two minutes. The person doesn’t leave and now he’s starting to get nervous. Out of nowhere, he realizes how pressed closed he is to you. Your body heat seeping into his and his into you. He has no plans to ever reveal to you how you are the only person who can ever make him feel at peace nor how he enjoys the colors you bring to his life. With these thoughts plaguing him, he succumbs and slowly lets his arm reach behind him so he could grab your hand.

“All right you love birds, that’s enough!”

You both tumble out and see the shit-eating grins everyone has on their face. Embarrassment and dread settles in. Those jerks knew and had planned to out him this whole time!

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

CINNAMON SWEET

STEVE HARRINGTON X F!READER

A cute little diner, friends that secretly conspire to give you and Steve the push you both need, and a planned breakfast that suddenly feels a lot more like a date - not that either of you are complaining. [Re-uploaded from my old blog]

Realistically, Steve should have known there was something going on when everyone, except you and him, suddenly couldn't make it to the breakfast that they'd all planned. 

But he hadn't really thought much of it when Max said she was teaching El how to skate or when Eddie and the rest of the kids said there was important Hellfire stuff that needed doing. 

Robin had picked up an extra shift at work and when Steve had shot her a briefly suspicious look, she had simply smirked and said something about how she needed to stop being broke and finally get a licence. Because it's not like he could drive her around forever and ‘I can't be third wheeling when you finally get a girl willing to put up with you Harrington.’

And maybe he would have put it together if he hadn't been so god damn nervous.

If there weren't butterflies in his stomach right up until he pulled up in front of your house and if his brain didn't stutter every time he thought of how it was just going to be you and him. 

He didn't fare any better when you stepped outside, the same startling grin on your face when your eyes found his that had stolen his heart the very first time he'd seen it.

There was a softness to how you were dressed that made him ache, all chunky-knit sweaters and pretty-coloured beanies, the scarf that Steve had given to you last year when you took the kids ice-skating and later you'd teasingly informed him he would never get back. 

He couldn't help but hope that he never would if it meant he kept getting to see you walk around in something of his. The feeling he got in his chest when you would catch his eyes on it - smile half hidden beneath the dark wool, hopelessly shy, and your own gaze tinged warm. 

It was one that lingered as you climbed into the car, a gust of cold wind entering with you that stirred at Steve's hair and blew the scent of spiced apple and vanilla from your body wash all around him, hands tightening around the steering wheel and teeth clamped because he was sure he would blurt out something stupid when he realised how the smell instantly brought him comfort. 

"Hey." You murmured from beside him, voice soft, still a little thick from sleep like you hadn't fully woken up yet and Steve was pretty sure he felt something in his chest melt at the sound. "Is it just us?" 

"Hey, sweetheart." He hummed without thinking, the pet name slipping too easily past his lips like it had always held a place on his tongue when he spoke about you, and he was too preoccupied with watching the road to be aware of the way you flushed in response. "Looks like it, apparently everyone else has plans that couldn't wait. S'that okay?" 

And it's not that he necessarily thought you would have a problem with it but he wanted to make sure anyway. Because you and Steve had never really done anything like this before, there was always other people around - the kids or Robin and Eddie, or any time you had spent alone together was either spent entertaining each other at work or in an alternative dimension, fighting for your lives. 

This, right here and now, felt different and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you had to be there if you didn't want to be. 

But then, to the boy's delight, you turned your head to grin at him, soft and warm, eyes bright. Looking every bit like you had always belonged in the passenger seat of his car, right beside him, just like this. "That's fine Steve." You told him. "It's their loss." 

**

The drive to the diner that Steve had chosen, a little bit out of the way instead of sticking to the one in town, was simultaneously never-ending and not long enough. 

An easy conversation flowed between you both. The nerves that had fluttered in your belly at the realisation it would just be the two of you slowly fading as you listened to Steve sing along to the music under his breath, only for them to then reappear with a vengeance when his hand occasionally brushed against your knee as he shifted gears. 

Each time he would withdraw his hand, cheeks tinged a soft pink, his apology a little choked sounding as he coughed to clear his throat. 

You had to pretend that the fleeting touch didn't burn you each time, that you didn't wish you could catch his fingers with yours and pull his hand back to rest on your knee instead of telling him ‘don't worry about it.’

And by the time you were unbuckling your seatbelt, nearly tumbling out of the door in your need for fresh air, there was a heady kind of tension between you. A sweet ache that made you feel permanently too warm, too giddy each time soft, brown eyes landed on yours and he smiled that same devastating smile that had labeled you a goner from the moment you had met him.

He waited for you to join him around the front of the car before he motioned towards the place with a little ta-da, his expression adorably pleased when you gave a delighted laugh before your gaze flickered to the quaint, little building, intrigued.

It didn't look like much at first glance but there was charm in its simplicity, all the decorations that they'd lovingly put in place for the season and the upcoming holiday making it feel homely and your heart undeniably happy. 

"How did you hear about this place?" You asked curiously whilst walking to the door. 

There was barely any space between you and every now and again you accidentally bumped arms or your fingers brushed, almost catching, so close to holding, but never quite. And unlike in the car, this time there was no quickly pulling away, no muttering of an apology, instead you both allowed it to happen like you were waiting to see if the other would pull away or if they'd be the one brave enough to move closer. 

But neither of you did and Steve quickly pulled you away from thoughts of if you should when he answered,

"Joyce told me. Said she used to bring Jonathan and Will here all the time because Will was convinced they did the best cinnamon waffles and hot chocolate." He grinned softly, eyes golden in the light of the sun and his expression briefly hesitant when he drew his lip between his teeth before adding. "It uh, it made me think of you."

"I remind you of waffles and hot chocolate? Is it because I'm just so sweet?" You joked. 

He shook his head with a huffed laugh, a rogue strand of hair falling into his eyes that you ached to brush away. "I wouldn't say that, well maybe, I guess?" He contradicted himself, cheeks a little flushed as he caught your amused stare, the pretty twinkle in your eyes that grew the more the boy spoke. "You mentioned that cinnamon waffles and hot chocolate was your favourite thing to have for breakfast that time we were at Robin's and– wait - shit - did I remember wrong?" 

You were stunned - a little too much so that you couldn't answer him for a moment, simply blinking at him as Steve's face grew worried. 

He brought you back with a hushed murmur of your name and you were suddenly fighting to breathe against the golden warmth flooding through your chest. 

"No, no, no, that's right." You assured him, a steadily beaming smile creeping across your face and Steve practically lit up with relief. "I just can't believe you remembered."

He snorted a little as he reached for the door and swung it open, a strong arm catching around your waist and pulling you into him to create a clear path for the elderly couple who were on their way out. 

"I remember a lot of things about you, probably more than I should." His voice was softer than you'd ever heard it and if the boy heard or even felt the way your breath hitched then he didn't say anything. Simply smiling proud and wide as the old couple thanked you, the lady cooing about 'what a cute couple you were and such lovely manners too.'

And when you finally dared to chance a look up at him he was already watching you. The tension from the car ride returning, something electric brewing in the small space between you that apparently made the boy feel bolder.  

"I did forget something today though." He mumbled, gaze a little warmer, a little flirtier, fixed on yours as he lifted his hand to tug high at your scarf, a light touch that caused his hand to barely graze the edge of your jaw and jesus christ, you couldn't fucking breathe. "Should have told you how pretty you look the moment you stepped foot in my car." 

You hadn't even realised your hands had made their way to his chest, fingers caught gently in his jacket from when you had swayed into him. But his breath was warm on your face and his nose was bumping yours and you swore there was a question in those pretty, honey eyes as they flicked from yours to your lips and slowly back. 

"I think I could maybe forgive you for taking this long." You whispered and he grinned, sticky-sweet and lovesick. 

"Yeah?" 

It was a question that you so badly wanted to answer by tilting your chin and pressing your lips to his. You wanted nothing more than to push yourself further into him, ached to feel him wrap himself around you, arms tight and mouth warm and giving under yours. 

But just as his lips brushed yours, the faintest echo of a touch, and you heard the boy's breath hitch, there was a crash from inside.

The sound of a plate shattering and cutlery hitting hardwood loud enough that the two of you jumped and stumbled apart with wide eyes. Gazes a little shy now the bubble you'd found yourselves in had been popped, allowing the world to rush around you once again. 

For a few moments you both just stood there, you nervously chewing at your lip as Steve ran a hand through his hair, musing it further than the wind had already. But then you caught the boy's eye and the laughter that bubbled out from you both sounded quiet and breathless, but real.

Happy.

And you could hardly bite back the smile when he tilted his head towards the inside of the diner and grinned. 

"After you, sweetheart." 

[tmwcs]

heethans reaction if h/n posted revealing bikini pics with y/n on insta???

Warnings: yandere theme, slight bit of non-con turned dub con implied, choking, use of force, punishments, fingering, cursing, pet names, think that’s it.

A long day of classes. The weekend was too short as the first day of the week already drained you. How you wish tomorrow was Friday already.

“Hey y/n.”

A calm voice catches your attention up head and you recognize that deep tone and accent. “Oh, hey Jake.”

He smiles someehat mischievously as he walks in your direction. “What’s up?” You nervously smile as you route up your question. The expression on his face told you of his awareness in something that you felt as if you should know of.

“Nooooothing. Like your picture on IG. Maybe you can tell H/N where you got that swimsuit.” He speaks and stares down, but never pauses in his steps. He continues to walk past, unlike yourself, where you were caught off-guard by his words and stood still for a moment trying to figure if the slight bit of sarcasm was intentional.

You head out to meet with Heeseung at the curb, as usual. There he stood, leaning backs against the front passenger door with his arms crossed, his head angled at a downward tilt, allowing for his cap to cover his features. Some things will never change.

“Hey babe…I had a weird conversation with Jake just now—“ your mind snaps into a blank slate as you try to process the sudden jolt of movement that gripped you by the neck. Twirling you around, you found yourself being the one leaned up on the car, while being forced to fare directly into his eyes. His plush lips make contact with yours as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip before breaking in and coating your entire mouth. “Bad girl.” He growls against youc barely breaking the kiss and allowing for you to catch a breath.

“W-what? I—“

“You what?” His voice antagonizes your unfinished sentence as he squeezes your throat. You let out a small gasp for air as you reach up, desperately trying to feed your fingers in between his in an attempt to loosen them. “H-Heeseung…”

“Can’t breathe baby?” Once again his words come off laconically. He propels a look of playful malice as he lets out a scoff through that wicked smirk. Kissing you once again, his tongue movements are much more aggressive. He finally releases the tightness of his hold, yet still has his palm wrapped around you. With your body being re-introduced to oxygen, your caught offguard when his free hand shoot’s down your jeans and feeds itself through your panties. He does not leave you any room to configure what was going on as he plunges his fingers inside you. “Time to feed Ethan.”

His dark expression turns murderous as you witness the switch on his personality. Unsure of what brought on this animalistic behavior, you beg him to give closure.

“W-what did I do wrong?”

He scoffs as he continues to violate you in the open parking lot, completely aware that no one was around to witness his volition, although you knew better than to figure that it wouldn’t have changed anything had there been eye witnesses present.

Biting down on your neck, he darkly chuckles against your skin, pinching it against his teeth. Taking his hand out from your jeans, he fishes it inside your satchel and pulls out your phone. Presenting it to your face, he lightly taps the screen against your collarbone. “No more social media for you.”

Leaning forward, he presses his nose in and rests his forehead against yours. “You just had to go and show off what’s mine. You trying to make me angry?” The smirk on his face flares sarcasm as you see past the smile and see nothing but anger. The way he grits his teeth was enough to nearly make you urinate your own jeans. “I—that wasn’t mean to—“

He cuts you off once more as he shoves you in the backseat. Nearly flinging you in, he straddles on top, restraining every bit of your movements. Pinching your chin, he forces you to face forward. “Don’t move.” He issues.

You knew better than to disobey. He was already mad, and considering he was Ethan now, doing anything more against his demands would only cause you pain. He’d make you pay for it all.

You felt him tighten his belt around your head, enforcing you to clamp down on it with your teeth. Oh no…

“Bite down, darling.” He says as he props himself on his knees, groin pressed against your buttocks as he stations your legs to rest around his waist. Undoing his jeans right before you, he smirks deviously. “Better the belt, than your own tongue, in which case I’ll bite it for you.”

Your eyes grow extremely teary as you brace for what is about to come. He smoothly pulls your jeans off, along with your panties. Rubbing the nub of your clot with his thumb, he fishes out his lengthy member and pulls his own jeans down just enough, until the waistband rests against his upper thighs. Slapping the tip against your swollen lips, he aims the head of his cock to hit your clit dead center. You whimper and jolt, all to his pleasure. “Let’s have some fun, hmm? I know i will.”

His words stamp your ears as you feel the sting of his swollen head pushing in. Without any four play, you weren’t exactly prepared to take in his member so suddenly. Your body hadn’t had the chance to lube up.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll be wet here in a sec. And you don’t have to be in a bathing suit to enjoy riding the waves this time. Ethan’s got you.”

[stromuprisahat]

Alina running an orphanage with Mal in Keramzin at the end of the trilogy feels like it came out of nowhere.

We never saw her interact with kids, show any maternal instincts, or even hint at wanting to open an orphanage—it’s like the idea just popped into existence. And honestly, looking back, did Alina even have her own thing? Besides disliking herring and being a mapmaker, what was she into? Her whole identity revolved around "saving Ravka," but that’s not really a personality. What’s her favorite color? What scents does she like? Does she have a hobby other than being obsessed with Mal 24/7? She’s a bit of a blank slate, to be honest.

It did.

It's rather simple- it's not about the children, but re-creation of Alina's childhood.

Her ending is a total regression minus the threat of her powers resurfacing.

She didn't settle in some random place, she could've lived anywhere, since it's even said Alina was married by the sea and Nikolai already offered even a dacha to her brand new hubby. But that wouldn't be just.like.their.childhood! She has to return to Keramzin, chained to Malyen. Sickly, a shadow of herself... the children are just props. They've been there before, they have to be now.

Sure, there are those "magical" changes making it a happy, colourful place- stories and paints and piano for anyone. Sugar and no boogeymen waiting to drag the children away- kicking, screaming into a Palace! They're here to be spoiled, but never reprimanded. Some upbringing...

Alina never showed interest in children, because she cares for them in the vague, general way. They need to be protected, they should fare better than Alina did- she has surprisingly enough empathy for that-, they're the ultimate victims should you need to prove someone's wickedness. It's understandable Alina never mentioned wanting any- she isn't good in caring for anyone, because her life is already dedicated to catering to Malyen's needs.

What did Alina want outside of Malyen?

I've asked @aleksanderscult the same question a while ago.

The answer was rather depressing- no, indeed, there's no other desire in Alina's life-, and I'll link another post, summing up her (lack of) hobbies in more eloquent way.

Although we know about one thing she liked, outside of using her powers- specific someone's thick black ruffled hair.

He held out his hand, and I stepped into his arms. I cupped the back of his neck, feeling the silken brush of his hair on my fingertips.

Siege and Storm- Chapter 23

[house-of-entities]

—ROOMBA CASTING CALL! [PROLOGUE]

“And again!”

The spotlight blared down relentlessly, illuminating the makeshift stage plopped in the middle of the gloomy Hadal Blacksite. The sudden burst of golden light obliterated the oppressive atmosphere, now replaced with the hauntingly repetitive beats of another 80s pop track. Somewhere off-stage, the ancient CD player had given up on life, skipping over the same note like it was the hottest thing since sliced bread. It didn’t bother them one bit.

In front of the stage, perched like a vulture armed with legal jargon, sat Sasha, a cyan-haired genius who had probably racked up at least six lawsuits—though she’d argue seven for the drama. A clipboard balanced effortlessly on her knee, chai latte #3 in hand, she radiated cool indifference. Everything about her screamed “style,” from her crossed legs to the unnecessarily expensive shades perched on her nose. Truthfully, the shades hid the bags under her eyes, but she’d tell you they were for “aesthetic purposes.”

“You look ridiculous,” Sebastian spat, each syllable practically dripping with venom. He was squished into a sad, sun-faded plastic chair, his tail flopping over the side like it had resigned itself to its miserable fate. The chair creaked ominously, and if chairs could sue for abuse, this one would’ve been first in line. The rest of him wasn’t faring much better. His arms were trapped in a straitjacket—his third arm duct-taped to his side like a bad cosplay malfunction. “Why am I even here?” he hissed, glaring daggers at Sasha.

Sasha didn’t flinch. She merely adjusted her shades, probably imagining she looked intimidating but mostly looking like she was shielding herself from his tragic fashion sense. “Not as ridiculous as you, Mister Solace,” she shot back smoothly. “Now stop whining. This is important work.”

Sebastian squirmed, the plastic chair wobbling precariously. His tail smacked the ground in frustration. “Work?! This is torture. Literal, human-rights-violating torture.”

She sipped her chai nonchalantly, the sound of slurping louder than the skipping CD. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Besides, you gave me no choice. You resisted.”

“Resisted what?”

“Being my roommate,” she replied, with the tone of someone explaining why water is wet.

Sebastian blinked, his patience finally snapping. “So you KIDNAP me, strap me into a straitjacket, and subject me to this garbage music?!”

“It’s not garbage. It’s a vibe,” Sasha corrected, flipping a page on her clipboard. “And this isn’t about roommates anymore.”

His eyes narrowed, his tail thumping louder. “Then what is it about?”

With a flick of her pen, she gestured to the banner hanging crookedly above the stage. The original text, “Roommate Casting,” had been crossed out, replaced by an aggressively bright, neon-scrawled correction: “ROOMBA CASTING.”

Sebastian stared, his brain short-circuiting. “You’re... auditioning vacuum cleaners?!”

“Yes,” she said simply, gesturing to a lineup of Roombas waiting backstage. Each one had been modified, some with googly eyes, others with questionable attachments. One of them appeared to have a small cowboy hat.

Sebastian buried his face in his hands—or tried to, given the straitjacket. “I’m in hell,” he muttered.

“Hell is subjective,” Sasha mused, smirking. “Now stop complaining. You’re on the judging panel.”

The CD skipped again.

Sebastian let out a long, drawn-out sigh as Sasha snapped her fingers. From behind a flimsy curtain that looked like it had been stolen from someone’s shower, a line of people shuffled onto the stage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Sebastian groaned, his tail thumping against the ground with a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

The rest of the stage was an odd hybrid: half a proper stage, half a giant hole leading straight into the flooded abyss of the facility. Sasha squinted at the water, momentarily distracted by the obvious design flaw. She was halfway to raising her drink and yelling about how open waters and Roombas were a recipe for disaster when one of the robot friends drop down into the void.

“Uh, is this the bus stop for the 166?” A man slurred suddenly, his voice thick with confusion. He was swaying slightly, like someone who’d mistaken vodka for water—twice. His suit was rumpled, and his nametag, which should have read Berry, had an upside-down and smudged “B,” transforming him into “Ɛeery.”

Sebastian and Sasha stared at him in stunned silence. Then, as if choreographed, they both shook their heads slowly.

Berry—or Ɛeery—blinked, nodded like he understood, and shuffled back behind the curtain. Moments later, he reappeared dragging a bench and a crooked metal sign that somehow read “BUS STOP.” With a grunt of satisfaction, he set up his makeshift transit hub in the corner of the stage, plopped himself down on the bench, and began patiently waiting.

Sebastian turned to Sasha, his tail flicking. “Are we… just gonna let this happen?”

Sasha took a long sip of her drink. “Honestly? It’s the least weird thing that’s happened today.”

Sebastian was still glaring at the makeshift bus stop when the curtain rustled again. This time, a woman stepped onto the stage. She had an air of confidence—or perhaps obliviousness—wearing a trench coat that looked two sizes too big and carrying a massive tote bag that seemed like it contained half a grocery store.

She glanced at the “BUS STOP” sign, then at Berry—or Ɛeery—who was sitting on the bench, staring into the middle distance like a man deep in thought (or entirely thoughtless).

“Excuse me,” the woman said, her voice brisk, “is this the stop for the 166?”

Berry nodded solemnly, like he’d been expecting this question all his life.

“Great.” Without hesitation, she plopped down beside him, her tote bag thudding against the bench. She adjusted her coat and pulled out a sandwich, unwrapping it with the deliberation of someone who had all the time in the world.

Sebastian’s eye twitched. “What is even happening right now?”

Sasha, still sipping her drink, shrugged. “Looks like a functional bus stop to me.”

“They’re on a stage in the middle of a flooded deathtrap,” Sebastian snapped. “There is no bus! There cannot be a bus!”

As if on cue, the woman turned to Berry. “How long until the next one arrives?”

Berry squinted at an imaginary watch. “Ten minutes.”

“Perfect.” She offered him half of her sandwich. He accepted it with a polite nod.

Sebastian buried his face in his bound hands. “I hate this place.”

Sasha leaned back in her chair, clearly entertained. “Maybe the 166 is symbolic,” she mused. “Like… a journey of self-discovery.”

Sebastian glared at her. “If one more person asks about that bus, I’m throwing myself into the hole for an own journey of self discovery.”

Before Sasha could reply, the curtain rustled again.

[Your OC Name] stepped onto the stage, their [Your OC features] dramatically swaying in the non-existent wind, as if they were an angel descending straight from heaven—or at least a very over-the-top shampoo commercial. Their Roomba-tastic charm immediately grabbed the attention of the jury, which was, let’s be honest, just Sasha pretending to take this seriously.

With a deep breath, [Your OC Name] launched into a passionate, soul-stirring speech. Their words were so powerful, so full of raw emotion, that Sasha’s jaw dropped. She clutched her clipboard like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. By the time they finished, she was crying—not from sadness, but from pure, unfiltered excitement.

“Oh my God, yes!” Sasha shrieked, leaping to her feet like she’d just won the lottery. Somewhere in the chaos of applause and overly emotional outbursts, her hand swung wildly, sending her half-full chai latte flying directly into Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian froze, his expression a mix of rage and utter defeat as the lukewarm drink dripped down his cheeks and pooled in his lap. With his arms strapped tightly in the straitjacket, he could do nothing but sit there, seething, while the scent of overpriced chai burned into his nostrils.

“Why,” he said flatly, his voice strained, “must I suffer like this?”

“Oh, quit being dramatic,” Sasha said, waving him off. “It’s just chai. Anyway!” She turned back to [Your OC Name], her excitement uncontainable. “You’re in! Welcome to the House of Entities!”

[Your OC Name] smiled graciously, while Sebastian muttered under his breath, “I hope this house floods.”

Sebastian sat there, dripping in chai latte, his patience thinner than the cheap plastic chair struggling to support him. His tail thumped against the floor, creating a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that perfectly matched his rising annoyance.

“I swear, if one more thing hits me in the face today, I’m filing a complaint with the—”

“Who?” Sasha interrupted, snapping her fingers. “The House of Entities HR department? Oh wait, I run it.” She smirked, clearly enjoying his misery. “Now hush, the next contestant is coming on.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I thought this was a Roomba audition. Unless you’ve developed a fetish for caffeinated chaos, none of these people even remotely qualify.”

“Hey! I am a visionary,” Sasha snapped, dramatically pointing her pen at him. “You don’t just find the perfect Roomba. You find the spirit of the Roomba within the—”

The curtain rustled again, cutting off her ridiculous monologue. A small man in a red coat shuffled onto the stage, looking around nervously. He held up a single index finger. “Uh, hi. Is this the, uh, karaoke night?”

Sebastian groaned loudly. “No, it’s not karaoke night, it’s—”

“Actually,” Sasha cut in, flipping through her clipboard, “we might have a slot for that next week. What’s your range?”

The man blinked, muttered something about Freddy Mercury and shuffled to the bus stop for the line 166, muttering apologies.

Sebastian whipped his head around to glare at Sasha. “This is a train wreck.”

Sasha shrugged, sipping what little remained of her drink. “Not my fault the Roombas are running late.”

“They’re not late,” Sebastian growled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re non-existent. Because this is not a Roomba audition. It’s your unhinged social experiment, and I’m the only one sane enough to notice!”

Sasha ignored him and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Next!” she called out.

The curtain parted again, and a woman in a bedazzled jumpsuit strutted onto the stage. She carried a feather duster like it was a sword, her movements full of theatrical flair.

“I am just the cleaning lady.” she declared, “The human embodiment of cleanliness. I bring precision, style, and sparkle to every space I touch.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “Oh, great. A human Roomba. That’s totally what we needed.”

Sasha perked up. “Actually, this might work! Do you beep when you hit walls?”

The woman frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” Sasha muttered, jotting down notes.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian grumbled, leaning back as far as his restraints allowed. “You’ve had a bus stop, a Freddy Mercury wannabe, and now whatever this is. If one more non-Roomba steps on that stage, I’m done.”

“Relax,” Sasha said breezily. “It’s a process. Greatness takes time.” She turned to the woman. “Do you also vacuum, or just dust?”

“Vacuuming is beneath me,” The woman sniffed.

Sasha waved her off. “Next!”

The curtain swished, and a man in a poorly constructed cardboard box costume rolled onto the stage. A pair of googly eyes were taped to the front, and he let out an electronic beep-boop.

Sebastian stared in stunned silence. “What. Is. That.”

Sasha’s face lit up. “Finally! A Roomba!”

The man cleared his throat, breaking character. “Actually, I’m a Dyson.”

Sasha threw her clipboard on the ground and yelled at the ceiling, “Why, universe?! Why no Roombas?!”

Sebastian’s laughter echoed across the stage, even as chai dripped off his nose. “This might actually be worth it just to see you suffer.”

The curtain fluttered again, and for a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Sasha and Sebastian both leaned forward, confused. Then, with a faint beep, a sleek black Roomba rolled onto the stage, its movement smooth and confident.

But this wasn’t just any Roomba. This one had an hat on its top and—most concerningly—a knife duct-taped to its chassis. Its model name, scrawled in sharp white marker, read: Ghost.

It paused at center stage, let out another dramatic beep, and then zoomed forward, ramming directly into Sebastian’s plastic chair.

“OW! What the—?!” Sebastian barked as the chair wobbled precariously under his weight.

Ghost beeped again, reversing slightly before taking a sharp turn and charging straight at Sasha. She leapt out of her seat with a shriek as the Roomba zoomed under her chair, narrowly missing her legs.

“Oh my god!” Sasha cried, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “IT’S A ROOOOOMBAAAA!” She threw her arms into the air in triumph.

The Roomba, unfazed by her enthusiasm, zipped to the edge of the stage, vacuuming up stray crumbs and dust as it went. It spun in a tight circle, let out another triumphant beep-beep, and sped off toward Berry and the woman at the makeshift bus stop.

“Look at it go!” Sasha yelled, practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s got a hat, it’s got a knife—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted!”

Sebastian, still pinned to his chair and thoroughly unimpressed, muttered, “Yeah, perfect. A murder vacuum. Just what we need.”

As if on cue, the faint sound of an engine rumbled from offstage. Before anyone could react, an actual bus—labeled 166—lurched onto the stage, screeching to a halt right in front of the bus stop.

“What the—?!” Sebastian yelled, tail whipping around as the stage shook beneath him.

Berry stood up, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. “Finally.”

The woman grabbed her tote bag and climbed aboard without a second glance. Ghost, as if perfectly aware of the transit schedule, beeped, zoomed up the bus’s ramp, and parked itself neatly in the corner.

Sasha’s jaw dropped. “Wait! NO! Ghost, come back! You’re supposed to vacuum here, not ride public transportation!”

The bus doors hissed shut, and with a cheerful honk, it reversed off the stage and disappeared into the depths of the flooded facility.

Sebastian blinked, stunned. “Did… did we just lose a Roomba to a bus?”

Sasha collapsed into her chair, defeated. “It was perfect,” she whimpered, clutching her clipboard like a security blanket. “It had a knife.”

Sebastian let out a low, wheezing laugh. “Oh, sure. Cry over the homicidal Roomba. That’s normal.”

“Shut up, Sebastian,” Sasha snapped. “You just don’t understand art!”

And the search for roombas continued.

[tobiasdrake]

Dragon Ball Daima 01x13 - Surprise

And we're back. I think episode 12 was probably the halfway point for the series?

And holy shit. This is just gonna be non-stop bitching 'cause this is hands-down the worst episode of Dragon Ball Daima. I genuinely cannot imagine a worse episode than this existing.

This is worse than that time Gomah and Degesu spent half an episode watching Dragon Ball Z and nerding out over how much better of a show it was.

This guy's so fucking screwed. Gomah's never been a credible opponent, and now he's got both Dr. Arinsu and the Dragon Team gunning for him.

Degesu's reaction to shutting down Warp-sama is surprising. He legit acts like this is the most unthinkably vile thing anyone's ever done.

There's a bit of metaphysical whiplash going on here where it's like.

Oh shit! They're gonna, like, attack Warp-sama or kidnap Warp-sama or--

Oh, no. Warp-sama's just a machine. There's a switch in the basement they can use to turn Warp-sama on or off with at any time. It's fine.

BUT turning Warp-sama off is, like, the most heinous thing ever. Like, even for a bunch of fascists in the demon world, THIS is a bridge too far. How DARE.

Neva over here still trying to make krakens seem menacing after we already beat one's ass last episode.

It's fine. He never opens his eyes so he might not have seen that.

Yeah, crashing makes sense. Popping into Makai #2 just to grab the Dragon Ball and then skedaddling did seem a bit too easy. We already visited the former home of the Namekians. This is gonna be the former home of the Glind, then?

Yeah, but we've defeated two Tamagami. I think we'll be fine.

Bulma and Pansy nerding out about tech together is the best part of this episode. I haven't even finished the episode yet as I say this. I just know nothing's gonna top this.

^_^

The mega-hamsters are adorable and I kind of love them. XD But also they're only a threat because Vegeta's the only one actually willing to fight them.

I really hope this is going somewhere because we're halfway through the episode and this detour has, so far, been utterly inconsequential.

A "stranded in bear country" type episode generally serves the purposes of forcing a small number of characters into a tight situation where they'll have to interact with one another, building their dynamic with each other or forging one anew.

But we have the entire cast stranded in bear country and all we're doing is walking around going, "Sure is bear country around here."

Man, they really do think "what if things were very big" is in and of itself, interesting enough to carry an entire episode premise.

Over two minutes of this episode is just watching this kid sit down and have lunch while everyone goes "OH MY GOD IT EATS LUUUUUUUUUNCH!?!?!?!?"

Toei. You do not have a manga to keep pace with. You do not need to insert filler.

Just punch it really hard, Goku.

Thanks, Vegeta. You're the only character not pretending to be threatened by this stupid filler plot, and I appreciate you for that.

Sure, that might as well happen.

I mean, you're using 0.25% of your speed right now, and also you can teleport. But sure.

(sigh) Do I even need to say it?

Goku is choosing to lose this altercation.

At least Vegeta's kicking things up to a Super Saiyan form. He's not faring much better but, like, I can believe he's actually trying to win. That's what's important. It's not about the results, it's about selling the idea that this character is committed to the task that they're doing.

I dunno. Maybe you should just teleport and not be in this situation.

Maybe you should just teleport and not be in this situation.

God, we had a whole episode re-establishing Goku's ability to teleport and everything. This is literally the one and only character in the entire cast who can't be put in predicaments like this.

And now he's free-falling into a bag while screaming for his life.

This character who can both fly and teleport is trapped in free-fall and screaming for his life.

And it all culminates in a desperate last second dive to save Goku from being crushed, because he refuses to teleport out of IDK sportsmanship or whatever.

This is so boring. It's the first episode of Daima I actually had to force myself to finish because it was unwatchably bad. Absolutely nothing happened. We got lost in bear country and then proceeded to be menaced by bears because we forgot how our powers work.

This would fit right in as an episode of Dragon Ball GT. The first arc, were Trunks has to go Super Saiyan to lift some breaks and everyone keeps forgetting how to fly. That's how bad this is.

[orsinium-scholar]

While I'm thinking about crap quest lines: the college questline in Skyrim is fucking terrible. (I have a theory that whoever writes these quests is cursed to be kicked in the head by a donkey whenever they sit down to write the mages guild type quests.) None of the higher ups can run a bath and the few who are vaguely competent get sent to eeby deeby with barely so much as a fare the well. (RIP Mirabelle you deserved better) Nobody knows anything it seems and when you arrive one of the people there is an evil elf wizard cop who is practically wearing a giant neon sign saying "hello I am an evil wizard elf cop and I will be your villain for today". The Eye of Magnus doesn't seem to do much besides make a force field and glow a bit and the whole thing gets resolved by deus ex psyjiic.

And the biggest problem is that I don't give a shit about Winterhold. What, could no one magic up a broom and tidy up the place after the collapse?

But what if I did? What if, instead of a cold and run down ghost town, Winterhold was rebuilt by the mages after the collapse, using magic to hold precarious rocks back in place? What if Winterhold is a student town? (Drunk, magically talented young people with no parental supervision. The side quests write themselves.) The Jarl is slightly distrustful. He's heard whispers and rumours about the collapse, though as long as the college money keeps coming into his hold he keeps it to himself, and many of the older generation still hold residual distrust. But the hold itself is alive and flourishing, lit with magic lamps to hold the cold at bay. It would make it stand out as a beacon of magic against the rest of Skyrim.

Ancano is still there and still a complete twit, but he's joined by Estormo, who's his quiet assistant.

And Savos Aran still can't tell his staff from his backside, and really shouldn't be in charge. (After all, it was his meddling with Labyrinthian that caused the great collapse, as much as he tries to keep that quiet.)

As the quest carries on, the presence of the eye begins to destabilise the magic holding much of the city up. There are constant complaints of earthquakes and subsidence. Distrust begins to grow in the town as rumours spread that the wizards are hiding something in their college. This destruction grows more devastating as the quest goes on, a visible reminder of the danger the eye poses.

And then betrayal, as Estormo attacks the other wizards. And Ancano. Who, yes, was preparing to run back to the Dominion and report on the eye, but had no greater ambition besides that. He's a racist prick, but he has a job to do. Estormo is the one who had big plans. It's not the greatest plot twist in the world, but it is at least a bit of a twist. Ancano does his best to help, and is broadly useful, if irritating.

Oh, also, lets have actual funeral services for the people who die during the quest. Kodlak got a lovely service, we can't give Mirabelle one?

It's not the best re write, but it would at least make me want to protect the college instead of my usual thought of "Damn that's crazy. Anyway." It makes me, at the barest minimum, give a damn.

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

i was thinking earlier about how a lot of folks love to praise mangahood/broho for its "feminism" and having "strong female characters" but as i was re-reading the manga last year, a lot of the girlboss characters that the fans love are...kinda mid?? like, you have olivier and izumi and their entire thing is "i'm so much stronger than you isn't that hilarious?!" (and i love izumi so she gets a pass but still.) and then you've got lan fan who is supposed to be this badass fighter, but immediately gets taken out in a fight against bradley and then cuts off her arm, and all of that is used to further ling's character arc (and i love both of them but like...alright. that's a choice.) then you have riza, who's whole backstory is mostly to prop up mustang, and then you have the moment where she finds out he "died" ala lust and she just... gives up?? like lmao what?? and then winry, who's (despite what fans say) entire role in the story is to be ed's love interest and when she's not needed for automail stuff, she just waits around for him, even at the end. like.... ok. which, sidenote, aside from how racist scar killing winry's parents is (and the way it's used to further the romance of edwin) i always hated how ed tells winry her hands were meant to "give life". like... wow, a male character telling a women she's meant to not fight and heal instead?? never heard THAT before! /s and yet edwin fans/mangahood fans will praise this as if it's the epitome of feminism and it's like... i mean i guess it's better than some other shonen out there but it's not what i'd call perfect lol. and anytime you try to point this out everyone is so quick to say "fma's written by a woman!!" and it's like... yes lol obviously but that doesn't mean some of her writing choices can't be side-eyed (see: how the ishvalans are treated).

What, didn't you hear? The presence of women is maximal feminism and peering any deeper than that is misogynist. The same kind of thinking that leads people to proclaim mangahood to be an anti-racist, anti-military screed when it fumbles the former and is absolutely the opposite of the latter.

Never let a shallow reading get in the way of heaping endless praise on your fave shonen fare. Feminism is when there's women and it's written by a woman, not a broad ideological/philosophical framework that needs to be intentionally understood and applied to a story.

Whatever feminist cred we can give mangahood is pretty shallow. And what sticks out to me is how overtly the Brotherhood anime upholds typical patriarchal gender roles. Girl/women characters berate the boys/men for being wimpy/failing their duty for utmost machismo. Various characters prod at Olivier for being an unwed older woman without kids, and although this is met with consternation on Olivier's part, it ties back into larger patterns of women as 'innately' maternal. Obviously the presence of sexism doesn't necessarily mean a support for it, but Winry getting moulded into the perfect idyllic white pastoral wifey does subtly tip the text's hat.

Ed is shocked that Lan Fan is a woman, despite his alchemy and combat teacher being a woman too. And as you said, we are constantly meant to gawk at Izumi and Olivier for being adept fighters, combat-savvy, and brutal when need be. The 2003 anime is not obsessed with Izumi's prowess; you're meant to take her seriously and respect her as a formidable fighter and alchemist.

Lan Fan does get to shine a bit as a fighter when up against Ed, and later when taking down Gluttony post-arm loss, but she doesn't get fleshed out beyond her dedication to protecting Ling. It does read a bit odd when, after witnessing Lan Fan's sacrifice of her arm for her and Ling to escape Wrath, Ling then kicks Gluttony's ass while hauling her around on his shoulder. Like. He's a stronger fighter than his own bodyguard. (Arguably Gluttony is a less adept fighter than Wrath, but he does have sheer mass on his side and that should not be manageable for someone encumbered by a fallen comrade.) I wouldn't expect him to be incompetent, but the disparity in quick succession of scenes is odd.

Of course feminism also isn't reducible to "when female shonen characters are good/bad at battle". More than everything mentioned, Lan Fan doesn't exist outside of Ling and her clan's duty. She has too few scenes as well, given Brotherhood's juggling of 300 characters beat by beat.

Riza truly is just a mess when looking at her place in the story. The codependence between her and Mustang is intentional, and I wouldn't knock that against the writing for that choice. Women having flaws, being wholly human in variety is not antithetical to a feminist reading. But it's when she's constantly put in situations where she's barely holding herself together, where she's a damsel for Mustang to rescue, where her distress is classically Woman™, and that scene with Lust is meant to reveal just how deep that dependence runs. It renders her null the moment she thinks Roy is out of the picture. Riza's backbone is Mustang, our Idealized Male Deuteragonist. That's when its hard to just prop Riza up as Feminist (girlboss genocider addition which, y'know. Nothing more Imperial Feminist than ethnic cleansing, because women of colour don't count in the grand calculus for pop media feminism).

(Also Ishvalan women basically don't exist beyond the one elderly woman who rats out Scar.)

Yes, it's a character trait of Riza: she can keep her cool so long as Roy is alive. Barring if she thinks its time to kill him herself, any other major threat to him is excruciatingly existential to herself. She revolves around him, whereas I'm not convinced Roy would be as instantly and emotionally destitute in a reverse situation. We got a taste of his Righteous Man Anger with Lust (the symbolism of this faux womanizer scorching a seductress to death who threatened him and his monogamous situationship, as well as leading on his buddy, reifying the Good Loyal Non-Sexual Woman and condemning the Vindictive Harlot is 😬). His self-destruction would likely be codified Male, the way Riza's is codified Female. It's gender roles at a fairly essentialist level.

Everything you mentioned about Winry is spot-on. Her passion for automail engineering is slowly stripped away to keep her more as ship fodder and as the continual spectre for mangahood's Scar Was Wrong thesis. She's gonna bake Ed a pie when he returns home from the war front, she'll bare their children, she'll be a wife first and anything else second. Meh. How disappointing. I'll take the staunch automail freak that is 03 Winry, whose destiny is not wrapped up in the nuclear family, anyday.

Which is the other big, glaring character of Brotherhood: the power of the cisheterosexual institution of the nuclear family and marriage. It has its own healing powers, eeking the humanity out of Pride and Wrath, being the driving force for Hughes to survive genociding people long enough to establish his own family, the will-they won't-they vice grip of Roy and Riza, Ed's big reward for ending Father once and for all, Hohenheim's salvation was in part his family (becoming the true father that his homunculus doppleganger never could be); families at least exist outside of the Western nuclear model from what we see of the Xingese characters, and what little we get to see of the Ishvalans, but that's hardly expounded upon.

We weep at the purity of Madame Fuhrer's love and concern for her Fascist Supreme Leader husband and her star son, pulling on the heartstrings of the nation. (The Ishvalans don't matter.) We're stirred to righteous horror at what befalls the Rockbells, a loving family ripped apart by Amestris by Scar. Gracia is the picture perfect widowed wife, proud of her patriotic husband, and dutifully rearing the country's future. Envy, a gender freak making a mockery of her and Hughes meets brutal retribution by our idealized Man, who struck down the other aberrant gender of Lascivious Evil Woman. Winry's future shines golden, as her hands deliver a baby, channelling her parents and, (barely) subtextually, some sort of Woman's Intuition. Lust isn't even a character beyond the archetype of femme fatale (she's more interesting to analyze as the Female Sexualization of desire from an inhuman being masquerading as a cis man than as a character herself).

It's a lot of failed potential on top of being very normative.

To actually give a solid, deeper critique on the ways Brotherhood is and isn't feminist would be a greater undertaking if you want to delve beyond what's been mentioned here, and I just don't have the time to really get to the meat of it all.

Still, I don't think it isn't without some positives. At least I find Madame Christmas a solid example of an older woman not couched in maintaining a standard of feminine youth or thinness, yet carries herself with an air of confidence that the narrative and characters never balk at. The sex workers she leads are also spared sanctimonious bullshit or anxiety over their existence.

So that's something. (These are not major characters in the slightest.)

I'm not shocked by how shallow the series actually is regarding its female cast and its overall gender politics, but fan insistence that it's a prime example of a feminist story is laughable. Yeah, shonen stories, especially battle shonen, are ABYSMAL in these regards, so compared to total shit mangahood stands above its contemporaries. But if your standards are higher than total shit, than mangahood really won't knock you off your feet.

Despite what some may think, you can acknowledge the flaws of Brotherhood while still enjoying the story and characters. It isn't actually a personal attack to like imperfect media (which is pretty much all media lbr). But try bringing any of this up without people flying into a conniption, as if you killed their dog right before their very eyes. ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 17!!!

Okay, it's been a bit so quick recap: We just spent the evening at a dive bar singing karaoke and learning that 1) Jesus is a 13-year-old rich white kid with rich parents living in L.A. and 2) Muriel is missing. The Angel of Sardis gave us a lovely fishbowl (alcoholic drink since no one in this world has bothered to ask Reader's age because I have more room to play that way) as a reward for singing Taylor Swift (Shake it Off). We pick up our story The Morning After.

Also, since the poll about Sardis tied, I'm taking it to mean that everyone needs/wants more time with him to figure him out. Fortunately people also voted to bring him along, so we get to have LOTS OF THAT!! :D

Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G Major for anyone who's curious.

What music do you think Anathema likes??

Let's do this!!

Beginning || Previous || Next

**********************************

The next morning you sit at the table in the dining room of the massive Ritz hotel suite, staring into your coffee. You have a headache, and no one else seems to be faring too much better. If only it was just a hangover. A miracle from either Aziraphale or Crowley could fix a hangover, but there was no way that a miracle of any size could make your situation any less bleak.

Aziraphale, angel that he literally is, had thought to order in breakfast from the kitchens. You look from your coffee to the waiting plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, heaving a sigh. Jesus, if and when you find him, is an entitled teen. Muriel, friend and precious, is missing. Things are...well, it’s hard to feel happy or optimistic right now. Your companions aren’t faring much better as far as you can tell. Crowley is staring at his phone with a frown, the sound effects of Candy Crush drifting across the otherwise silent table. He’s playing at non-chalance, but you know Distraction As A Coping Mechanism when you see it. Aziraphale has barely touched his food, focusing more on alternating between stirring his tea, and sipping it only to add more sugar. The drink must be nearly syrup by now. Anathema keeps dangling her pendulum, pausing, then setting it down to re-cast her rune stones. You’ve noticed that they keep landing up the same way. Well, you need fuel in your system if you’re going to deal with all of this, so you reluctantly cut a slice of pancake with your fork and bring it to your mouth.

The silence stretches. Well, except for the ambiance; Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast, pancake slice. Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast, pancake slice. Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast, bacon – mixing it up a little. Candy Crush, spoon stir, runes cast

BAM!!!!

The door of the suite slams open, and there stands Sardis with his foot in the air.

He kicked the door down. What...on….earth…

“I FOUND HIM!” Sardis stomps into the suite toward the table, waving his phone in the air, “I FOUND HIM! I knew I’d seen his face somewhere, and I found him!!”

Crowley sits up straight for once in his life. “Who THE FUCK gave him a key?!”

You avert your gaze. The fishbowl was delicious, and he patted your head afterward and told you everything would be okay! Not your fault….entirely.

There isn’t much time for you to contemplate your guilt because Sardis has turned up the volume on his phone, and pressed play on a Tik Tok video. He turns his phone so that you all can see the screen. A boy with dirty-blonde hair is smiling out of it. His hair is longer in the middle and pouffed up with what is probably a standard-teenager’s worth of hair gel, and the sides are very short with...dollar signs shaved into them. It’s just a Tik Tok video, but you can smell the Axe body spray from here.

“Hey guys!” The smiling teen calls, waving at the camera. “It’s me, ya boy Jeremy. I’m bringing back my most popular series. That’s right! You asked, and I’m answering your prayers! Time to bring back Let’s See What I Can Get Away With Because I’m RICH.”

Your face twists in disgust, and you hear Anathema groan.

“I think we’ve seen quite enough,” Aziraphale says, speaking for you all.

“Are...are you sure that’s Jesus?” You ask. Honestly you’re hoping it’s a joke. You’re hoping beyond hope that this...this...caricature of a person is not the same person who you need to convince to help you save the world.

“Oh yeah,” Sardis replies, “That’s him. Right name and everything.”

“Wot? Jeremy?” asks Crowley with an edge of salty sarcasm.

“No,” Sardis says, “His true name. I know everyone’s, remember? It’s the right kid, you have my word on that.”

Truth be told, you’re still not exactly sure what his word is worth, but for now it’s a lead. You glance at Anathema, who shrugs.

“Fits the bill,” she admits, “All my readings have been...unsettlingly clear about the kind of kid we’re looking for, and I mean...” She gestures helplessly at the phone and the video that Sardis has, thankfully, paused. You blink, dumbstruck. Aziraphale said something last night about Heaven cutting corners. Apparently they had cut the corners so thoroughly they’d made a circle.

Great.

******************

Breakfast suddenly became easier after that. Maybe it was because Sardis was the only one who wasn’t completely despairing over everything, and maybe it was because he was suddenly helping himself to the plates of excess pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Suddenly, you noticed Aziraphale wave a finger and the food was hot again – trying to impress company, or be a good host, or both no doubt. You found that your appetite had suddenly returned, along with your need for caffeine. Even Crowley had grabbed some bacon now that, perhaps, there seemed a less likely chance of him having the choice if he waited any longer. Sardis did most of the talking, explaining that the shortest driving route would take 28 hours. Best to get started asap then.

“I am not listening to anymore of your….Us songs!” Crowley growls at you as soon as you get in the car.

“Not all of them are love songs!” You protest.

“No! No breakup songs either!”

“Fine, fair, but what about -”

“And especially no End-of-the-World songs!” He snarls. You’re pretty sure he’s halfway to hissing at you now. “We have enough of that to deal with assss is!” Ah, there it is.

Ever-so-gently, Aziraphale takes the phone out of your hand.

“Perhaps it’s about time someone else had a turn,” he says. Ah, so he’s finally gotten tired of humouring you and your taste in music. Well, it had to happen eventually.

Unfortunately, this means that you all end up listening to Brandenburg Concerto No 3 in G Major. Well, it could be worse, you figure. At least this song has movement to it, even if it does feel endless based on your musical standards. Crowley is driving and silent, Aziraphale is waving your phone around in the passenger’s seat like a conductor’s baton. The backseat is as follows – You, Sardis, and Anathema.

Yes, Sardis is there. Considering the way he found Jesus – or, Jeremy – so quickly, and the way he seems to be single-handedly keeping everyone’s morale afloat, it seemed a waste to leave him behind. Besides, both Crowley and Aziraphale had tried to make him leave, but he just….stayed. In the end, you pouted, they gave up, and now he’s sitting in the middle of the backseat, because you and Anathema have seniority.

Speaking of Anathema, you notice her very pointedly staring out the window. She looks...stiff. Maybe classical music isn’t her thing? Your suspicions are confirmed approximately nine minutes later when she practically jumps up from her seat and grabs the phone out of Aziraphale’s hand and presses stop. The music comes to a halt and silence fills the SUV. Aziraphale looks shocked and appalled.

“Anathema!” The angel exclaims after a moment. You can practically hear him clutching at his non-existent pearls. You can see him resisting the urge to clutch at his bowtie. “We weren’t even finished the Allegro!”

Anathema takes a deep breath. You’re able to count out a solid beat of ten before she speaks.

“I...am not...listening to classical concertos for 28 hours. I don’t care what key it’s in or how many allegros it’s got!”

Crowley snickers and snorts. “Concertos don’t work like that.” He says. You see Aziraphale gently pat the demon’s knee as if to say ‘that’s my man.’

“Well what would you rather?” Is what Aziraphale actually says, “More bebop?”

“Try me, and I’ll play death metal, I swear I will.”

“Um,” Sardis ventures cautiously, “Can I see that for a minute-- thank you.” He plucks the phone out of Anathema’s hand. After a minute or two of swiping, he taps the screen, and the car fills with songs from well-known musicals. Now, although this isn’t exactly to everyone’s taste, no one can find a good reason to outright hate it. No one can manage to find a good reason not to put up with it, and so by the time Music of the Night has melted into Seasons of Love, everyone has settled down and accepted that things aren’t actually all that bad.

“Impressive,” You mutter, basking in the semi-content vibe. Everyone is still a little on edge, but it feels less intense now.

Sardis smirks. “Six siblings,” he says to you with a small nudge.

“What happened to the others?” Anathema asks, tuning in to the conversation.

“Well,” Sardis sighs, “Of the seven of us - myself, Smyrna, Pergamum, Ephesus, Philadelphia, Thyatira, and Laodicea - Smyrna and Philly were the only ones who didn’t get hate mail. Smyrna was always super into the doctrine. She drank the kool-aid, as the humans here would say, and felt it her calling to ‘return home,’ as she put it. Bullshit, honestly. We weren’t born angels, we were made alongside the churches of Christ. ‘S one of the reasons why they don’t actually give a shit about us.”

“And why you worried that your miracles might get taken away,” You add, putting some of the pieces together. Sardis nods. “Wait, a minute,” You say, “You were made??”

Sardis laughs. “Alright Little Moth, you need to pick a lane here. Do you want to hear about my siblings or how I was born human?”

“You were BORN HUMAN?!” You are practically bouncing right now. What...how… “But you said that you can’t change your species!”

“I said your Miracle Enabler can’t change your species,” He replies with a twinkle in his eyes, “Not that it can’t be done. The seven of us were all born human. We made the first seven churches, so we were made guardians, lower angels. Like...lower than whatever the lowest type of angel you know of is. But we weren’t created as angels like your friends in the front seat.” Movement catches your peripheral vision, and you notice Crowley shifting a little in his seat. No doubt that’s a touchy subject that only Aziraphale is allowed to go anywhere near, but he says nothing. “So they all pretend we don’t exist, and look down on us whenever they need to deal with us. Sort of like we’re --”

“Oh, don’t worry,” You interject, “I read enough fantasy to understand the way magical societies view human-born magic users.” You can imagine that being An Angel of God would probably get old real fast if everyone who was supposed to welcome you actually hated you and made sure you knew it. Goodness knows it got to Aziraphale eventually, makes sense that a human-born angel (a huboan? You’ll work on it) would get sick of it a lot sooner.

“And that’s why I like you Little Moth,” Sardis says with a chuckle and a wink. “Anyway, so I know Smyrna went to Heaven. Philly stayed here. The two of us have always been really close, she stuck with me and we messaged and called and visited all the time until recently. I got some messages from her when the world went nuts during the first apocalypse, but I haven’t heard from her since. She stopped replying to my messages.”

Now it’s your turn to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Your eyes drop to your feet and start to fill with tears, so you change your view to the one outside your window.

“I can relate,” You say after a moment, holding back a sniffle and a sob. Deep breath. “Well, I’m glad you’re sticking with us.” You plaster a smile on your face and turn back to him. “Maybe we can find her.”

He smiles. “That’s what I’m hoping.” For a while, everyone is silent. After a few minutes, Anathema offers to put together a playlist with everyone’s favourite songs. The mood shifts considerably as the five of you spend the next few hours excitedly making musical suggestions.

It’s the best collection of music you’ve ever heard.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[drunkenlionwrites]

very tender hurt and comfort with Vash tending to your wounds please? Maybe Reader has a lot of scarring and this is the first time Vash is seeing it? Pre relationship please so theres full of yearning and unspoken intimacy JDBSIDJJAHDIDHDJ I WANT THIS MAN SO MUCH HE HAS TAKEN OVER ALL THOUGHTS

Hi, dear anon! I am so so sorry, this request literally has been sitting in my inbox for 2 months and not because I didn’t like it, but for the opposite reason! I’ve been writing and re-writing it many times, and because I tend to go overboard with angst/hurt-comfort stuff when it comes to Vash, it turned out to be just 1000 words of fluff. Yeah, sorry to all the guys who requested fluf and got angst and vice-versa. Seems like I’m not good with requests, maybe will change the submissions to suggestions later. Anyway, hope you’re still somewhere out here nonnie and you can see this! Warnings: mentions of scars and wounds, reader without specific body parts descriptions, Vash calls you a fem!gendered word in french once though, slight pining, fluff

There’s a sudden loud laugh, shuddering of the glasses and the next moment you’re laying face down on the sandy soil in front of the saloon. Your Thomas got freaked out and yeeted you over his head right into the dirt. For real? You’ve felt a sharp unpleasant pain on the left side of your body – your cheek, belly and a part of hip and knee burnt. The inside of your mouth tasted like sand, dirt, and humiliation. You spat and saw particles of blood in your spit. Wincing, you stood up, Vash’s hands already caringly holding your elbows.

“Hey, you’re okay there?” You turned to the side to see his concerned face that grew even more so when he saw the deep scrapes on your cheek. Wolfwood placed a hand on your shoulder as he passed through you to the saloon entrance with a chuckle: “That’s a pretty nasty fall for someone who claimed to be the best rider out of us, sheriff”. You could just growl at him pettily, hearing Vash’s scolding above your head as you tried to dust off your clothes as best as you could before entering the building.

Just great…One thing you’ve been confident in was your Thomas riding skill and you made sure to tease Wolfwood ‘cause of his clumsiness with saddle. You didn’t know what was wrong with those two men, but they both were so much better than you with everything: their shooting skills and physical prowess were not a joke, and you’ve felt a tinge of bitterness every time one of them roared to you to stay back or run away (which most of the time you didn’t listen to). But nevertheless, you’ve been so used to being one of a kind, the strong one, the clever one. The promising young sheriff of your town. Well…the town that doesn’t exist anymore, but still!

Waving off Vash and his attempts to check up your bruises, you went straight into your room for the night once you’ve booked them. This soured your mood a bit – the jeans were dirty and ripped now, the bruises were pretty big, even if not really deep, Wolfwood for sure will tease you back relentlessly, and Vash saw you falling so ungracefully…ugh. Deciding to be a grown up about it, you went for a shower, which made you feel better and decided to sleep off your bad mood. Surely, with a new day it’ll all feel like a funny incident to remember sometimes and laugh about, right?

You heard soft knocks on your door when you’ve been drying off your hair with a towel. “Hey, that’s just me. Wanted to check up on you if you don’t mind?” a sheepish voice spoke, muffled by the door. Of course, he would do that… Opening the door you saw a tall blond standing there, already in his nightclothes, with a small med kit in his hands, which he shook a bit before your face. “Ummm…I know you don’t wanna, but it’s still better if we treat your wounds, you don’t want to get an infection and then nasty scars on your pretty face, right?” Pretty, is it? “Vash, I have my fare share of scars, I don’t really care about them, but if it makes you happy, sure” you stood aside from the door, letting him inside.

Sitting beside you on a bed, Vash started cleaning the skin around your scratches with antiseptic, leaning awfully close to your face for you liking. He seemed to be preoccupied with a task, making ‘tsk’ sounds like a concerned mother would. You’ve felt a tinge of warmth at this thought, not daring to dart your eyes to the side and concentrating on breathing calmly. “Show me the other bruises” Vash asked, and you obediently lifted your shirt to reveal the biggest one that marred your skin from the upper stomach to the hipbone without giving it much thought. Seeing your friend’s cheeks and tips of the ears turning pink, you decidedly pulled it back. “Um…that’s fine. Thanks for worrying about me, I can just do it myself” you smiled reassuringly at him.

“Oh, sorry, I..didn’t mean anything like that. Just noticed that you already have some scars there. Did you get hurt a lot?” you chuckled as you raised your shirt once again for Vash to continue with his medical care. “Well, even though it’s just a silly nickname now, I used to be sheriff for quite some time. Yeah, I have some. Some are knife wounds, some from gun shots, maybe now some new from falling off Thomas” you tried to end it on a funny note, but Vash only frowned and placed a hand on your shoulder. “You know you can stop anytime? It’s not like you must continue to live such a risky life… You can find a nice occupation suitable for une jeune fille like you. Settle in a relatively calm and nice city? Wouldn’t it be better?” He said as if coaxing you, his voice soft and dreamy.

It was your turn to frown at his words. “You know I would if it was something I wanted, right? I never wanted such a life, especially not now, not when I…well… when I’m doing something important and helping you out. And I’ll ask you out of my room if you raise this topic again, okay?” Vash shook his head and chuckled, pressing his fingers, covered in healing balm to your bruised belly. “I surrender, sheriff. Please, spare this pitiful outlaw!” You laughed at that, his fingers somehow burning your skin way stronger than the deepest abrasions.

[lonestarflight]

Skylab Missions: Skylab 3

*

"These three men are the prime crewmen for the Skylab 3 mission. Pictured in the one-G trainer Multiple Docking Adapter (MDA) at the Johnson Space Center (JSC) are, left to right, scientist-astronaut Owen K. Garriott, science pilot; and astronauts Jack R. Lousma and Alan L. Bean, pilot and commander, respectively."

Mission Duration: July 28 - September 25, 1973

Time Duration: 58 days, 15 hours, 39 minutes, 42 seconds

"The Skylab 3 mission started out as routine, but was not without in-flight high drama of its own. Shortly after docking and entering the Orbital Workshop (OWS), all three crew members experienced motion sickness, delaying the activation of OWS on-board equipment.

A more serious concern was raised on Mission Day-5 (MD-5). An apparent failure of two of the four thruster quadrants of the Command Service Module (CSM) reaction control system was detected.

Not only could an actual failure like this create an early end to the mission, it also could conceivably render the CSM incapable of supporting a safe return of the astronauts to Earth.

Launch crews at the Kennedy Space Center were placed on a 24-hour per-day, seven day per-week work schedule to prepare the Skylab 4 Saturn IB launch vehicle for flight in case an early launch was needed for a rescue operation."

The Skylab 4 Saturn IB (CSM-118/SA-208) launch vehicle is rolled to Launch Complex 39, Pad B.

"A decision was made to continue the mission, and although the Skylab 4 launch vehicle had been rushed to flight-readiness, the CSM performed flawlessly during re-entry operations.

On August 6, 1973 astronauts Garriott and Lousma performed a spacewalk which lasted 6 hours, 31 minutes. During this spacewalk, the astronauts were able to extend an external twin-pole thermal shield to replace the parasol thermal shield installed by the Skylab 2 crew. They also retrieved and replaced film from solar telescopes housed outside the OWS.

A second spacewalk by astronauts Garriott and Lousma was conducted on August 24, 1973. This one lasted 4 hours, 31 minutes. During this spacewalk, the astronauts retrieved and replaced film from solar telescopes housed outside the OWS and installed a cable for a new rate gyro package. They also performed some maintenance activities.

The third and final spacewalk of the mission was conducted on September 22, 1973. This one was conducted by astronauts Bean and Garriott and lasted 2 hours, 41 minutes. During this spacewalk, the astronauts retrieved and replaced film from solar telescopes housed outside the OWS and performed maintenance activities on other external experiment packages.

Scientific experiments, including the observation of unanticipated dynamic solar activity, continued for much of the 59-day mission. The crew participated in classroom-oriented educational demonstrations regarding weightlessness.

The Skylab 3 crew set a new manned space flight endurance record. Their in-flight health fared markedly better than the Skylab 2 crew, with the exception of the amount of bone calcium loss.

A significant demonstration of long-term space flight and the long-term viability of the OWS was successfully achieved."

* Due to a NASA management error, crewed Skylab mission patches were designed in conflict with the official mission numbering scheme.

An interesting side note, the wives created their version of the patch. I've covered the NSFW bits just so the Tumblr staff doesn't mark my blog as NSFW.

"The main feature on the second Skylab crew patch was Leonardo da Vinci's universal man, slightly retouched to make it 'G-rated'! Without their husbands knowledge, the astronaut wives also had a patch made which was a joke version of the official crew patch. The universal man figure had been replaced by a 'universal woman'. Instead of the astronauts names; Bean, Garriott and Lousma, their wives first names were shown: Sue, Helen-Mary and Gratia. The crew first became aware of the wives patch when they found stickers of them in their lockers on board Skylab."

source, source

NASA ID: S72-51123, S73-28714, 72-HC-90, SL3-108-1288, SL3-109-1345, S74-15583, SL3-111-1505, S73-34369, SL3-117-2109

[runekirikjartan]

​🇫​​🇮​​🇨​ ​🇸​​🇪​​🇱​​🇫​-​🇷​​🇪​​🇨​​🇸​

Fic authors self-rec! List your favourite five fics that you've written, then tag at least five other writers! Spread the self-love. 💙

I was tagged by @marloviandevil and have spent the last like 45 minutes agonizing over which fics I feel are worth posting, thank you though bc now I've evaluated and have found some gems I forgot about writing

--

talking to the moon Ship: CT-782 - Hevy/Reader Rating: M Summary: Finding the frequency was an accident. Falling in love with Hevy, that, that was just fate. Why this one: This was the fic I wrote in 24 hours after rewatching the Rishi episode and it was honestly self-indulgent, but it's got both a bittersweet ending and an alternate ending so it's the best of both worlds Status: Finished

--

Signs of the Skrill Ship: Dagur the Deranged/Bragi the Berserk (Original Character), Viggo Grimborn/Original Character(s) Rating: M Summary: As the youngest chief in the Barbaric Archipelago, Dagur the Deranged quickly learned three things; first, you can always forgive but never forget. second, your family is your life, and third, you can't rule alone. Bragi the Berserk has known three things to be true: first, family was what you made it, second, it was entirely possible to be lonely in a room full of people, third, if you give someone your heart, you better hope they would keep it. Two young men attempt to navigate duty, grudges, honour and glory, while trying to keep each other afloat. Why this one: I always wondered what would happen if the How To Train Your Dragon franchise (specifically Race To The Edge) would fare if it met more Game of Thrones style writing. Now I'm definitely not the next GRRM but It has been an interesting explanation into the side characters who had plenty of potential. Currently being re-written from its original finished state. My pride and joy fanfic, have been working on this since 2014 when I first started watching HTTYD and the fic has quite literally grown with me. Status: Unfinished.

--

when the rain comes down Ship: Halfdan the Black/Original Male Character(s) Rating: M Summary: King Harald arrives in Kattegat, Bragi moves to follow his fate, as it comes in the form of brown, wild eyes and blond hair. Why this one: What's a bit of fruitiness within a period-piece drama about vikings? Very dramatic, many liberties taken with plot, a fix-it in the works. Currently being re-written from its original finished state. Status: Unfinished.

--

4. don't wanna cry but i break that way

Ship: Nil Gen Relationship: Hound & Original Clone Trooper(s) Rating: M Summary: Chasers died, either by falling off the multi-levels of Coruscant, or by getting shot, or they went missing in the middle of the night on patrol, or Hound lost them during chases on Coruscant's duracrete sidewalks.

He couldn't get attached. Why this one: Admittedly this is probably one of the best Coruscant Guard centric fics I've written (and there's a lot of them). Hound is a character we see very little of (about 1 minute of screentime) but a man and his dog always make me happy... so I may have given him a little bit of sadness too. Part of the Fox & His Shinies series which is my current pride and joy of Clone Wars fics. Status: Finished.

--

5. the poor run with smoke lungs

Ship: Nil Gen Relationship: CC-1010 | Fox & CT-7567 | Rex, CC-1010 | Fox & Original Clone Troopers (s), Dogma & CC-1010 | Fox Rating: M Summary: A vignette style fic about how the 501st and Coruscant Guard coped with being forced to share a space at General Skywalker's command while the Jedi General tracked down Rako Hardeen for the killing of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Why this one: A part of the Clone Wars that is rarely delved into because it's immediately preceded by Umbara, Kadavo and followed by the Wrong Jedi Arc and the Chip Arc. I didn't think many people realized that the 501st were essentially employed to the senate the whole time that Anakin was hunting down Rako Hardeen. Part of the Fox & His Shinies series which is my current pride and joy of Clone Wars fics. Status: Unfinished.

---

I have honorary mention for: two worlds - COD x Avatar Crossover gen fic. Summary: When Phillip Graves gets the opportunity to venture out onto the remote moon, Pandora, a million miles away, at his little brother's recommendation, he takes it with open arms.

--- Tagging - only if you want to! @mamuzzy-creates-stuff/@mamuzzy, @whiskygoldwings, @ithillia, @blackat-t7t, @kworking

[rustedleopard]

uty ship headcanons? Your character analysis are all really great and I like reading them so feel free to rant if you want.

I'm not really much of a shipper. Usually when I engage with a story I'm more interested in stuff like themes or characters or etcetera, so mashing two characters's faces together falls really low on my priority list (and for the rare few ships that I do have, I also tend to look at them from both a platonic and romantic angle because just focusing on the romantic aspects will start to bore me after a while). Not to say that shipping is a bad thing, it's just not my thing.

For Undertale Yellow, I don't really have any ships besides Staroba. I like that their dynamic has more of a sense of equality to it (as nice as they are to each other, both Starlo and Ceroba aren't afraid to call each other out on their shit), they're pretty funny together, and them being childhood friends to lovers is pretty cute. I only like/can see Staroba happening a few years after Clover passes though. Ceroba needs time to recover from her previous relationship and Starlo wouldn't push her into anything she's not comfortable with; he's respectful like that 👍. Plus, what ultimately turned Ceroba off from dating Starlo is that he was immature, and at the end of the True Pacifist story, Starlo is shown helping his family and starting to be more responsible. So I imagine that Ceroba would end up gradually falling for Starlo without her knowledge until she one day realizes and is like "Oh." Then cue a bunch of guilt because she feels like she's betraying Chujin by falling for Starlo and Starlo helping her gradually work through it. It's a slow burn 😅

(Any treatment of Staroba as a "Starlo gets the girl" type deal is an absolute turn-off for me. It's not about Starlo getting Ceroba like she's a prize to be won, it's about them growing into better people together and realizing that their feelings are mutual.)

.....And THIS is the part where I re-read the ask and realize that you probably want me to talk about my opinions on UTY ships overall. Hmmm. I'm putting the rest of this under a cut. Warning that this will be a bit headcanon heavy.

First of all, any sort of Clover × adult character ship (Martlet, Starlo, Ceroba, Dalv, Mooch, etc) or any minor × adult pairing is a strong NO from me. I don't care how you try to justify it, it's disgusting, I don't care for it, I don't want to see it. GET THE HELL OFF MY BLOG! This isn't me being a hard-ass, this is me expressing a normal opinion to have. If the person reading this ships minor × adult ships, then Leave. Now. Likewise if you take any minor × minor ship and do NSFW stuff with them. Yes, even if you age them up.

With that being said, I also want to state that I don't hate any of the ships I talk about below, I just don't ship them myself. These are just opinions/my interpretations of them and if you have different ones from me, then that's totally fine. I'm just some rando on the internet, don't let what I say stop your roll. I'm... also gonna try to be brief with it since there are quite a few ships to cover.

(EDIT: I was not brief. Oh my god, I was not brief!!!)

Clover × Flowey: I can't see this as a lovey-dovey standard-fare relationship, especially if it takes place during canon. I don't care if Flowey calls Clover his best friend and lets them rest at the end of the True Pacifist story, I found that moment wildly OOC and did not like it! Flowey said he hated them in both the Neutral and No Mercy run endings, and Clover didn't really do anything to bond with Flowey in the True Pacifist ending, so I don't see why he'd suddenly change his mind. Plus, I tend to see Clover as having pretty good judgement of character and that they have some suspicions as to why Flowey is helping them so readily. But... Let's just throw that out the window for this scenario! If Clover had feelings for Flowey, he would absolutely abuse that to lead them around by the nose. Flowey already tries to isolate Clover from their friends and control them by saying that their friends are a bunch of bozos and to focus on the mission and that Clover is too good for them. And if he had their romantic affection as well? What's to stop him from using that to push Clover to go to Asgore and not get distracted? It'd take him a few resets to get used to having Clover look at him like (⁠灬'_'灬⁠), because Flowey has his own issues, but once he's got it down pat, he'd exploit it as much as he can to control Clover. He wouldn't return their feelings either, and would probably start cackling to himself about how much of an idiot Clover is the split second he dives underground. Honestly, I deeply pity Clover in this situation. In a post-Undertale canon scenario, I could see them trying to be friends with each other, but if you're like me and headcanon that they get revived with ALL of their reset memories, being friends is the absolute best case scenario.

Clover × Kanako: Feels like a "pair the spares" situation more than anything. We don't know much about Kanako besides she was kind and smart and brave and well-loved. Nothing about her likes, dislikes, opinions, preferences, etcetera. This may be a bit mean but to me, she was more of a representation of an innocent child lost to Ceroba and Chujin's whole deal than she was her own character. Plus if things go the route of "Ceroba (and Starlo and Martlet, but they don't matter here) adopts Clover and becomes their new family," things get iffy there because they're siblings. Adopted siblings, but siblings nonetheless. But, hey, most of my opinion on how well this ship turns out hinges on what happens to Clover's familial situation post-everything (should they get revived) and how someone characterizes Kanako since she's a fairly blank slate. Do something good with it and I'll go 👍. (psst, would be really cool if you made Kanako dislike humans in a sorta "learned from her dad and perpetuates his bad habits" way. would make her and clover's relationship, romantic or platonic, very interesting and would make her feel more real and grounded..... i know that her spoon-behaviors in the true lab contradict this but i'm just sayin')

Clover × Chara: Two fascinating characters, both who went the "sacrifice myself for the sake of Monsterkind" route, to wildly different degrees of success. From what I've seen, a lot of Clover's characterization in this dynamic seems pulled from the Undertale Red + Yellow mod which... I don't agree with their characterization there. They never struck me as especially chatty, they just say what needs to be said and leave it at that (if anyone here is gonna be verbose, it's gonna be Chara). I also don't see Clover as trying to be upbeat and positive all the time, like in the UT Pacifist Route. Have you seen them in the UTY No Mercy route? Clover can get very serious when they see fit. Hell, even in Pacifist, Clover strikes me as the sort to give the impression that they're serious almost all the time because they don't emote much and are terse (even though they're pretty damn hilarious in their head. A shame 😔). But I digress. The biggest difference between these two is their opinions on humanity. Chara hates humans enough that they try to force their brother to start attacking humans and Clover cares about humans enough that they jump into a mountain that children were known to go missing in to bring justice to the five kids. Yet both of them had shitty lives back home. More than wanting to see them hold hands, I wanna lock them in a room together and make them talk about humans. Either some crazy understanding would bloom or it'd just be two 12-year olds squabbling forever. Place your bets here on how it would turn out.

Axis × Daisy: Nothing needs to be said because I can't come up with anything to say. I wish Axis the best of luck with putting trackers in his children though! 🙏

Martlet × Red/Papyrus/Moray: Gonna throw these all into the same category because I can basically say the same thing about all of them: they're fine. I won't seek them out intentionally but if a story/fanart happens to feature it, I wouldn't be turned off from it. Canon just doesn't give me anything to really work with for these ships so I just go meh. I will say though that while I am usually not a firm "X character has Y sexuality" person, I do tend to see Martlet as a lesbian. So if I stumble across a Martlet × Papyrus fic or fanart or something, there's a bit of a mental hurdle to overcome with me going "Oh, this person thinks Martlet has a different sexuality from how I headcanon her."

Ceroba × Alphys: TOXIC YURI!!! Two characters who hate themselves for their actions who also project their insecurities and the parts they hate about themselves onto the other person. While Ceroba would likely be giving Alphys a lot of shit and would usually instigate things, don't forget that Alphys can snap back if pressed (remember the Queen Alphys ending?). Minecraft Achievement: How Did We Get Here?

Ceroba × Chujin: In an AU where Chujin didn't die, it would've ended in the messiest divorce. Their relationship was a powder keg ready to blow: lack of communication, blind admiration, secrets being kept, one party pulling more weight than the other to cover living expenses, and I could go on. The only reason why they stuck together so long was because they loved each other, and well. Romantic relationships can't last on love alone. There's gonna be moments where there's no room for romance in a relationship because life is happening, and the split second they would've hit one of those moments: *KABOOM!!!* Therapy and proper communication could've saved them, but they're both too prideful and secretive to ever explore those routes.

Starlo × Dalv: Admittedly Corn Yaoi is one of the funniest names for a ship out there. Gives me a "Country guys make do" vibe from name alone (if you're a minor, please don't look that up. Or if you do, because I know realistically that I can't stop you, don't hold me responsible for it!). But besides that, I don't really feel anything for it. They only interact once at the end of one route out of four possible ones, they were far apart from each other on screen, and their conversation was mostly a "Hello." "Hi." situation. There's no chemistry or anything from that brief interaction to make their relationship stick out to me. I see their relationship as cordial, two people united by their affection for the same person who have friendly feelings for each other but it doesn't go beyond that. Sorry ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

(Small aside: I'm not the sort to get into ships between characters who don't meet/interact much in canon (....which I'm sure you've gleaned if you've read up until now), but judging by Orion's dialogue in routes where Starlo is spared, where he talks about going to Snowdin to investigate his family's corn being grown there, I like the idea of him meeting Dalv and developing feelings for him and being embarrassing about it. Whether it works out or not doesn't matter. Being awkward in romance should run in the Sunnyside family, me thinks.)

Starlo × Ed: Scandalous! But I headcanon that Ed and Starlo had a brief gay thing going on between them sometime after Ceroba got engaged. Starlo couldn't truly commit to it because he still had feelings for Ceroba so they agreed to break it off since it wasn't fair to either of them. They're on good terms, but there are still moments where Ed goes soft for Starlo.

I don't know if there's any other ships out there that I forgot to cover. There's probably a million. Uhh, this was a very broad topic to approach and I didn't realize it until I started typing. Maybe if there's a ship/topic out there that you want me to cover, feel free to ask. Though, perhaps be a bit more specific next time 😅

[hottpinkpenguin]

Blessing - Eomer X Fem!Reader

Oneshot, word count: 4,4045 Summary: Loving a Lord of the Riddemark comes with its fair share of trade-offs. Even more so when you're riding into battle right next to him. Warnings: steam (mutual bathing, nudity, kissing, heavy petting if you squint), canon-typical violence, some playing with the timeline,

You unsheathed your sword in one swift, strong movement, the grating sound of steel on steel as the blade scraped against its scabbard. Your horse, Túrion, reared up on his hind legs as Saruman’s Warg-riders charged across the empty plain in front of you. You had only moments before their forces would smash against your company’s line. Turning back to face your comrades, you lifted your sword high into the cold, early dawn air. 

“For King, for country, for your families and homes!” You shouted as loudly as you could manage, hoping your voice carried over the sound of whinnying horses nervous for battle and the growing roar of the Wargs. The faces of the six dozen female warriors at your command – your swordsisters - broke into a unified scream. The battle cry echoed across the dusky plain, and you noted with a grimly satisfied smile that some of the foe balked at the sound. 

Túrion pulled sharply at the bit in his mouth, signaling to you his anxiousness for battle. You felt the same frenzied energy; it had been ricocheting through your bones ever since King Theoden had given you his begrudging permission to mount up and join the rest of the Rohirrim in guarding the citizens of Edoras as they made the dangerous march to the mountain keep at Helm’s Deep. Your nerves came partially from the knowledge that this was the only change you and your swordsisters had of proving your mettle to the rest of Rohan, and partially from knowing that, although you had the king’s blessing to fight, you distinctly did not have the blessing of his heir and your lover, Eomer. 

As another bloodthirsty cry erupted from the lines of mounted soldiers behind you, you gave Túrion his head, kicking him into a gallop as you thrust your blade high and forward, signaling the charge. 

“For Middle Earth!” The riders behind you echoed your call to arms as the company leapt to action. 

The sound of hundreds of hooves pounding into the frostbitten ground roared to life as your unit charged forward to meet the oncoming Warg-riders. Your mind slipped into a red haze of battle-fueled fury as your sword sliced through its first victim, then its next, and so on, until you and your sword were one and the same. 

* * * * *

The sun was high in the sky by the time you re-sheathed your sword. The muscles of your sword-arm shoulder screamed in relief as you let go of the weight of your blade. You swung down off Túrion’s saddle, examining your stallion’s wounds. Most were superficial cuts, but there was a deep gash cut into the meat of his left flank. Dark crimson blood stained his grey speckled coat, and he whinnied in protest as you gently prodded the rough edges of the wound. It would require cleaning and sewing, you decided, which meant you wouldn’t ride him for a few weeks while it healed. 

“My brave, brave boy,” you cooed at him tenderly as you moved to the front of his body, stroking his sweaty neck sweetly. You saw his eyes soften at the sound of your voice. You let your forehead fall forward to connect to his snout. He chuffed at you lovingly, rubbing his nose on you as if to reassure you he was alright. Túrion had been your horse for almost ten years, and he’d joined you in every battle you’d fought in so far. 

“It seems your horse fared better than you, my lady.” The voice behind you was reproachful but laced with relief. You smiled, ignoring the admonishment in Eomer’s words as you turned to face him. 

“Eomer,” you sighed dreamily, your voice misty with exhaustion as you let him envelop you with his arms. The layers of armor and chain mail and fighting leather between you left you unhappily separate from his reassuring warmth, but the knowledge that he – like you – had survived the Warg attack made you weak in the knees with joy. 

“You’re hurt, Y/n,” he mumbled gruffly against your hair as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. 

You pulled back from him, puzzled. You hadn’t noticed any injuries during the battle, although it was very possible that adrenaline had dulled your awareness. 

“I am?” you replied in bewilderment. You lifted your arms gingerly, trying to feel for the injury more than look for it. There was an appalling amount of blood and sinew and entrails staining your armor; all of it from your enemies, you’d assumed, although Eomer seemed to disagree. 

“Your head,” he said by way of clarification. His expression was pained as he touched the side of your face up towards your right temple. Although his pressure was gentle, you noted a tenderness at his touch, and his fingertips were tacky with half-dried blood when he withdrew his hand. Your mind idly flicked through the memories of the battle, trying to identify when you’d been injured. You knew some of the Warg-riders dipped their blades in poison – usually the officers – and if the injury had come from one of them, you’d need to see an apothecary for the herbal antidote. You had a vague recollection of your helmet being knocked from your head by an errant arrow. As you tried to piece the memory together, you realized that the arrow must have sideswiped your skull, leaving a shallow albeit bloody gash there. 

“I’m fine, it was an arrow,” you sighed in relief as you gently ran your hand along the cut. It was narrow and straight – most certainly the work of an arrow rather than a blade. You saw Eomer’s shoulders visibly relax; his mind must have raced to the possibility of poison just as yours had. 

“Thank the Gods,” he breathed out, cupping your cheeks in both his hands as your foreheads connected. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you enjoyed the sound of his breathing syncing with yours. The sounds of the fading battle and dismounting riders around you faded into the back of your awareness as you let Eomer’s presence wash over you. 

When you finally drew back to meet his gaze, you saw the anger that he’d tamped down just long enough to ensure you’re safety flare to life in his honey-brown eyes. 

“What in the devil are you playing at, exactly?” he snarled accusatorily. You had to suppress a chuckle at his rage. He was the bravest man you knew, like one of the royal knights of old out of a children’s fairytale, but when it came down to you, his protective anger reminded you of an hissing, spitting kitten. You wanted nothing more than to pepper him with kisses and have him walk you to a nice, warm bath, although you knew that your doting affection would only enrage him further.

In an attempt to hide your smile, you turned back to Túrion, undoing his breast collar and easing the saddle off his back. 

“Whatever do you mean, my Lord?” Try as you might, you couldn’t quite extinguish the note of teasing in your sarcastic question. Eomer’s nostrils flared in response. He grabbed your upper arm, pulling you about to face him. His eyes were simmering, his handsome lips pursed so tightly they were white against his sun-tanned skin.

“You rode into battle knowing you didn’t have my blessing,” Eomer growled. He released your arm as a few of his men walked past, eyeing the two of you surreptitiously with sidelong glances. Your romance with Eomer was no longer a secret, although both of you tried to keep your personal affairs separate from your roles in Rohan’s military. 

“I had the King’s blessing,” you snapped back once his men were out of earshot. “Last I checked, the King’s blessing still outweighed yours, Lord of the Mark.” Using Túrion’s saddle as a buffer, you brushed past him, leading your horse by the bridle towards the line of soldiers pulling back from the corpse-riddled battlefield towards the shadowy mountains off the west, where the safety of Helm’s Deep thick stone walls awaited. You could practically feel the heat from Eomer’s gaze boring into the back of your head as you walked away. 

Let him burn himself out, you told yourself as part of your instincts yearned to turn back and make peace. You knew Eomer’s anger came from a place of protectiveness, and you loved him for his devotion. By the same token, you also wanted him to realize that a warrior’s blood pulsed through your veins. It wasn’t your fate to be a lady of Rohan’s court, waving embroidered handkerchiefs at him as he rode off into a glorious death in battle. Your fate was to ride out next to him and meet your enemies standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Like him, you would lay down your life to protect those you loved. You’d never dream of taking that away from him; and you expected him to give you the same latitude in return. 

Holding your chin high, you let your feet carry you away from him, eventually getting lost in the crowd. You’d be lying if you said your pride wasn’t a bit wounded that he didn’t chase you down, but he didn’t. Eomer was far too proud for that.

* * * * *

It wasn’t until nightfall that you reached Helm’s Deep. The adrenaline of battle had long worn off by then, and you were beginning to feel every bump and bruise covering your body. Based on the scattered reports you’d picked up on from the other unit commanders, you knew that the battle was far from over. Saruman’s main force was marching towards Helm’s Deep as you spoke. The Warg-riders had been little but a scouting force. You only hoped to have enough time to eat and, if the Gods were merciful, rest. 

Once you’d seen Túrion to the stables and tasked a stable hand with patching up his wound, you made your way towards the main hall of the keep. Theoden’s court had assembled there, and he’d ordered all of his unit commanders to adjourn there for a hot meal and battle strategy. Thankfully, your company had lost relatively few of its number, while others had sustained heavy losses. Despite the bone-deep fatigue that pulled at your eyelids, you forced yourself to stay keen to the king’s brief on his strategy for the coming conflict. Given that your company was still majority intact, you suspected that you’d be part of the castle’s main defensive force along the lower ramparts. 

It wasn’t purely exhaustion that threatened to pull your focus elsewhere; from across the dimly lit hall, you could see Eomer at his usual place to the king’s immediate left. His expression was somber, and you doubted that anyone noticed the slight groove between his eyebrows that betrayed his inner turmoil. But you knew his face the same way you knew the feel of breath in your lungs. You’d be able to feel his emotions in the dark. 

After the king dismissed the company leaders under strict instructions to rest as much as possible, you felt your feet automatically lead you up towards the head table where Theoden, Gamling, and Eomer sat together, their heads bowed as they continued to talk of strategy. Noticing your approach, Theoden smiled at you warmly and waved his nephew off.

Eomer protested his uncle’s dismissal, partially out of a sense of duty and partially to spite you, but Theoden would hear none of it. “Soldiers are never guaranteed another sunset, Eomer,” he chided his nephew sternly but not unkindly. “Don’t waste this one mulling over the details of tomorrow’s doom. Go. Be with your heart.” 

Theoden’s words touched you, and you bowed your head gratefully at him as Eomer rose with a sullen pout. As you turned to follow a very surly Eomer out of the hall, you swore you saw Theoden shoot you a conspiratorial wink. 

The walk to Eomer’s chambers was quiet, although not tense. There was an understanding between you two: despite your quarrel, both of you expected to spend the evening together. And although there were differences of opinion, you knew that you were secure in his affections, just as he knew the same of you. You and Eomer had been doing this dance for too long to let something so petty drive a wedge between you, especially on a night like tonight. You weren’t sure if it was your imagination, but at times you swore you felt the faintest tremor in the mountain that Helm’s Deep was cut into, a foreshadow of the unimaginable force marching your way. Theoden’s scouts had reported an army as large as ten thousand strong, pouring out of Isengard’s gates. The very notion of ten thousand was almost beyond your imaginings, and it pierced your heart with an unmuted terror. You knew Eomer felt it too - everyone did. 

Perhaps it was that shared terror that kept both of you silent as you entered Eomer’s chambers. He closed the door behind you softly, dismissing the guard who stood watch by the doorway. You’d only been to Helm’s Deep once before, but the chamber was exactly as you remembered. The court servants who had fled Edoras with the rest of the nobility had brought with them precious few luxuries, but among them were a pile of freshly laid towels, a bar of soap, and an array of candles spread throughout the room. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw steam rising from the simple, porcelain tub in the corner of the room. A warm bath was exactly what you needed right now. Sweat and dried blood from the morning’s battle had dried on your skin and in your hair. You weren’t a particularly vain person - your lifestyle hadn’t afforded you such luxuries - but you were not above enjoying a thorough soak and a soft bed to lay your head on at night. 

Without sharing a word, you and Eomer began removing your armor. Unlike earlier, where his anger hung around him like a stormcloud, his mood now moved in the direction of contemplative. You felt his gaze on your face as you lifted the heavy chainmail tunic you wore under your leather armor over your head. With the weight of your armor removed, your limbs felt loose and light. As you swung your dirty braid over one shoulder and began undoing the plaits, Eomer finally broke the silence. 

“I never get tired of seeing you like this, you know.” HIs voice was softer than you expected, and it caused your breath to snag in your chest. You lifted your eyes to him as you shook out the roots of your hair. His face was streaked with dirt from the fight, and there was a dark blue bruise that you hadn’t noticed earlier blooming under one eye. But beneath the grime and his week-old stubble, you saw a soft smile gracing his lips and a gentle light in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Like what, my lord?” you replied teasingly as you unlaced the bottom layer of your armor - a heavy tunic made of quilted wool. The chill damp of the air felt delicious against your bare skin. You didn’t relish the idea of re-donning everything in just a few hours, especially given that you wouldn’t have time to wash the tunic or clean the plated armor, but for the moment it felt incredible to be rid of those putrid, heavy layers. 

“Undressed, in my chambers.” Eomer’s reply was somewhat muffled by the hem of his own tunic, which had snagged around his head while he was undressing. You laughed at the sight of the Lord of the Riddemark, future King of Rohan, half-naked with a dirty tunic wrapped around his neck. You stepped over to him and helped untie a few more laces at the neck of the tunic, easing his head through the opening and freeing him from the confines of the tunic at last. 

“Such language in front of a lady,” you replied mirthfully as Eomer gestured towards the tub. You accepted his invitation gratefully, stepping one foot into the warm water and then another. The bathwater turned grimy as you let your body sink beneath the surface of the bathwater, dipping your head back to wet your hair. 

From outside the tub, Eomer grabbed the bar of soap and wetted it before running it over your hair to form a lather. When he began rubbing your scalp with firm fingers, you let out an audible moan as you let your head lean back against the edge of the bath. 

He chuckled as you gave yourself over to the incredible sensation.

“I see no lady here,” he replied after a moment, earning a playful glare from you and a splash of bathwater in his direction. He dodged the blow easily, letting out a laugh of his own. 

“Your manners need work, my lord.” Your retort had little bite to it; you were too mesmerized by the patterns Eomer’s fingers wove against your scalp. Your eyelids fluttered closed as you let relaxation seep into every fiber of your body.

“No lady,” he continued, bending down until his beard tickled your ear. “Only a woman. My woman.” Your toes curled under the surface of the water as he dragged those last two words over the gravel in his voice. Sensing he’d plucked the right chord, Eomer chuckled proudly as he planted a kiss to the soft skin in front of your ear. You reached up to grab his hair and pull him to your lips, but he’d already withdrawn. Your eyes opened just in time to see him sink into the bath next to you, the water level rising dangerously close to the lip of the tub. Like you, he grunted in appreciation as the warmth of the water began to work out the kinks in his tired muscles. 

You allowed him to settle against the far edge of the bath before you moved towards him. He opened his arms in a well-rehearsed move, allowing you to settle between his strong thighs and lean back against his firm torso before wrapping you with his arms. Your head lolled back against his shoulder, his cheek coming to rest on your freshly rinsed hair. This was not the first time you had shared such intimacy with your lover; far from it, in fact. But, much like he had pointed out earlier, there was no dulling of affection between you two. Instead, you felt your feelings for him deepen with each passing day. 

As the two of you sat together in the cooling water, you traced absentminded circles over his forearm. Your gaze landed on the dancing flame of a nearby candle as you let your mind wander into a space just shy of sleep. You felt Eomer’s breath deepen against your back as he too relaxed into the quiet. 

After several minutes of companionable silence, you squeezed his arm to rouse him from his reverie.

“Do I have your blessing for the battle ahead, my lord?” Although you used the same playful tone you’d employed moments prior, the question was a serious one. You felt Eomer tense ever so slightly behind you as he considered his response. 

Sensing his hesitation, you pressed on.

“You know I will fight tomorrow, with or without it.” Eomer tensed further at your callous words, although both of you knew they were true. You let your tone soften as you added, “although I would feel all the better for it if I had your blessing.” 

He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly. 

“Whatever did I do to find myself in love with a woman such as yourself?” Each of his words was drenched in devotion, and the sound of it made you curl against him as he squeezed you tightly. It wasn’t a direct answer, but you understood his meaning. His blessing wasn’t something to give or take away; you always had it. Eomer had known what you were long before he’d fallen into your bed, and you’d been certain not to soften those parts of yourself that found a home in battle just for his sake. 

“You are truly one of the lucky few,” you cooed back, relishing the sensation of him nuzzling down against the skin where your neck and shoulder connected. You reached a hand up behind you, lightly gripping the back of his head and encouraging him to let it hang gently against yours. He obliged, sighing contentedly as you began twirling strands of his hair around your fingers. 

“I swear to the Gods, y/n, sometimes I don’t know if you’re my salvation or my downfall.” His confession came with a distinct note of pain. You knew that pain well: it was the pain of loving a warrior. The pain of having to say a potential goodbye each time they rode into battle. The pain of subsuming the urge to protect him at any and every cost under the need to follow orders. It was the pain of frantically searching for an all-too familiar face amongst the bodies of the dead on a battlefield. It was a unique kind of pain, and one that both of you had known you’d always live with when you’d allowed yourselves to fall in love. 

You ignored the way the bathwater sloshed over the edge of the tub as you turned to face him. His eyes were misty as you cupped his handsome face in your hands, running your thumbs tenderly along his cheekbones. 

“Eomer… my love…” Before you could finish your thought, he pulled you against him, his lips meeting yours greedily. In an instant, you recognized the intention behind his kiss. A knot of desire began to coil in your stomach as your fingers tangled in his hair. He pressed his kiss down into your mouth harder, and you felt the mingling of fear, pride, devotion, and love in behind that pressure. Your chest bloomed with heat as the kiss deepened. Suddenly, Eomer rose from his seated position and stepped out of the bath, his muscles tensing enticingly with the quick, agile movement. Bending down to lace an arm under your legs and one behind your back, he lifted you quickly from the now tepid, grimy water. He carried you to the bed with a purposeful heat simmering in his eyes, making that knot in your stomach tighten further as butterflies began to take flight in your lungs. He laid you on the soft blanket, his arms coming to frame your shoulders as he settled his body over top yours, caging you in between his flexed biceps. Just before his mouth met yours again, you lifted a finger and pressed it to his lips. He froze, his eyes on you with curiosity and a hint of frustration. 

“Your blessing, Eomer,” you said breathily, trying to tamp down your own impatience. “I want your blessing.” It had never felt important before, but the longer your mind lingered on the battle ahead, the more compelled you felt to hear those words. 

His honey brown eyes danced with delight as you withdrew your finger, allowing him to speak freely. He didn’t hesitate.

“You have it.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“You have my blessing always.” Another kiss at the corner of your mouth. 

“Today.” Your jawline. “Tomorrow.” Your collarbone. “For all of your days.” Your shoulder. “And all of mine.” Back to your lips. 

Your heart seized in your chest as the tenderness of the moment bewitched you. Eomer hovered over you, each of you basking in each other’s gaze for another heartbeat. You saw the tender light in his eyes turn molten just as your own mind turned back to the needs of your body. 

“Now, my lady,” he whispered. “Allow me to show you exactly how much of this lord’s blessing you’ve earned.” He dove down to kiss at the now cleaned skin above your breasts, earning a delighted cry from you as you let your eyes flutter close. 

Somewhere in the darkness covering Rohan, an army ten-thousand strong marched closer; but for that moment, your love chased away the dark…

[thunderstomm]

Hot Wheels: Let's Race - Season 2 Thoughts

Season 2 has been out for a few days now, and I've watched every episode at least once through, so I'm finally going through all of my thoughts on the show, what's going on, and what I think is going to happen next. The joy of serialized kids shows!

Everything will be under the cut, just in case. Spoiler alert for all of season two!

First off- we're finally introduced formally to our "mystery racer"- Cruise! She's the daughter of the villain of the first season, Professor Rearview, and a racer in her own right. I have to say, I think her character design is very clever, having the shape of her pigtails match Professor Rearview's big hair! i know some people may not like that Cruise is his daughter, as opposed to a grandchild or niece, but I think that the fact of her being a direct descendant makes more sense for the story they're telling. That and there's fun to be had with Professor Rearview being an evil dad.

Cruise is undeniably the highlight of the season for me, and my new favorite. I enjoy the angle of the racers having a non-camper opponent, as the lack of constant close proximity, or down-time with one another means they don't have to be cordial or polite towards Cruise, and we see a lot of more intense emotions fester as a result- especially on Coop's end.

I also think in general, Coop as a character works much better in this season. The pre-established motivation, plus his new outstanding title as the camp champ are threatened directly by Cruise, as he is her primary target to beat, and the determination and vigor it brings out in him is very entertaining to watch.

The rest of the racers sadly don't fare as well, as it feels like they take more of a backseat when compared to season 1, outside of a character focus episode. This feels especially apparent with Axle, who has gone from his role as the main rival, to being good-aligned all of the time. His personality is still intact, but It feels very odd to see him so reduced in role, as the show doesn't frame him as a threat to Cruise also- despite the fact he is probably the only racer outside of Coop who could pose such a threat. The rest of the cast seem much more competitive when Cruise is not in the picture, but once she is, the show relegates them back to supporting roles. Considering the show's age demographic and the story it wants to tell, this isn't a huge problem, but nonetheless a little sad to see.

We also get a bit of backstory for Dash and Professor Rearview! I'm surprised to see they're the same age- either Dash has aged really well, or Professor Rearview has aged terribly. It's interesting to see they were campers at the same time. Were they friends? The amount of team-strengthening exercises that Dash has her own campers do is re-contextualized by this reveal- is she trying to prevent a repeat of what became of Rearview by making sure they do actually like eachother and get along, meaning the jealousy that comes with losing is minimal, or reduced because they can feel good for the person who does win because they are friends?

The environment that Dash and Rearview were in was clearly far more competitive and unforgiving. Of course, we can't pin it all on just that, as Professor Rearview's coping mechanism and overreaction to his loss is his own fault. Explanations, not excuses. And carrying this grudge for at least 30 years, it has long passed being something to be blamed on the conditions of the environment.

I'd love to see a flashback episode regarding their time at the Ultimate Garage honestly! Who were the other four campers who they trained alongside? I'd like to think maybe Axle's dad, Striker, was one of them. Seeing the exact conditions of the race would certainly help to clarify as much. Not to mention, they already have the 3D models for young Dash and Rearview...

One thing that was made clear by the episode count, and the season ending about half-way through the level 2 arc is that season 2 has been split in half, and the season 3 we're to get is really the second half of season 2. Which means more time to dwell on what we've gotten, and who will be the winner of the Ultimate Garage. There's also the question of whether the show will redeem Cruise, and have her join the side of good. I personally am conflicted? It would be interesting, and makes sense, but we are also yet to see any desire to change- let alone Cruise's own motivation and feelings towards her father's plans.

One thing I wish we had seen was a slower moment between Cruise and someone else, particularly any of the racers! I think the show would have it be Coop, as he is our main character, and I don't really have an issue with such. Season 1 gave us a whole episode where he was made to work with Axle, and it gave us a better insight into his character, motivation, and storyline. I think an episode like this with Cruise, under a circumstance that suits their storyline and characters better, would work wonders. Cruise clearly LIKES to race, and yet she is willing to help her father win it in order to destroy it? There's the general question of why Professor Rearview would even allow his daughter to be a racer, but considering he was a former racer, I suppose it would be a waste to not pass on those skills. Is Cruise of the belief that her father will spare her car, and allow her to keep racing? I want to see Cruise forced to talk to someone so that we get these answers.

As mentioned in a prior post, I have two theories regarding the next season's end, the winner of the Ultimate Garage, and the events that could follow. These are both hypotheticals in which Cruise does get a redemption arc, so both of these could very easily be wrong, and Cruise could remain evil, which still would be fun to see.

Option 1: Coop wins the Ultimate Garage. Coop manages to catch up in flame badges to Cruise, leaving the final race as to being between the both of them. Coop ends up winning the big race, much to the delight of the other camp racers, Dash, and his father. However, this victory does not stop Professor Rearview, and he puts his plan into motion to destroy the Ultimate Garage anyways. The campers and Dash all band together to stop him, but It's not enough. All hope seems lost, and there is a moment between Professor Rearview and Cruise where Cruise comes to the realization that their plan working means she will never race again, and lashing out in anger to get a victory that destroys the rich car culture of the city, and takes away something she loves, is just not worth it. She'd rather race again and get a chance to prove herself and improve, rather go down as a sore loser. Using her knowledge of her father, her car's unique abilities, and a little encouragement from Coop and the other campers, Cruise helps to stop his plan. After his defeat, Coop invites the other racers to continue staying with him at the Ultimate Garage, wanting them all to continue improving together. He also ends up extending the invite to Cruise, considering that now she has no place to go, as she's betrayed her father, and now that she's "good".

Option 2: Cruise wins the Ultimate Garage. Despite the campers' best efforts to beat her, Cruise still ends up winning out, and is rewarded with the ownership of the Ultimate Garage, much to the despair of everyone else. She excitedly shares the news with her Father, who is excited to begin the plans to destroy the whole thing. However, Cruise is starting to have doubts. She has all of these amazing cars and resources at her fingertips now, and she can use these to become an even better racer! She tries to convince her father that maybe they don't have to destroy everything, and can keep some of it intact, but he is not having any of that. He's looked forward to this for years! Realizing that he won't listen, Cruise instead asks for help from the campers, admitting that she was wrong, and needs their help now to stop Professor Rearview. Reluctantly, they choose to believe and trust her, and foil the plans with their racing skills. Once he is stopped, Cruise attempts to hand back over ownership of the garage, but the others insist she keep it. They come to a compromise- they'll share. After all, there's a lot they can all still learn from one another, as people and as racers.

Thanks for reading all of the way through! What are your thoughts on the new season, and your theories, if you have any ! I'd love to hear what everyone has to say!