#and need to write them down. unfortunately

[girl-lostconnection]

Long awaited continuation to this, let’s go while John Price’s multiverse spirit has me by my fucking hair

John is a man of many qualities.

Discipline, integrity, cold head and sharp mind.

Relatively stable code of ethics he tries to apply when it doesn’t cost him an arm and a leg in the process.

He likes staying this way and he likes how high he managed to climb given his absolute hatred of bureaucracy and strained relationship with higher ups in command.

And a general he once murdered in cold blood.

On the other hand, now he is able to add to his CV “efficient and quick thinker”, so if the day comes and army boots him out, he’d be able to get a job at a place that probably frowns upon on unnecessary murder and his choice of coping mechanisms.

John knows a tad more about self control than most people — the itch under his skin to fight and chase ever present, at times even more intensely than in Simon.

And Simon is a wolf, for fuck’s sake, man is a stalking predator through and through.

But it was always different for John, a deep seated hunger, a need to climb to the top and stay there no matter what it takes and no matter how many he’d need to send tumbling down.

After all, he just does what his gut tells him.

No one’s bloody business if his gut also has sharp teeth and heavy tail and less patience than he would have liked.

John drinks his whiskey until his head is blurry. He usually stops at the glass of two fingers and a wank, getting it out of his system before his systems decides to reboot itself by urging him to maul the first soldier that looks him in the eyes.

This time John finishes three glasses, scales rippling when he stretches out, his own smoke clouding his head.

Not a good look for a captain. But tonight he isn’t one.

Tonight he is just John. Just a man.

A man you seemingly don’t want, but at the same time can’t help but enjoy teasing.

Taunting him with the promise of intimacy that John cannot have, showing affections that aren’t for him. Kisses that he can’t get.

For one or another reason.

It’s been almost three months now since he has given up trying to figure out what was so wrong about him.

Why isn’t he good enough. Why don’t you like him.

On most days he doesn’t have some proper time to spiral into thinking about his own inadequacy or about you kissing him just as sweetly as you do kiss Johnny. As you kiss Kyle.

Bit unfair it all feels, if he’s being completely honest and a little selfish. Bit unfair and a whole lot less serious than his brain makes it out to be.

Unfortunately today is one of the few precious days when he has more than enough time to think or spiral or preferably finish his bloody paperwork because the thing has been mounting on his desk.

And people need these forms filled out yesterday.

John will probably fill them out tomorrow. Maybe.

Maybe not. He isn’t sure, as of right now, your frame pulling his whole focus off the necessary work.

You aren’t doing anything per se, you just write the reports he needed help with, you are being a good teammate, you are being useful. And yet, your presence there is enough to distract him.

Well, maybe not your presence exactly.

There’s something different about your scent today.

Not the regular salt and sweat, that he already got used to. That he had spent the last few months imagining himself licking it off your skin.

Its not even the faint sea smell you bring back in your hair after taking a swim for an hour or two.

Nothing about this scent is sharp or cloying,

This one is sweeter.

Practically tender, melting on John’s tongue.

Soft with something that makes him want to do things he can’t, wrapping around John’s head like a veil, coating his mouth with sheen of something he wants to lap up.

Drives him mad that he doesn’t know what it is he smells. His tongue darting out to taste air, to moisturise his dry lips, heavy head of his tilting to the side.

Something is different today with you, seal. Something has changed and it makes the wires in his head sparkle, buzzing him back to life.

Pulling him out of an ice bath of his self-control he painstakingly forces himself into.

Doesn’t help that your usual unfazed and unbothered demeanour is not with you (why is that, he wonders) — twitchy and antsy, your knee jerks up and down under the table, shaking it with how fast you do it.

Real pity there is no one else around, but John.

No Johnny to ‘check your vibes’, no Simon to settle you down, no Kyle to kiss it better.

Just him.

Just the leftovers you apparently don’t want and the captain you don’t like.

Thought scrapes the inner side of John’s throat, acid bubbling, poison spreading. Bitter taste in his mouth almost enough to make him scowl.

But the instinctual, subconscious urge to care for a distressed member of the team is stronger than his wounded pride and heavier than his stone heart.

So his whole body is angling towards you, voice a little softer when he tries to find out what has changed. What makes you so jittery, seal?

You tick like one of Soap’s favourite bombs, timer running down, quickly approaching zero and maybe you can feel that too.

Somewhere deep under your belly button, the pull that makes you try and get away from him.

Interesting reaction.

“Sergeant?”, John murmurs quietly, his voice snapping you out of whatever haze you were in, your head turning to him quickly.

You don’t stop jerking your knee. Almost like you don’t even realise that you are doing it.

“What’s wrong? You hurt?”, he gets to the point without tiptoeing around it, no use dancing in circles if he can shorten this whole thing, cornering you to your desk. Cutting the exit off.

No way out the corner but through him now.

“Nothing, sir. I’m sorry. Must be tired”, you murmur, throat working, ring finger of yours twitching to tap down on the wood of your desktop, your eyes as bright as ever.

Only the blunt and usually so casual tone of yours cracks when you try to change the topic and move on, when you shake your head at his questions, trying to dislodge John off the matter.

Like hell you would, he can smell that something is happening.

John tilts his head to the side when you are so close he can practically taste the sweat on your skin, his tongue flickering out to lick dry lips and hide back, eyes heavy with hunger you have been taunting for the last…how long has it been, love? Was running around plenty, didn’t you?

Alcohol stomps on the ice of his self-control, cracking it for you. Welcoming you in his deep waters.

He nuzzles in your neck, hands sliding under your sweater, groping the tummy of yours, fingers sinking into warm flesh.

Clicking his tongue at your shaky ‘captain, wait—‘ because there is no need for all of that. The chase and games, the play pretend and teasing. He can smell how much you need a hand right now.

How much you need him.

So it’s true that fortune favours the patient because John has had an angelic temper when it comes to you. And this is the result.

His fingers now fondling your tummy, lips finding the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his beard tickling the heated sensitive skin.

That must be the gift for all the time he had to wait for you to finally come around.

John already knows what it is that changed when he yanks your shirt up, when he pulls the cups of your bra down, when he gets handfuls of your fat tits, thick calloused fingers of his massaging the flesh.

Someone’s having a little problem, don’t you, love?

John already knows what it is that is wrong with your mood because he kisses your neck and you shiver, panting, still trying to whine something about people seeing or someone walking in.

No one will, love.

Don’t you know it?

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy. And there is not a person in the whole base who’d like to push him when he’s this fucking busy.

He kneads the flesh of yours, thumb rubbing the areola. Coaxing out what he smelled this whole fucking day, what almost drove him to eat you alive before your own control came apart at the seams.

Milk beads on your nipple, John’s fingers working more of it out, his disappointed ‘tsk’ in your ear makes your knees buckle when he props his chin on your shoulder to see it all better.

So full and so hot under his touch, you’ve been having trouble with getting it out on your own, haven’t you, sergeant?

John knows for a fact that Soap is away for at least two weeks now, John knows even better that you are just out of options.

There literally aren’t anyone else but him who can help. It’s not that he is special or loved or even reliable. It’s the lack of options better than him.

Good news is: John doesn’t care anyway.

You wouldn’t believe it if he told you from just how many hopeless pits he crawled out in his days.

A stacked seal with attachment issues who needs help milking is definitely not the worst of it, love.

He tuts at your attempt to cover up or apologise when his grip tightens and milk squirts out on the desk.

All over the documents he was supposed to pass on yesterday.

Now he will probably pass them on never.

He will either need to suck the milk of yours out of the paper or burn it the fuck down.

John just might burn the bloody forms and tell the administration that he lost them. After all, you aren’t going anywhere.

And no one is coming to save you back until the end of next week.

You have no choice but him, sergeant. No one else to gift your kisses to but your captain.

The bottom of the barrel that you just grazed.

You know, maybe you should have been more careful, sergeant. Maybe you shouldn’t have dived this deep in his waters.

Now you just might not come up back for air.

John rolls his hips into you, lazy, stretching out until he is fully in and then out he goes, his thumb drawling slow excruciating circles on your clit, his thumb patting it like you are a dog that earned a treat.

And not a seal hybrid big enough to curl John into a fucking pretzel.

Though how much good your size is now when John is drooling over the fat of your hips and rolls of your stomach?

How much good your big frame is when your captain is still on the top?

“Didn’t fuck you how they should’ave, eh, sweetheart?”, John rumbles, tongue licking his lips, his hips slotting against yours like he was made for you. Like this is how it was supposed to be from the very beginning. “Can’t sate this greedy hole, can they? Need something bigger, need someone older”, he braces on a forearm above your head, hips of his rolling into yours, his tail wrapping around your leg and pulling you back on his cock.

No running now, no slipping away.

But you whine, clamping down on him, your nipples swollen and sensitive when he cooes and licks one, not yet pulling it in his mouth, not yet giving you this relief.

Just a lick, aye? A taste for your captain, for all his troubles.

John licks off the bead of milk, his system rewiring as he rams back inside of you, his grip tightening because oh, this is so much better than he could have expected.

For one dangerous moment years of his discipline crack down so hard that he almost bottoms out in you, imagining you swollen with a baby. His baby. His seal.

“Wonder what face Simon would make if he finds out I knocked up his seal”, John rumbles, pressing his hips down on yours, feeding you every thick heavy inch of himself. Until you claw at his back, eyes rolling back in your skull.

Getting drunk on just the feel of his cock splitting you.

God, he should have taken you like that the moment you decided it’s a good idea to kiss his lieutenant in front of him.

Should have taken you to the office and should have given your ass a dozen stinging smacks.

Should have taught you some fucking manners, but he wanted to be nice, he wanted you to like him and come to him yourself.

He wanted you to give it to him voluntarily. Because maybe you didn’t actually think he was the worst of the pick. Because maybe you’d want him outside of his attempts to earn the trophy of your affection.

Well, too late for that now, isn’t it?

John clicks his tongue again when you try to crawl away — too overwhelmed to think clearly, too hungry for a thing you are too ashamed to ask for.

Just your luck that John isn’t used to asking anyway.

His lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it in, lapping at the bud of it, milk of yours blooming on his tongue — rich and thick, dripping down his chin, staying in his beard.

You really are going to cover him all in yourself by the end of it, sergeant.

Might force the man to buy you a ring to lock you down for good.

John groans, his vision crumpling around the edges when you cunt spasms around him, your thighs tensing up, hips rolling into his.

Here comes the first one.

See how nice and easy it was?

If only you have admitted from the very beginning that you like your captain.

If only you stretched around him this nicely, whimpering ‘captain please’ like he is the only one who can give you what you want.

“You are the only or are you just one left?”, vicious voice at the back of his mind sneers and John has to pull his mouth off your tit, least he risks to bite through the tender skin, marking. Permanently.

It doesn’t matter why you let him do this for you.

‘Why’ has never mattered and he should have realised it a long time ago instead of sulking around and hissing at his own men.

What matters is that you let him spread you open and force you down.

What matters is that John’s jaws close on your neck and your pussy squelches so loudly it’s almost enough for him to let it get to his head.

John presses a palm on your back, pressing down until you arch for him, not taking your attempt to wiggle away for an answer.

Why would he when you haven’t been true about your needs ever since he met you?

Why would he when your body is so much more honest than you are — your pussy drools for him, back arches — tits now pressed to the bed, ass up in the air for him to feast.

John knows, sweetheart, your nipples are too sensitive to get rubbed like that.

He is being too rough, he is taking too much and he is too hungry.

All of these are true, sergeant, every single word you are right now choking out when he pulls you right back by the hips.

He slams into you from behind, humming when you cry out trying to get back up, because where do you think you are going? No, love, you’ve been teasing him for months now.

Naughty naughty seal, thought there wouldn’t be any consequences for a fit you threw? Thought that John wouldn’t get to have you one way or another?

Or maybe you hoped that someone else would be here with you now?

He clicks his tongue when you reach for your clit, his palm smacking yours away, pushing you face down in the mattress. No, sweetheart, bad seals don’t get to touch themselves.

If you can’t come from him fucking into you, pressing your heavy leaking tits into the bed then you aren’t coming at all.

See how unfair that sounds? See how mean he has to be with you now?

He wouldn’t have needed to do that if only you came sooner to him.

If you haven’t made him bite down on your throat instead of carefully eating from your open palm, accepting whatever you were willing to offer.

But you didn’t offer a single fucking thing so he had to take the matter in his own hands.

And look where it has gotten him.

Bouncing your ass down on his cock, your greedy fucking hole squeezing him so tightly it drives him half feral.

He’d need to train you proper, sweetheart, show you how to take your captain to the hilt like a good sergeant should.

John will show you, he’s only happy to teach.

And it’s only fair if he gives you an example by stretching out your favourite Johnny right in front of you.

Only fair he gives you a demonstration of how his team did some good seal to dragon communication before you came around.

[lightsoutmatthews]

please an auston matthews with the “because i know you” prompt!

"Because I know you." - Auston Matthews

summary: a collection of things he does just shows how well Auston knows you.

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none, just fluff

authors note:

since the request didn’t specify if you wanted angst or fluff I decided to make it sugary sweet :)

-----------------------------

It started with a cup of coffee being delivered to your office on a random Tuesday afternoon right at the second you were thinking about getting one for yourself from the coffee station down the hall.

You didn’t particularly like the coffee from there, it was cheap and the machine somehow managed to make it worse by brewing it, but it would have held you over for the rest of the day while you continued to read through emails and write responses like your life depended on it.

The cup from your favorite café in downtown Toronto was handed to you by one of your co-workers who raised her eyebrows at you. “I didn’t order that,” you told her outright, but she handed you the cup regardless. “The delivery guy said it´s for you,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

There was no message on the cup, but you could guess from who it was. There was only one person who could know exactly when you could use a little pick me up at work.

He was smart by not putting a message on it. Your relationship not something really known to the public even though you had been together for over a year at this point.

You weren’t making a big deal about dating one of Torontos biggest athletes, especially around the office where his team was a topic of conversation on the daily. Not even your closest work friends knew who exactly you were dating. And it was good that way.

I Thanks for the coffee, exactly what I needed x

----------------------

The week after that lunch from your favorite restaurant was delivered in the same manner as the coffee was. No name on the order but yours, making your co-workers once again wonder if you were lying to them about not ordering it for yourself or if you actually didn’t.

You were knee deep into the finishing touches for one of the biggest projects of the quarter and barely had time to go and grab lunch from the cafeteria, much less to make the trip to any restaurant more than five minutes away from the building.

The delivery was godsend and like he knew, he sent enough so you had something to keep for the evening, since it was almost sure that you had to stay longer than usual and would only arrive home late, way after dinner time.

You hummed contently when you took the first bite, almost letting out a moan at how good the food felt after hours of working without taking a break.

He once again knew exactly what you needed at the right time, like he was a psychic that could read your mind all the way from his road trip across the country.

I thanks for lunch and dinner, exactly what I needed. Can´t wait to see you tomorrow. x

----------------------

The third time it happened was a week later when you finished the big presentation, and everyone gathered for a small party to celebrate the success, and that the client was happy with everything you had come up with in the weeks of hard work.

You were a little bummed because most people invited their significant others to the bar you were gathered at, unfortunately you couldn’t. Firstly, because your boyfriend wasn’t even in the country and secondly because still, no one knew who he even was.

A few of your co-workers asked about him but you kept telling them that he was away for work. Sometimes you wondered if they even believed you that he existed because you never mentioned him by name or brought him to any work functions that warranted bringing a plus one.

When a delivery person entered the bar, shouting your name for everyone to hear, you froze. “Sign here,” the guy rushed out, putting the tablet in front of your face quicker than you could react to anything.

You scribbled your signature before he handed you a box, a beautiful bouquet of flowers peeking through a hole at the top.

When you opened it, a bouquet waited for you, alongside a card.

One of your co-workers snatched it directly from the box before you could react. “Hey,” you laughed. “Congratulations on finishing your big project, sorry I can´t be there to celebrate. A.” she read.

You blushed at the message, he once again knew exactly what you needed from him in order to feel better about him not being there with you.

“Woah, we know mystery man is in fact real, and his first name starts with an A? We´ve been waiting for this confirmation for months!” you shook your head laughing. “That´s some expensive flowers, he´s got money.” Someone else chimed in.

“Give me that,” you laughed, snatching the card back before they could ask about it even more.

“One day you will introduce us to him,” someone chuckled. “Who knows, maybe you already know him,” you teased which only raised more eyebrows.

I The flowers are beautiful, thank you so much. x

--------------------------------

When you arrived at Auston´s place that night you were exhausted. The months leading up to this day catching up with you, swallowing all the energy you had left in your body, almost making you too tired to get out of the car and walk up to his door.

When you finally mustered up enough strength to make your way, he was already waiting in the frame. An easy smile on his lips, Felix next to him, excitedly wiggling his tail at your arrival.

“Hey snuff,” you greeted the dog, quickly patting his head before standing up straight again to greet your boyfriend, the flowers firm in one hand.

“Hey,” you greeted the tall man, a shy smile on your lips. “Hey,” he chuckled, opening his arms so you could slip right into his comfortable embrace.

Tension left your body as soon as he wrapped his arms around you. The familiarity of his arms taking every ounce of stress away for the moment.

“Long day?” Auston whispered in your hair. “Long month,” you replied chuckling. “Come on, I ordered some food and when were done I can set you up a bath before we go to bed.” You let out a loud sigh. Exactly what you needed.

---------------------

After eating on the couch, chatting about your days in hushed voices between laughter and shared bites, he made his way to the upstairs bathroom to set up a bath while you cleaned up the plates and made sure Felix got another snack before heading upstairs to join him.

The bathroom was lit up with a few candles he pulled from God knows where and it was smelling like your favorite bath salt. The one that you usually kept for special occasions because it was expensive.

“Since when do you have my favorite bathing salt in your bathroom?” He just laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

Raising you eyebrows at him you decided to let it go without questioning it any further and to just enjoy that he was paying enough attention to actually know what to buy.

While you were enjoying the warmth of the water relaxing your muscles and taking your mind off things Auston rumbled around downstairs doing something you didn’t care enough about to question. Every now and then you heard clinking, but it wasn’t worrying enough to go and check out.

A few minutes later he came back and handed you a glass of wine. “How did you know?” you questioned with another raised eyebrow, but he once again just shrugged and smiled before leaving you alone to soak and relax for as long as you wanted.

When the water started to get cold you got out. On the toilet laid a navy-colored hoodie. The exact one he was wearing earlier when you were sitting on the couch.

He knew one of you favorite things to do after a long day was to wear his hoodies, especially when there were worn and smelled like him.

You slipped the soft fabric over your head and inhaled deeply before putting your stuff away and making your way back to the living room after a quick detour to the bedroom to grab your phone and drop off your bag that you discharged in the hallway on your way.

Auston was snuggled up with Felix on the couch, your favorite movie already cued up, a warm blanket draped over him, the other half waiting for you to cuddle under and relax for the rest of the evening.

“You´re spoiling me today,” you mumbled after cozying up under the blanket, one arm placed on his chest, while your head rested on his shoulder.

“You deserve some relaxation after the month you had. I know how hard you worked.” A soft kiss to the crown of your head followed before the room was filled by only the sound of the movie and your soft breathing.

When you opened your eyes the next time the credits were rolling and Auston was playing on his phone. “Good morning,” he chuckled lightly before putting the device away.

“Hey,” you mumbled quietly. “Slept well?” he asked, an amused smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, but I need to go to bed, otherwise I won´t make it up,”

A soft laugh left his mouth. “Come on,” he said, getting up and holding out a hand for you to grab. When you stood at your full height he bent down and swept you off your feed, carrying your bridal style up the stairs.

“I can walk on my own, you know?”

Careful to not drop you he laughed. “I know, but sometimes you deserve to be carried.”

You shook your head but laughed at his remark.

When you were nestled in bed together, his arm lazily slung around your waist, your hand softly drawing the patterns of his tattooed arm you sighed. “What´s up?” he whispered.

“This evening was all I needed, from getting the flowers all the way to now,” you sensed that he felt a but coming. “no but, I promise, just a question,”

He nodded his head in a motion for you to go on. “How do you always know exactly what I need? Not that I´m complaining but it is a little scary that you sent me coffee the exact moment I was craving some, or sent me lunch on a day where I did not have time to get some myself?”

A quiet laugh left his mouth. “Easy question. It’s because I know you.”

“Thank you, for knowing me and for taking care of me.” You mumbled, already half asleep again. “That´s what I´m here for,” he laughed, which was the last thing you heard before you drifted off into sleep again.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Realized as this is my first mermay, I should write something about it.

Anyway.

(Takes place post reveal pre collar)

Stop laughing Stan meowed from the sink, glaring at where the Fords and Carla were hunched over the table, hands over their mouths, it's not funny.

The laughter got louder, and Stan glowered at them. They'd been giggling and trying to take not so subtle pictures for ten minutes now, instead of focusing on the problem at hand.

Which was Stan, and his lack of both hands and now back legs. Because how was he supposed to know the funky bracelet Ford had been messing with was some kind of mystic aquatic enchanted artifact, that 'gifted' anyone who touched it with 'sea legs', and how was he supposed to know those sea legs were in the form of a tail and the ability to breath under water.

And how was he supposed to know it'd affect his cat self, making it so when he'd nabbed the shiny thing on his brothers desk, Ford had rushed in to Stan's yowling as he flopped around with his brand new fuzzy seal tail. Ford had been very panicked as he snatched Stan from the ground and bolted to the kitchen, emptied the sink, plugged it, then stuck Stan under the faucet until he realized Stan was still very much still breathing, much like seals do on land.

Only once Stan was hissing and soaking wet did Ford burst into laughter, squishing his chubby new addition and cooing at all his speckled patterns.

Ford! Stan hissed, stretching out a paw and waving it at Ford, fix it!

All that got was more laughter, as the wet fur of his front leg stuck to his skin and dripped everywhere. All his fur was soaked from his impromptu shower and now half bath, making him look half the size he usually did and probably twice as pathetic.

"I'm sorry Stanley," Ford gasped, refusing to look at him, "give me a moment, I just-"

Ford turned, they made eye contact, and his brother started wheezing. He smashed his head onto the table and started pounding it as his body shook. This set the other two off, and now all three of them were red faced and barely breathing.

Stan hissed at them, until Ford eventually managed to drag himself to a nearby drawer and grabbed a large dish towel. Stan hissed again as he got closer and unplugged the sink, then again when Ford scooped him up and started rubbing him dry.

The other two kept laughing and taking photos, ignoring his disdainful looks.

"There, much better," Ford said, grabbing another towel to hold Stan with, then walking back to the table, "now you look less..."

"Miserable?" Carla suggested, smirking as Stan was set down on the table on top of the towel.

"Bug eyed?" Said Fiddleford, reaching over to poke at Stan's new blubbery addition. Stan swiped at him, then tried to curl up and sit in the towel.

It was very difficult without his back legs.

"I was thinking maybe more along the lines of shrunk." Ford said, reaching over to help Stan get settled and squishing the tail as he went, "I forgot how much of his volume is fluff."

I'll make you fluff, Stan grumbled, now fix it.

"I wonder how he'd swim like this," Carla said reaching over to poke Stan's tail. Stan glared at her, but she ignored him, pushing her finger in and out of the blubber, "like, his paws are still the same, does he doggy paddle with the tail?"

Stan glared harder as they all looked at him, then swatted at Fords inching hand.

"A mystery for another day," Ford said, nursing his fingers, "for now I need to figure out how to undo the enchantment."

"Can't you belt out your, you know." Fiddleford gestured at Stan with a raised brow, and both turned to face Ford as he hummed and shook his head.

"Unfortunately no. That's for curses, this is an enchantment. If I uncursed Stanley right now he'd just be a mermaid, and then he'd really need the sink. Best to leave him as is until I finish examining the braclet. And with that!"

Stan hissed as his brother scooped him up, one hand supporting his weight and the other coming down to make sure Stan wouldn't roll out. Conveniently by placing his other hand right on Stan's squishy seal tail and pressing his hand into it.

I know what you're doing, Stan meowed, giving him the stink eye and pawing at his hand. Ford pretended not to notice, pivoting and striding out of the kitchen back towards the study.

"I'll have to take some readings," Ford said, still squishing his tail and scratching it a little, "to see what we're working with. It might wear off on its own, or there might be a something your required to do before you can change back."

Stan grunted, then let out a mrrp as Ford set him on the desk and chuckled at his bounce. Stan swiped at him, then hissed when Ford pressed his hand into it again.

"Sorry Stanley," Ford said, reaching over to pick the bracelet off the floor with a pen and setting it on the desk, "it's just very satisfying. Actually..."

Stan raised an eyebrow as Ford turned to see if Carla or Fiddleford had followed him, then quickly pulled Stan closer and shoved his fave into Stan's tail.

Really? Stan mrrped as Ford brought his arms around him and hugged him close, it's fish fat Ford. It's not that great.

Despite that, Stan shot a look at the door before shoving his head into the crook of Fords neck and purring. Ford giggled into him, and he realized it was because Stan's blubbery seal tail was jiggling.

Stan smacked him in the back of the head, getting nothing but a heartier chuckle out of his brother, before Ford turned his face and smiled at him.

Stan purred harder, eyes starting to close, when Carla burst in with the camera, and Stan was abruptly shoved across the desk and started rolling off it. Ford lunged to catch him, and they both flinched as the camera went off.

"Yeah," Carla said, smirking at them as she backed away, "I figured you two were doing something cuddly back here."

And then she was gone, ignoring their cries of denial.

[jjwolves]

I love what you did for the last writings that you made, I love how your writing is both intricate and very detailed in both situation and inner thoughts. You captured the personality perfectly of ENA and I can’t wait to read more of your work! Splendid work!

I got inspired by a certain post on TikTok! Here’s the link!

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTjPBeFN8/

If you don’t mind, could you write about Dream BBQ ENA speaking differently when she’s around human! reader? Like her Salesman is still about business but the mischievous isn’t trying to sell cons but rather with praises and teasing. And her Meanie side is still scolding and angry but it’s usually about the wellbeing over the reader and yells at them at a lower level.

She clearly speaks more fondly and sweetly to the reader compared to how she is with Froggy, Dratula, the Receptionist, and anyone else. It be so funny to have everyone see this clear favoritism during their day to day and call her out on it one day. 🤣

I hope you can consider this request. Thank you for your time and effort!

PITCH SHIFTING ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

What: 5 Headcanons of ENA the Worker X Reader, Where ENA is Nicer to You Than Anyone Else

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~900 words, ~4 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Divider -> @issysh3ll

Warnings: None

ENA has a soft spot for you and everyone can tell. When she comes into work, she passes Froggy and Dratula with a “Good day,” and a “Greetings, o creature of the night.” She gives a short wave to both, but it’s clear that she’s a targeted advertisement who is headed straight for her demographic. You perk up as ENA slows near your workstation and props herself up on her elbows to greet you. “Hellooo~ How is your car running? You look positively punctual today.” A pale hand leaves its station to calmly rest on yours. You both blush and smile at each other, exchanging a tender moment which is unfortunately surveyed by your coworkers. Froggy and Dratula watch on. “Why are they nicer to them?! Is that even allowed?” “At least ve got a good mornink. I am Dratula!” “Wait, why am I talking to you!?”

One time, you accidentally dropped a letter opener off the edge of the Hub and tried to fish it out with a stick. ENA was busy listening to Froggy debrief her on her next mission. “You need to go straight to the heart of the mountain, got it?” “Yeah, yeah. Shut it with the spiel. Can I fulfill my stupid purpose now?” She looked to the side and caught the sight of you leaning precariously over the blood ocean. Deciding not to watch for too long, she ran over and yanked you backwards by your collar. “Watch what you’re doing, moron! You could have been a soggy ingredient deep down in the soup!” You tell her that your letter opener had fallen into the blood and scissors were horrible for opening letters. ENA’s eyes narrowed as she helped you to your feet and brushed you off. “Whatever, I’ll just get you one while I’m out. Now hightail it back to your workstation before I put you in a brochure for poor life choices!” You nervously thanked ENA before skedaddling away according to her command. Froggy was beginning to suspect chemistry between his coworkers—that or cursed magic. They hadn’t filled out any paperwork for the latter if so.

The others start to notice that ENA hangs around you constantly, like some sort of contradictory perfume. She’s always sliding over to your workstation to lean on your desk or sit on a filing cabinet, chatting with you, and, get this—laughing with you. Not a conspiratorial chuckle uttered from a sly smile, nor a manic cackle shaking with fury. A real one, a soft one. Coral Glasses tries to work nearby but can’t help being appalled at how different ENA sounds with you. She subtly listens in out of sheer wonder. A harsh, crackling voice sounded out with a laugh of true joy—it was an odd combination to hear together. “Ahaha! Listen, listen. You’re smart and I like that. Don’t let any numbskull tell you otherwise, got it?” Confused by the sound of banter, Froggy goes to your cubicle to see what you’re doing, but gets blocked by ENA standing in the doorway, facing you with arms akimbo. Her head turns around to fix Froggy with a thin, red smile. “Can I offer you some sort of business solution?” He tries to peek around ENA to see what she’s laughing at, but her colorful head darts around in the air like a foo fighter to block his sight. “...They’re closed. Please come back tomorrow!”

When the Hub is filled with smoke, Froggy doubles over, coughing and retching, claiming that it’s “hitting his nerves with a folding chair”. ENA isn’t terribly concerned about his condition, fixing him with the fierce, focused stare of a sniper about to hit their mark. “Quit being such a baby. It’s a bad look on you, toad.” Standing next to Froggy, you begin to suffer a light cough, pounding your chest to clear your throat. Her face draws close and examines you, blue shadow falling over a sharp eye. “Really?! You too?! You all need to toughen up if you’re gonna survive the winter!” Her reproach makes it hard to notice at first, but you start to feel something firmly tugging and brushing against your collar. Looking down, you see that ENA’s hands are busy fixing your tie for you.

Coral Glasses scratches her cheek nervously as Froggy stands near, watching you and ENA talk from a distance. “I’m not overly concerned with work friendships or anything, but… She’s so much nicer to them than us.” Froggy crosses his arms. “I know. She’s a great worker, but she’s also insubordinate. I need to have a talk with her! Oi, ENA!” ENA glances over and pauses in your softly held conversation, adjusts your collar slightly and then draws near to Froggy’s call. “You rang?” “I just want to know… your priorities, you know?” ENA stares blankly, breaking Froggy’s professional facade. “Why are you so nice to them?! You’re not like that with us at all! You’re so much meaner to me!” Coral Glasses mutters something about not wanting to be involved before ENA explains herself. “Oh, is that really why you called me to this meeting? Well, the answer can be quite easily outlined. They bought out my feelings a while ago; I like them more than you. I’m glad we could clear up this confusion.” ENA turns away and walks back to you before Froggy can ask anything else.

[saveahorserideaneddie]

I wish I had remained as cautious as you this season cause I feel stupid for getting sucked in and having expectations.

listen i won’t lie and say that i am exempt from making exceptions too… im a pessimist- i got that from the amount of times i’ve been burned by network shows before, but even i have that small part of my brain that is like “but what if” which means even though i know something probably wont happen in an episode, i still get disappointed when it doesn’t

the thing is tho that i think fans should have expectations… this whole flying by the seat of tim’s pants thing that he does in terms of writing is something unique to this show and not in a good way (well- maybe not unique but definitely most prevalent here) it’s not fair to cast, crew, or fans, and to me it shows a lack of dedication to the craft, and in my honest opinion should get him blacklisted.

like- if he hates putting in effort on the show so much, why doesn’t he just leave? (we know why bc he’s a narcissistic pig, but ANYWAY)

i think what they’ve done with press this week **if nothing concrete happens with buddie (again- i’m literally stuck in limbo on whether or not i think smth’s happening) is really shitty and my hope is that fans start contacting abc executives, starting petitions, etc. to show them that we aren’t just here for whatever pops into tim’s brain. yes- to an extent there are things that we don’t expect and they work out and can be really good moments, i’m not saying he should do every little thing the fandom wants bc that would make a boring show (and only cause more derision among fans), but what i’m saying is that we need to show them that we are done falling for this formula of “oh, we need to build up ratings/viewership, lets write a buddie plot that really seems to stir the pot, tease it in interviews after the fact, and then completely drop it once we got what we want.”

something i personally find a little funny is that so many people this week have been going “if they wanted to shut buddie down they wouldn’t do all this” and im like…. but they dont want to shut buddie down… if they did that they’d lose too much of their main audience… they want to keep us around which is why they pull stunts like this. queerbaiting is an unfortunate part of media and it unfortunately is effective in what it’s used for, and abc, tim minear, oliver stark, and ryan guzman (no matter how much we love and want to trust them) are not exempt from doing it. i know they say they are, but lets be real who would actually own up to queerbaiting?

i love ryan and oliver but even i have to wake up and smell the roses that at the end of the day this is their job, and while they do genuinely love their characters, regardless of what their feelings are towards buddie or any other storyline, theybare going to do and say what they are told because it’s their job to do so- even if it means lying to our faces about buddie. it’s unfortunate, but it’s true.

i’m not gonna watch the episode live bc i’ll be in rehearsal, and honestly? i’m kinda glad bc even if something buddie does happen, i’d rather have the confirmation either way then forcing myself to nervously watch and getting disappointed in real time (again IF we don’t get anything)

i just feel like the fandom as a whole needs to realize that you can be optimistic and positive without placing complete faith in these people who in all actuality do not care about our feelings, and they need to understand that tim isn’t in this for the characters, he’s not in it for the fans, he’s in it for the massive paycheck disney gives him, and as long as they allow him to work unsupervised, the show is gonna be what he wants it to be

i don’t mean to bring anyone’s spirits down- i don’t want that to be my brand on here, but i do think this fandom can be a little (a lot) naive sometimes and while it’s okay and even sometimes beneficial to carry that bit of naivety, when you create expectations based purely on trusting a capitalist broadcasting company, you’re bound to be disappointed

i would not wish for ANYONE to have the viewing experience i donbc being entirely honest the way i navigated this season was utter HELL for me, and like most other people were having the time of their lives up until a couple weeks ago

so i say all of this not to be like “everyone should doom and close on buddie and never watch the show again” bc i don’t want that- i love this show and i want it to continue… but if it does continue then there NEEDS to be a change and i feel like fandom has to be the catalyst for that.

TLDR; don’t be like me, but everyone should learn to temper their expectations when it comes to queer ships on network television

sorry for kinda hijacking your ask 😭😭 i started yapping and a lot just spilled out

[imagine-darksiders]

Anon ,this was so beautiful and eloquently written, Golgoth my new BELOVED!

You have a real talent for writing, and I hope you continue to do so! Taking your advice and copying your story so I can put it under a 'read more.'

The original writing prompt

Below was written by Anon, please give it a read if you have the time, it's very good and wholesome!

-----------------------

Of all the universal truths, the inevitable realities that bleed down the bloodline of mankind, this one you know for certain: the strong oppress the weak.

Unfortunately for you, the latter best describes your tribe.

But what can you expect from humble fishers and farmers? From women weavers and little toddling weaners? An army born and raised to conquer and defend? A fortress as formidable as the Cahaya mountain that looms over your little valley?

One wishes it were so in times such as have been.

But wishing does nothing to keep the small band of Vulkars from randomly raiding your village, taking what little harvest is left and leaving with more and more of your people.

Now, with only a fortnight before the first frost, there remains only the dying elderly, the weather-worn mothers with their babes still suckingly their breasts, the frail and feeble children, and you.

The only young virgin to be left behind. 

Since many years ago, fire had burned the right side of your face and neck, claiming both that eye and what beauty you had. None were at fault. It was fate alone that cursed you.

And because of your curse, when you reached marrying age, none would have you.

But as there are two sides to your face, there are two sides to your curse, and in spite of the shame you feel, you are grateful it has spared you the doom of your tribal sisters at the hand of the Vulkars.

Only now it seems a far more despairing doom lies before you. 

For last night, it was agreed among the elders that if the tribe was to survive the winter, much less another Vulkar raid, there was only one hope left, only one who could save them. 

Golgoth, the god of war and blood.

There is not much that you, or anyone else, knows about Golgoth. Your tribe trifles not with higher beings. Only in times of greatest need does your people call upon them, requesting aid in exchange for the offering required. 

Golgoth is no different.

Inscribed in one of the stone tablets that has been preserved through the generations, there is a passage that speaks of how to summon Golgoth. The ancient language is known only by a few elders, and even then, not all is easily understood. But they have interpreted tells that one must give their hand in blood in return for his aid. 

So it was decided that one should travel to the peak of Cahaya to perform the ritual, seeing how the mountain stood nearest to the heavens and its distance from the village would improve its chance of escaping the god’s wrath should he find the sacrifice displeasing.  

And of all those left who could be chosen, it was you. 

Because of course it was. The elderly are too feeble to make the journey, and the children likewise. As for the able-boodied mothers, they have already given themselves to a man and are no longer innocent.

And everyone knows that war lusts most for innocent blood.

“There is no other option,” they told you.

And you know they are right.

It is why you willingly spent the waning hours of darkness repeating the summoning spell, committing the foreign words to memory. 

(Each repetition a strand in the rope wrapping around your neck.)

It is why at daybreak, despite your aged mother’s tearful begging for you, her only daughter, to abandon the task, you turned your back to her.

(She never saw the tear sliding down the pale of your cheek.)

It is why you swallow back your hunger and thirst, pushing yourself to keep pace as you climb higher and higher up the mountain.

(No need to pack provisions when you will not live past dusk.) 

You repeat the weighty words under your breath as you ascend, only for them to be drowned by the howling of the wind. 

You cannot afford to forget them.

You cannot afford to fail. 

Halfway through your journey, the eastern light rises overhead, its heat barely noticeable this high up. The wind hounds you even harder, barking at your heels and biting through your thin skin. Without the thick, white fur of the eshoka covering you from head to foot, you would perish before you could make it to the top.

But make it to the top you do, collapsing face down onto the ground, weary to the bone.

Up here snow has already fallen. Though its powdery flakes cushion your exhausted body, their chill does little to comfort you. At least you do not feel it on your disfigured cheek.

Sleep beckons you, and though you know it seduces you to your death, still it tempts you.

After all, you are destined to die here anyway.

Only when you remember the lives at stake- of your precious mother, of the struggling survivors, of those enslaved and tortured by the Vulkars- only then do you find the strength to sit up and face your fate. The western light hangs just above the horizon before you, painting you in its deep red rays.  

With frostbitten fingers, you remove your mitten and take the jagged knife from your belt.

You must do it.

They are all counting on you. 

There is no other option. 

. . .

 Breathe in and grip the knife.

. . . 

Press the blade to your right palm.

. . .

Hold the icy air in your lungs, and then . . . 

“A-ah! -a-ah . . . nnn-” you stifle your whimper, though there is no one to hear.

The flesh is numb from the cold, but not numb enough. Tears threaten to blur your only seeing eye, but you blink them back and force your eye open, exposing it to the stinging wind. 

You look. The cut trails from your pointer to your wrist. Down runs your bright red lifeforce, dripping onto the snow. 

It’s . . . mesmerizing, in a way.

You take a breath, recentering your focus on the task at hand. Bowing your head, your hair falls over your scarred side like a golden veil. Purple chapped lips utter the powerful words, the swirling wind carrying them to the skies.  "Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar." Golgoth, I give my hand for yours.

You hear the wind wailing louder, like a shrill woman shrieking in the air.

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You lift up your eyes to see ashen clouds blocking out the sun. 

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You feel colder, though from lack of light or blood loss, you cannot tell. Trepidation grips your heart in its fangs, squeezing what little strength you have from you, until your voice weakens to a whisper. You wish the snow would swallow you whole.

"Uzgon . . . G-golgoth ver- ver riskle . . . p-panar . . ."

Static prickles your skin . . . he is coming.

"Uzg-g-gon-"

A crack of lightning descends a few measures across from you and you shriek, flailing onto your back.

You lie for a moment, stunned from the shock but otherwise unharmed.

Groaning, you push yourself up on your uncut hand, the other clutched close to your chest. You squint with your good eye, your scarred one still hidden beneath your hair. Your vision finally focuses and then . . .

. . . your heart stops. 

Before you stands a being unlike anything you have ever seen before. 

He is as tall as he is wide, with legs and arms thicker than your entire body, and shoulders as broad as two barrels. Most of him is dressed in coal-colored leather and adorned with animal skulls, teeth, and other bones. What is not covered reveals reddish skin.  

Yet it is not his imposing figure that draws your attention, but his bowed head.

Hair as dark as dried blood, thick and shaggy, wraps around his jaw to his ears, while the rest runs down the neck like a mane. His ears are pointier than any humans, though not as pointed as the two bull horns above them. Stranger yet, an animal skull rests atop his crown, its boney jaw attached to his protruding one. The skull’s four large fangs frame his face, while his own mouth sports its own two small tusks.

For all that resembles a human, he feels more beast than man to you.

Meanwhile you feel little more than a twig to be stepped on, or prey to be snatched and torn to shreds. Like prey, a primal part of you believes that if you do not move, he will not see you.

But of course, that sliver of hope is stripped from you as he lifts his head.

His eyes  . . . they are filled with living flames, burning bright like firelight . . . 

 . . .  and they are staring right at you.

You stare back, frozen from fear and the frigid air. You notice not how the wind has dwindled to a soft breeze, nor how your nails dig into your open skin. You are wholly consumed by his otherworldly gaze.

The silence, tense and terrifying, remains untouched until . . .

“Urtz-baugsh-detsh fileen . . .” he mutters, his hushed voice as deep as- no, deeper than thunder.

His speech sounds similar to the ancient tongue you just used, but its meaning is unknown to you, thus you utter nothing back. You are not sure you could even if you wanted to.

The giant god thumps a fist against his chest and speaks again, clearly addressing you, “Bsktly oogn py fnells shishtar Golgoth.”

Again, you give no reply.

Bushy brows furrow for a moment, then his eyes widen. He shakes his head and mumbles more ancient words, perhaps with an . . . annoyed tone?

“Forgive me,” he speaks, now in your language, yet you flinch, “you spake in that tongue, I assumed you knew it. I see I was wrong. Do you understand now?”

You find your voice still has not returned, so you nod. 

Golgoth’s eyes brighten at that, his features relaxing. In fact, it almost appears as though he is . . . smiling. It's . . . not as malicious as you imagined a smile from the god of war and death would be.

“AH! Very good! I shall speak it again,” he says, thumping a fist once more, his chest bulging forward. “HARK! Here stands I, Golgoth.” 

You are well aware of that, though part of you seems hesitant to believe that this is the real Golgoth.

For surely the real Golgoth, god of war and blood, would scowl and demand you bend to his will with a bellowing voice that would blast you to dust. 

Yet . . . this Golgoth does nothing but stand patiently, awaiting a reply or reaction. 

When both your silence and awe-struck terror do not change, he prompts you with, “Who stands before me?” Then stroking his beard, he adds thoughtfully, “Though should I say lies before me . . .” 

You know not why such a being cares to know your name, but you dare not refuse him. 

You swallow before weakly stuttering it.

He repeats the name, your name, his voice as soft as a mother shushing her newborn.

His mouth widens again, and this time you are certain it is a real, genuine smile. “Do you freely give your hand to me? Do you receive mine in return?”

Your heart quivers, yet you cannot have him doubt your sincerity. You stiffly move to sit on your knees, shifting the snow. You present your bloody blue fingertips. 

“I do,” you quietly, but steadily reply.

His brows raise. “AH HA! I see you have already prepared your hand for binding.” Before you can panic over having misstepped, he continues, “I too am just as eager, for long have I awaited this day.”

Golgoth takes one hulking step forward and bends his knee to the earth, like a great tree falling in the forest. You tremble under his focus, his brow pinched as he strokes his beard again. You hold your breath. 

“Hm, you are quite small. You cannot become bigger, can you?” he asks.

You blink. “n….no?”

“Then I shall become smaller,” he decides, closing his eyes.

And then . . . to your complete and utter bafflement . . . Golgoth begins to shrink, his mammoth body growing smaller and smaller, until he’s but the size of a large man. Though his new height does not make him any less intimidating, you do feel less like you are about to be squashed.

He opens his eyes again, the flames inside dancing with mirth and mischief. “You did not know I could do that, did you?”

You snap your mouth shut and dip your head, abashed.

“HA! In time, you will find all that I can do.” he says, but as mysterious as his words are, you pay them no mind.

Your attention is drawn to his hands (both still twice the size of yours). With the tip of his right finger, sharper than a talon, he presses into the flesh of his other palm. Tough, leathery skin, like the bark of a tree, punctures under its deadly point. 

Out oozes his blood, thicker than yours and bright as sickle wine. Distracted by the sight, you do not see Golgoth reaching for your wounded hand. You yelp in surprise, then bite your tongue, forcing yourself not to pull away. 

Though you doubt you could; his grip is gentler than you’d expected, but firm enough you cannot escape.

“One drop. One soul. One eternity,” he rumbles, holding his fist over yours.

You watch helplessly as a drop of his blood falls into your open flesh.

First you gasp . . . 

. . . and then you scream.

Fire is no stranger to you. You will never forget the feel of its flames on your face. But this . . . this fire viciously racing through your veins, melting your muscles, searing your sinews, burning within your very bones . . . 

This is not a fire you will survive. 

Yet your heart continues to pump wildly, mixing his boiling blood with your own, drowning you in wave after wave of agony. 

You need it to consume you. 

You need the fire to turn you to ash. 

You need it to end.

And end it does, though slowly, settling like the deep water after a storm. The fire ebbs and flows, until it fades to a candle’s flame, and you are left on the shore, struggling to breathe in raw, ragged breaths.

But you are breathing. 

You are alive.

And you are no longer cold. 

“Finally . . .” sighs Golgoth, his voice vibrating through your whole being, bringing back your awareness.

Though your blood still simmers, you regain your bearings and look up at him. His fiery eyes flicker in time with your heartbeat. Their glow burns with an emotion so raw and passionate, you must be imagining it.

“Now your blood is mine,” he hums, the seal of your fate.“You are mine.”

Your heart quickens, which you attribute to fear . . . until you feel the curve of your ears warming. 

You glance down, thankful he cannot see them. You do not dwell on the cause, however, as your gaze lands on your cut. The wound . . . it has closed, and while still smeared with blood, it is little more than a pink line that will surely scar.

You will mind it not, for what harm is there in one more?

Curious to see if Golgoth’s wound has healed likewise, you look just in time to catch him . . . well . . .

. . . licking it. 

He notices your gaze and freezes, his broad, bovine-like tongue stuck to his hand like a youngling tasting an icicle. Eyes wide, your ears heat once more. Gologth pulls back his tongue and gives you a cheeky grin, his lidded eyes burning a deeper orange.

“Do you wish me to lick yours as well?” he asks and- oh, oh dear!

Your cheeks, they flush fiercely at that, but you just as aggressively shake your head no.

Golgoth throws his head back and bellows out with booming laughter, causing you to recoil as much as you can with your hand still in his.

“HA! You are a shy one!” he exclaims, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. He leans in close, the scent of blood strengthens from distinct to staggering.  A hand starts to reach for your face. “I like that you are shy.”

His words are lost on you, for the moment the tip of his claws brush the hair covering your scar, you jerk your head away, eyes squeezed shut.

“W-wait! Please . . . . do not touch . . .” you plead.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Golgoth speaks plainly. “I will not harm you.”

But for the first time since you’ve met him, harm is not what you fear. 

You pray that he will pry no further and allow you to make your request before he has a chance to see your curse, but you do not know who to pray to, and it is too late to learn.

His hand reaches again. You resist not, for you have not the strength, nor the wish to offend. He turns your face toward him once more. You keep your eyes shut, bracing yourself as you feel him push your hair back. His claws cradle your head with care.

“AH! I see you have a scar.” He observes, though without disdain in his tone. His thumb ghosts over your scarred flesh, sending a shiver through you. You purse your lips, awaiting his verdict.

“And what a beautiful scar it is,” he says.

Or so you hear him say, but you must have heard wrong. No one would ever deem your scar beautiful, much less a god like him. But . . .  just to make sure . . .

Your eyelids flutter, peering up at him.

“You . . . you find it . . . beautiful?”

“I do.” he affirms confidently, then tilts his head. “Do you not find it so?”

“I . . . I do not.” You glance down at the snow as shameful memories surface. “All have found it gross or . . . hideous to look upon . . .”

“HA! All are wrong!” Golgoth proclaims with gusto. 

He tilts your head up until you meet his fiery gaze. It flares intensely, yet with a warmth that reminds you of summer nights, when your tribe dances around the great blaze. Ever since you felt it’s ruthless ire you have kept your distance, too afraid to step near. 

But for the first time . . .

. . . you do not fear the flame.

“Your scar is full of beauty and bravery,” says Golgoth, staring at you not with disgust or pity, but adoration. “Burning fire could not consume you, and though it has made its claim, you live on, for your heart is strong. It beats like the heart of a warrior.” 

He leans closer still, his breath warming the air between you. “Wear your scar proudly, my soosha.”

His words whirlwind around you, bewildering and overwhelming you, but it is the last word that confuses you most.

“Soosha?” you repeat, oblivious to how he watches it fall from your lips. “What . . . what does that mean?”

Golgoth’s smile quirks in a queer manner. “In your tongue it means wife.”

For one blissful breath, you blink ignorantly at him.

Only for your next breath to be whisked out of you as the word sinks like stone into your stomach. 

“You . . . you mean to say that I . . . I- I am your wife?” you barely whisper.

But Golgoth’s words ring loud, proud, and with horrifying honesty. “You are, have no doubt! 

“I- I don’t understand. H-how? When?!” You stammer, your hands shaking.

“By blood binding,” he answers, his smile dropping, “but a moment ago.”

Staring at the snow, your vision swims as bile builds within your throat. You are unable to breathe, much less believe it to be true. Trying to make sense of this revelation only increases the nauseating horror enveloping you.

“You were not aware of what you were doing, were you?”

You glance up to see him frowning at you.

Fear seizes your tongue, spurring it to fly for its life. “I- I was not!  I- . . . I- I thought . . . the inscription said that to ask for your hand was to ask for your aid. I did not know that . . . what it truly meant was . . . I-I . . . I am sorry, Golgoth. P-please do not be angry with me!” you beg, bowing your head, expecting the hand still cradling it to crush it in displeasure.

Instead it withdraws, slowly and carefully, and though greatly relieved, something quite small inside you misses its touch.

“I am not angry,” he says calmly, the warmth of his voice reduced to cold, quiet embers. “I am disappointed.”

Your surprise is so great, you find yourself meekly inquiring, “Why? I-if I may ask . . .”

“I left that tablet with your people thousands of moons ago, when you still spoke that tongue,” Golgoth replies, his tone revealing how unspeakably ancient he is. “I offered my hand to any of your kind that would take it. My desire was that the one to give her hand in return would do so freely of her own choice.”

“But . . . you are a god? Could you not take her by force?” you dare prod further.

Golgoth stares solemnly at his hand. “Yes, I could take her. I am used to taking. And I watch over those who take. They take life, take blood, take earth and rock and river.” He squeezes his fist until his knuckles give out a sickening crunch. “But this is the one thing I wish not to take. It must be given, and it must be given willingly and knowingly.”

His smoldering eyes turn to you, then shut. “You were willing . . . but you did not know.”

“I know it now!” you exclaim, desperately thrusting your open palms at him. “I willingly give you my hand if . . . i-if you will fulfill my request.”

While you know you have no bargaining power, it is the only way you can still save your people.

Golgoth takes your wounded hand in his . . . yet his eyes open not.

“You have already given your hand,” he says, tracing your cut as if it were an insect's wing. He clasps your hand between his. “Nothing can break the binding, save only your death.”

But your death matters not, nor your fate as Golgoth’s wife.

Only the death of your people matters.

And there is nothing more you can do.

You have failed.

Bitterness and shame well up within your chest, and when your eye begins to mist, you close it tight to keep tear from escaping. 

But as you bite your treacherously trembling lip, you flinch, feeling a hand against your unmarred cheek. A thumb presses under your eye until it opens. Your sorrow seeps from it and is kindly swept away by the same thumb.

Though your sight is distorted, the warm smile on his face shines as bright as the sun.

“But I will hear your request, and fulfill it as I am able,” says Golgoth.

Your mouth opens, yet you are speechless. 

He asks for nothing in return, and he owes you no debt. You are nothing but a mortal who unknowingly bound herself to a god. His offer is beyond generous.

But your marveling at such a miracle can wait, you must not press his patience. 

You lick your cracked lips, your voice wet and wavering. “I-its . . . it’s my- my tribe. We have been raided and- and captured by the Vulkars. Those left cannot survive if they are not destroyed. Please . . . destroy the Vulkars and free my people. That . . . that is my request.”

“And so it shall be done!” he nods, firm and full of fire once more.

Golgoth lets you go and reaches for his neck. He unclasps a cape from his shoulders, one you had not noticed in your observation of him. Though the thick, black canvas looks more like a hut cover than clothing.

You stiffen as he reaches behind you and pulls the cape around you. Hunching into yourself, you suspect he’s going to cover you, but all he does is set it on your shoulders. You grab it, pulling it to cover your front.

It’s almost uncomfortably heavy, and it smells horrendous, but . . . inside, that strange small something finds the gesture a little . . . sweet. 

Golgoth groans, heaving himself to his feet. You grip your new blanket as you watch him grow back to his gargantuan height. But the fear you feel is not nearly as strong as before.

“Stay here and rest,” says Golgoth, stretching his neck taut on either side, the vertebrae popping unpleasantly.  “I shall be back before sunrise.”

And with that he walks away, his footsteps stomping snow and stone in his wake. Staring at his back, you find your voice, though it is so soft, you fear the wind will carry it away before he hears. 

“Golgoth . . .”

Yet he stops, turning his questioning glance over his shoulder. You stare at the ground, twisting the fabric between your fingers. You speak shyly, but sincerely.

“You have my gratitude . . . .” 

“HA! I have no need for it.” he smirks, thumping a fist against his chest. “I will do anything for my soosha.” 

He then turns and marches down the mountain, leaving you with that bold declaration of devotion . . . and mixed feelings.

Gratitude and relief, are the strongest of them. Though you have no reason to be, you are confident that Gologth will carry out his word. 

Your people, your family . . . they will be saved. 

They will survive the winter. 

You have succeeded.

Yet, it has come with a cost. 

A cost you know not the extent of yet.

Fear of the future that lies before you weighs as heavy within you as the weariness of your journey. Seeking comfort, or perhaps consolidation, you consider his treatment of you thus far. 

Of his careful caresses, his gentle gestures, his . . . other expressions of emotions, and most especially of his address of your scarred appearance.

Tenderly, you touch the pink, uneven flesh, the soft color bleeding over to your cheek.

No one- neither friend or enemy- has ever called it beautiful.

No one that is except Golgoth, god of war and blood, and . . . . 

 . . . and your husband.

[catras-breakup-song]

catradora's canon status turns 5 today. i also turn 20 today. 🪅

i've spent an entire quarter of my life, a whopping 25% of it now, loving the center focus of she-ra and what this show teaches us...

it's actually pretty wild for me to think too deeply about. truly, it can't not mean something absolutely special (if i love myself, of course) when that much of a coincidence is actually reality.

this story isn't just a hyperfixation, it's a permanent part of who i am. it's shaped my later teenage years and helped me through hard times consisting of confusion and loneliness. i resonated better with catra & glimmer than any other fictional characters i had known before or would ever know since then. i found the art style soothing to stare at all the time. i appreciated the words of comfort we're supposed to internalize. it's been a consistent source of familiarity when i needed nothing more than to rewatch the same scenes repeatedly.

the online community surrounding western queer animation, and particularly this piece of media, kickstarted my hobby of collecting video edits, up to the thousands, that many talented creators have made, on an external drive. unfortunately i lost that project over the summer last year and it devastated me deeply, however i never stopped keeping track of my favorites and supporting the works i loved as i continued coming across them, such as this one to "the great war" by @somanypetals, which i will never stop recommending to others here ─ you can also go through my tag for this topic if you'd like! in fact, i also got back into video editing myself for the first time since 2021 last month!

additionally, it wouldn't be an authentic CBS post of mine if i didn't highlight how beautiful five by five takes' analysis videos on youtube are to me. their writing is a top-tier heart-wrenching gold mine and i've lost count of how many times i've rewatched through that playlist again and again. if you love this masterpiece as much as i do, you'll do so tenfold here. i still remember watching the first part of the series, "how she-ra gives us hope", when it was brand new, and i love bragging to fellow friends about being one of 5X5T's earliest subscribers from this fandom!

i (sort of but not really, which is a long complicated story on its own), came from the traumatized wave of angry voltron/KL fans. thankfully i didn't struggle with trusting the writers to follow through on the groundwork they laid down because it had only been my first fandom and therefore i hadn't been hurt by queerbaiting multiple times, but i say this because it was a big deal when she-ra's finale showed something on screen that could not be taken away or undone. catra & adora's romance helped me find peace & pride in my lesbian attraction. although i ended up not being homosexual despite failing to realize it for another year, i am still very much sapphic and wouldn't trade that gift for the world!

speaking of which, one of the best things you can find in a partner is the relatability of a common interest that brings out the emotional connection between you. i've seen @bluedandylyon around before, but i got to know xim more closely on the SPOP creative flex discord server after i jumped in activity there about a month and a half ago (and i only started being active on this blog again after creating it in 2022 back in august last year, it's amazing what that did for me). the two of us genuinely could not have clicked better with anyone else and i believe we were always destined to stumble into each other eventually. i don't know why the universe decided that time was to be so recent, but after spending half a decade single it's been very exciting to finally leave that break behind. because of SPOP, i asked them if they wanted to date on lesbian visibility day (april 26) and something within me renewed to make me the happiest i've ever been! 💟

my thoughts are too scattered and unorganized for this to feel like a proper essay of some sort, but i know i needed to get this done in time and i enjoyed it. i can't appreciate enough how much my identity, the core essence of who i am inside, has been shaped by this 50-episode cartoon. a simple love letter could never cover how important this reboot means to so many people, even if mattel still refuses to acknowledge it. ⚔️🌈💖

[theladyragnell]

This is driving me insane. Who are the original space blorbos??? I have googled the names and searched in Tumblr and I thought at first it was just a d&d campaign or something but then you said it's from the third novel and I NEED TO KNOW

Oh gosh! Sorry to make you go down a rabbit hole!

Anything you see in my "obligatory original space blorbos" tag or see referred to by anything involving the words "space blorbos" (or anything involving the word "Karn" or "Karnisan") is me referring to a long-term original writing project! The Karn series is five novels and two novellas, and it's not published anywhere because I am a very lax editor and I really want to get this one right. So it's the first drafts of five novels and two novellas, and the second drafts of the first two novels (or, well, the second novel has three more scenes in it yet to edit, thus why I've been posting about the space blorbos so much lately, because thinking about them helps motivate me). The first drafts make up a complete series! (Even if there's a second generation series in the back of my brain. Shhhh.)

I want to publish them someday (probably going the self-publishing rather than the trad-publishing route, these are. fairly unpublishable because I don't tend to write super marketable things), but I've found it really rewarding to be able to edit the earlier books as I learn more things about the characters and know more about the series arc I want to do, so none of the books are going anywhere public for a while so I don't edit myself into a corner.

Which is unfortunate, because I really want to share them! But also I've read too many trad pubbed series over the years where it's clear the author wrote the first book or two with a different plan in mind and then had some ideas and consequently fucked their series over a bit with later books not meshing with what they'd been building up to, so I am very determined not to cause myself that problem.

But, preludes aside, the House of Karn series is what I affectionately pitch as Succession meets Bridgerton in space! It's structured like a romance series, each book or novella built around a different couple (or poly ship in one case) and each book with its own coherent plot that wraps up at the end of the book, with a background series arc about successions and coalitions and familial abuse and terraforming and all that good shit.

I made a comic sans series primer sometime back with @sovinly's help, I should really brush that up and post it sometime.

[gwenyn28]

Just a few thoughts. I don‘t want to excuse any development or sound condescending. I don’t want to excuse the writing because I still stand by it being shitty and it could have been better in so many ways for a lot of storylines and characters. But I just had a few thoughts that I wanted to share. So… here they are. About season 7 and season 8. And probably the Buddie of it all.

If you are still too emotional and mad about the whole development? That is absolutely valid and I would never try to invalidate it. Be disappointed. Crash out. Curse everyone and their mom. Be angry and mad and sad and frustrated.

If you are open to read about a different approach, a different opinion and some thoughts and the last two seasons and some Buddie stuff… be my guest to read the following.

Just please be respectful if you disagree with things.

Imagine the following scenario:

Fox had the show for six season but then noticed that they can‘t do it anymore. Because it is too expensive. They also shut down Buddie permanently because… omg, no way. It was visible especially in season 6 when Buddie had barely any scenes together (though there were still some great Buddie moments with the „Do more!“/lightning and the poker date). Then, all of a sudden, abc appears, wanting to buy the show. Because they have the money and they see potential there. Especially with Buddie.

And so they try to set their plan in motion, to use the potential they saw, with starting the Buddie route after the opening disaster in 7x04. And it works in their favor. The response for bi!Buck as the first one of them coming out (excluding the few homophobic idiots) is mainly positive and euphoric. For them it is confirmed that the plan is a good one and will work out for them, bringing in fans, viewers and mainly money.

But then something unexpected happens. We remember some of the interviews from back in season 7 after the opening disaster. Especially Peter. He is talking about him being „too old“ for this kind of work. That is is tiring. That it is demanding. To carry around that heavy gear, the long hours (that led to a tragic death in real life), the stress… all of that.

Suddenly they have a „problem“ here. Peter is an executive producer and one of the main faces of the show. They can‘t ignore his complaints. (Maybe there was also a fallout with some higher ups about this or other things concerning the show like work schedules in general and/or character development but since this is just speculation I will keep it out of this text. I just wanted to mention it once that there could be other reasons for this whole „problem“ as well.)

Therefore they need to find a way to help, to solve that problem. And by doing so, they put all their focus on him and his character‘s development/storyline while unfortunately forgetting about the others and sidelining them.

This is a huge problem and there is nothing in this world to sugarcoat it. Tim has a whole team of writers working on this show. If he is not able to take care of the others and their characters he could have given this task to someone else to solely focus on Peter/Bobby. So everyone would have gotten the story they deserved.

Instead of handling it that way, we get 7x09 though that was a Bobby episode (with not even a mention of anyone else). That episode calls back to the house fire with how his story began. And the suicidal tendencies which come into play in the finale of season 7. The viewer is reminded that Bobby has had these thoughts in the past. That him dying is not a foreign concept to him and his character. That it has been an issue in the past. With bringing that up again they try to plant the idea into the viewer’s mind that they could see it and understand this being an optional and logical next step. Because they might see it not as a surprise then when he dies in the season‘s finale.

But the reactions were negative. Killing him off like that? Addressing his suicidal tendencies? With one main point for that planned death being his old guilt that has actually been resolved, kind of, since season 2? They notice their mistake that this is not the right way. The right solution. Therefore, they bring him back to life even though he should have stayed dead after being gone for 14 minutes. (Because who would and could survive that?)

So, that is their first try to solve that problem. Unfortunately, it doesn‘t work out. The problem‘s still there. And not only this. With focusing on that story, they have a whole other new problem - they neglected the other characters for that. They gave them shitty storylines that led to nothing much and didn’t get resolved because they felt like Tim had an idea but got sidetracked with other stuff. It was not cohesive at all.

Therefore, the season ends with two problems instead of just one - Bobby is still alive and the rest has crappy or barely existing storylines.

Then, season 8 is on its way. They get back on track and focus on „how to make it easier for Peter“? Again. The stupid thing is though… That is their sole focus. They forget about the others. Again. There is no development for any character in season 8. They get something small here and there but that‘s it. Nothing big, nothing connected, nothing cohesive and consistent. They bring in outsiders to create conflict instead of working with what they have and what has been the essence of 911 - their family as the core story. But yeah, it tracks. Because their main story is Bobby right now. The others are just an afterthought. Their stories fall flat and are stagnant. That sucks. But they either ignore it or they just don‘t notice. Fair? No. But that is the current situation.

And if we really think about it… a lot of people were noticing that and complaining about „why does Bobby get so much attention this season?“ That is the reason why. He has been the focus because there was an issue to solve. People might have not been able to see that back then, coming up with other explanations about „he is the male lead and it‘s Peter!“. While it might not have been about him being high on the callsheet though. It might have been just because they needed to find a solution.

In then end, they are still on the „Bobby/Peter problem“ for season 8a. That is when the idea comes up with the Hotshots plot. That is their test run for the idea of „what if we make Bobby retire? What if he is not part of the 118 anymore but still on the show?“ So, they use that story to test the waters here. How the people would react to them having (and finding) a new captain, to have a new dynamic at the 118, to still be connected to Bobby though but pulling him out of the focus. That follows Peter‘s wishes and complaints about not wanting to do all the stunts and hard work anymore that is demanding for his body and health but would keep the character. Could have killed two birds with one stone, right?

So, Hotshots was never meant to be a 911 meta, to poke fun at the show or to give us callbacks. It was simply there to test changing the position and role for Bobby. Theoretically a good idea. But it didn’t work out.

People are not okay with it. They don‘t like it and want Bobby back. The result? They know now that having Bobby retire, to write him off and/or out of the 118 (while still being on the show though) won‘t work out. People would not like it and they would want him back, no matter what.

So, season 8a ends. And the problem is still there. How to make it work for Peter? A lot of conversations have to be held and things are discussed. While they still have to continue with the show because it is still on and a work in progress. They are under pressure somehow.

And then the decision is made. There is only one solution. Retirement doesn‘t work. „Demoting“ him to guest or recurring? Not working either. The people want to see Bobby.

That is the moment they just have one solution - Kill him permanently.

Is it a good decision? Debatable.

Is it a good execution? Definitely not.

Could it have been done differently? Probably.

But the point stands. Their only way out at that point is the permanent death. Everything else hasn‘t or wouldn‘t work out.

Also, somehow Ryan, Aisha and Kenny cancelling the plans for the „Saving Lives“ convention could be seen in a different light now. The original story, if the retirement idea would have worked out? They would have been done by then and could have attended. But since they had to rearrange everything and write a new story? They were needed on set. Therefore, cancelling the convention.

Don‘t get me wrong. I don‘t want to excuse that decision or say that it was amazing or great or well-done. Because it wasn‘t. It was rushed and badly executed and they lacked a lot in the writing department here to make it a cohesive story to have people get the plot. There was so much missing which tracks back to my earlier statement of Tim getting sidetracked so many times and losing the bigger picture.

If it had been done differently I think a lot of people would have accepted killing off Bobby a bit more. Easier. But we already were unsatisfied and mad at all the shitty storylines and plots happening before to all the characters so… the foundation was just not there. To have a good and solid story and then deciding to kill off a character. That would have worked. Not what we got though.

For most fans the MCD was just another shitty thing that happened in a row of shitty things. Therefore there was no acceptance. If they had handled it differently, maybe it would have been a better result. But we will never know because the damage is done.

But back to the main point. The decision is made. Kill Bobby. But now they have to do that, to commit, one way or another. I assume this decision happened around February or so.

The Texas stuff was already filmed in January, 8x11 was planned and had started. Hen‘s bus storyline was on its way as well. So, they have to rearrange the whole schedule and everything from budget to permits to departments involved - the Contagion arc is born.

A lot of us felt and still feel that this was so off and random, it made no sense in the overall story. It felt weird and forced into the main story. And it actually was. We were confused about the stuff we found out through bts about them pushing around episodes (15 being 13 all of a sudden) and other things not adding up. But the root of this chaos was the „we need to put an end to the Bobby problem asap“, not a „I have no clue at all what I am doing“.

It was said in one interview that Bobby‘s death was derailing everyone‘s personal storylines and putting them on hold. And that was actually a bad thing in that moment because they had to stop everything they were doing. So, that couldn‘t be more true. Because exactly this happened. They had a plan (not that it was a good one, don‘t get me wrong) how to get through the season. But since they had to get through with killing Bobby as well they had to change the plan and shake everything up.

You might ask „why kill him then and why not doing it differently and doing it in 8x15?“. Like I said before. The problem still stands. Peter is maybe not able to do all the heavy stuff anymore (not that I would blame him, but it might be just a fact due to his age). So, they are ripping off the band-aid and are like „Okay, let‘s get through with it and accept the shitstorm for now. We have no other way out.“

And that is exactly what happened. The backlash was and still is huge. And they got and get a lot of negative feedback. They just take it. Because they knew that this would happen. But they saw no other or better way out of this situation.

Again, I don‘t want to excuse it or defend anything. It was still poorly executed and could have been better. Because let‘s be honest, Tim got even sidetracked there again with his „action“ and „I want a four minute long helicopter chase“. Two episodes could have been enough to give Peter/Bobby a proper goodbye and death to his character if done differently. But they did it in a bad way and have to live with it now, accepting the reactions while trying to see the positive side here as well with „okay, that death shakes up things for every character and we can finally develop them further. Our problem is solved.“

Let‘s have a look at the Buddie of it all then because that is the thing that probably interests us the most. They are our babies.

Like I said in the beginning, abc saw the potential and greenlit Buddie.

They take the first step in 7x04. Then the Bobby problem appears and they loose focus, being not the main plot anymore. The Buddie development gets sidelined for now, maybe with the thought of „One thing after another, let‘s solve Bobby first, then get back to Buddie“. Unfortunately, that doesn‘t work out and the problems is still there.

They admit defeat then and are okay with with sidelining Buddie for season 7 even though both Oliver and Ryan are on board (and if anyone says they, especially Ryan, are against it… this is not a safe space for you!). Let‘s push it to season 8.

And then season 8 happens and the Bobby problem is still unsolved. Because killing him in season 7? Not happening and Buddie is still sidelined in 8a. Because there are more important matters to take care of. But again, this doesn‘t work out. Hotshots as a test run for retiring Bobby is a failure. And 8a ends with still two problems at hand - Bobby alive and characters (in this case Buddie) being sidelined.

For 8b they decide to change their approach. To finally shift the focus. The Bobby problem can’t be solved quickly. They learnt that after 7b and 8a. So, the plan is to concentrate on Buddie for now. The potential is still there and that has been their original idea anyway. Maybe they can work that out first and then take care of the Bobby problem?

That is why the beginning of 8a feels like a Buddie dream coming true. The whole fight about Eddie moving, him leaving Buck behind who can barely handle this situation, 8x11 and the two Texas episodes. Great. That is exactly what they wanted. The Buddie train is back on track and thriving. The fans are ecstatic and the GA picks up on that plan.

But then… shit. Bobby. Almost forgot about him. He is still alive and the Captain of the 118. Peter still has to work and do the heavy stuff and… damn. Ignoring the problem or pushing it back didn‘t solve it. So, the focus had to be shifted again. Abandon Buddie, put it on the back burner.

I am sure that the decision to „rip off the MCD band-aid“ wasn‘t made easily. And that they had a lot of conversations and debates about it. But once the decision was made they had to stop the Buddie train again. They were not okay with it and they probably hated it, especially Oliver and Ryan who were happy that there was finally the development that both (!) anticipated. But everyone accepted it for now. Bobby was the more pressing matter at hand in that moment.

So, the Contagion arc happened. And finally they solved the Bobby problem but had to accept the backlash on that AND the sudden Buddie stagnating.

The final three episodes after this arc were used to close this storyline and I am convinced that Bobby‘s death won‘t be a topic anymore in season 9. They let them grieve (even though poorly, still acknowledging the bad writing in some parts on my end here), trying to pull the characters out of being sidelined, getting back on track with giving them development.

Season 9 can be now used again to get to tell the stories they either wanted to tell in season 8 or had no time to even think about for this season.

But what about the press tour before the finale? Let‘s say it was… bad timing? Disney‘s upfront is a fixed date and the finale aired after it. Unfortunately. The press we saw that heavily featured Buddie… was not press for the finale. It was press for season 9. If the finale had aired before that all the Buddie hype would have been seen for its actual intention. To „hype“ season 9. To promote it. To sell their show. To finally go through with what they wanted to do for two seasons now but couldn’t do because they had to take care of something else (Bobby) first.

Was it calculating and kinda rude what the outlets did, to air and publish the stuff before the finale? Yes. Because it was misleading and a lot of people thought it was about the finale. Imagine that stuff being said next week or the week after? Completely different outcome. But them airing it before the finale gave people a wrong impression.

The problem is that a lot of people, me sometimes included I give you that, have an idea and theory because we see something or get hyped by other‘s theories… and then we focus so much on that and expect something to happen. While it just doesn‘t because it has never been the plan. And that is why people get disappointed and angry so often.

I don‘t want to blame anyone for doing that. It is just an explanation for why this happens, you know? And why people react to it the way they do.

If you put the hype aside and think about it being for season 9 and not the finale? It can be seen in a different light, especially with what I explained earlier. Buddie got sidelined and partially forgotten because of the Bobby issue. But now that they are free, they can get their focus back on that. And everything in the interviews and articles and videos is pointing towards it.

Abc still sees the potential and is still on board with it. Otherwise they would have shut it down for real, the interviews and everything that happened during that press would have been different for sure. They would have given more professional answers, more open worded. They would not have been that happy and giddy about the whole think. So, we can assume that it is still the plan for the upcoming season(s). We also know that they plan to keep 911 as long as possible, like the new Grey‘s Anatomy with a shit ton of seasons to come. Abc hasn’t given up on the show.

They just had to solve a problem first. And even if they did it in the worst way possible concerning the writing, the sidelining of other characters etc.? The problem is solved. The detour they had to take? Done. They can go through with their original plan. And that is Buddie.

Also one or maybe two important things. With Bobby gone it actually plays into the Buddie canon of it all. Why? One of the main faces of the show is gone. The male lead so to speak. That is why Oliver got so much promo work this week. Because they want to build him to be the new „male lead“ (I know it is an ensemble show but I have no better way to explain it.) He will take Peter‘s place. Not as the captain (that will be Chimney). But as the male face of the show. And Buddie? Even though it sounds weird but… Buddie is planned as the new Bathena. I don‘t want to make Bathena fans mad with this but…

Let’s be realistic for a second. Bathena was a main pull for the show. People tuning in for them. But now? Bobby is gone. And Athena? She has no house anymore so where does she live? I can see Angela stepping back as well. Not leaving the show completely but being more of a guest. To be their police connection until… she can raise the next one. A rookie. This is how these long term shows work. If an actor has to or wants to leave you find a replacement, have them interact and get them some build up. Then you can slowly pull back the old character and replace them with a new one.

The same can happen for the 118. There is an open position now. So… Ravi anyone? Anirudh could become a permanent member of the team and they would have an open position for a recurring firefighter/probie. The next generation for the 118. This could also lead to new relationships because the mains are all coupled up - HenRen, Madney, Buddie. So Ravi and the new rookie and firefighter? Next generation also for personal storylines. Win-win for the show.

Also, 911: Nashville plays a role in this. Because people, mostly GA, were complaining about OG being too woke (and with Bobby dead they killed the only straight white cis male of the show). They are unhappy but like the franchise as such, the emergencies and some of the personal stories (that is their main reason to watch the show). They can simply switch to Nashville. A mostly white cast (for now), nothing „woke“ we know of yet. They can latch onto a new straight white cis male as captain with his wife and team. And OG? That will draw in more queer viewers because it is „woke enough“ with queer rep, PoCs and mainly women on their show.

In the end abc won‘t loose that many viewers. The ones that leave OG becaues of „woke“ will move on to Nashville and OG draws in more of the queers. Win-win. Again. In the ends, the numbers and the money is what counts.

Buddie brings in more queers for OG and Nashville is for the straights. To simplify it.

To come to an end (and thanks if you read until here!):

Bobby‘s death was not a creative decision, it was a problem they had to solve to cater to Peter‘s wishes and needs. They took their time and sidelined characters for it. They tried a different approach with Hotshots but it didn‘t work out. So they took the MCD out and accepted their fate. After that is done now they can go back to their original plan with Buddie and start in season 9 with a clean story. Buddie will be their flagship relationship they focus on in 9a. Buddie was always meant to happen but got pushed back because of the more urgent matter. Bobby/Peter. Now they have the time to do it.

And one last thing before you are finally getting rid of me…

I said it more than once. I don‘t want to excuse anything. I am still on board with the „they wrote shitty storylines and executed a lot of things badly“. Characters were sidelined because of too many ideas with poor decisions being made. They could have done things better. And we know they can because we got better writing in the past. So, I will still criticize the show and how they did things. I am not blindly following and praising everything they do. I still have trust issues with them really being able to handle storylines for the characters accordingly to how they deserve to be handled in the future. I am hopeful but not delusional.

How they ended things with Bobby was… underwhelming and feels undeserved after so many years. He should have gotten something better and if Tim had not been focused on the action he could have given a two-episode goodbye that would have honored Peter‘s role and character.

I simply tried to approach both seasons with taking a step back and looking at the bigger picture after they are both over now. I am not giving Tim too much credit with saying that yes, I think he had a plan. I mean he has 30+ years under his belt. He is no newbie who has no clue what he is doing. But, and that is a big but, he got lost in all his side quests that he lost sight of his main quest. He lost the red string that should have been there throughout the season, connecting episodes and characters, because there were so many other shiny objects he wanted to explore.

I am not on the „trust the process“ train because like I said. I have trust issues. I just tried to understand why the stuff that happened happened the way it did. And to me that makes sense (not only me because a lot of that stuff was discussed in a little group of wonderful people who always try to stay sane and rational). But just because it makes sense doesn‘t automatically mean that I like it. I don‘t.

I can see their plan being pushed back because of some unfortunate and unforeseen problem and I can just hope that they will get back on track with their plan concerning Buddie since that problem is solved now. That after two season they can finally do what they wanted from the beginning after they changed to abc.

[chalkrub]

super fun trade with @charseraph !

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

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[doctorweebmd]

i'm going to say something so controversial and yet so brave

chuuya nakahara is one of the most incredibly interesting, engaging and well-written characters in bsd and the fandoms reduction of him as nothing more than dazai's love interest does him such a disservice

[bookshelf-in-progress]

To prove that I am trying to write a retelling, here's a failed opening paragraph to a "King Thrushbeard" retelling that I'm never going to write.

Our first year of marriage, my husband and I lived in a hovel. It was a tiny, damp, dim little room, with a dirt floor, a straw roof, and a chimney that always smoked. It sat a mile from the nearest village, abandoned by a farmer who had failed. It sat on the banks of a tiny creek, and at sunrise I would leave the dim confines of the house to wade in the shallows and watch the water ripple over stones, watch the sun flash on the water, watch the birds dive for bugs and sing their praises to the living God who'd given them another day. Sometimes I dream of returning there—the creek would be the same, I think, even so many years later. Of course, at the time, I was miserable.

[theokusgallery]

Since you have a lot of opinions about Sunflower fics, do you have any recommendations :p? I do generally agree with you about the derth of good works on them - kind of hoping for something I've maybe slept on.

Okay, I'll try,

First of all — I want everyone, and I mean everyone to read Coda for a Crestfallen Caitiff by MercuriallyApathetic, who also wrote The Strange Summer of Sunny Whatshisface (still one of my favorite longfics to this day but a lot more lighthearted). Coda is a masterpiece, it makes me insane, it is criminally underrated, I want to inhale its essence, and when I first read it it gave me a panic attack and a mental breakdown that lasted three straight days (/pos). Definitely read the tags and prepare yourself mentally but JESUS CHRIST I need everyone to read it. Please. You will regret it for a few hours but it is... an experience. To me at least. And to the two people I recommended it to who gave me feedback.

Then there's sunflower seeds in the rearview mirror by @andrewwtca which remains probably my favorite multichapter OMORI fic of all time (you might spot my essay-comments in the later chapters, I love this fic so much. I didn't end up writing one for the last chapter but man did it hit me hard). Very intriguing with a captivating style and an unreliable narrator mechanic that I am absolutely in love with. Everything by that author is excellent.

We have, of course, literally everything by BetweenDisorders. Arsenic is partly inspired by one of their fics ! (you know the one.) Their characterization of both Sunny and Basil (but especially Basil, because I'm gay) makes me froth at the mouth. Their style is very recognizable and honestly one of the best I've ever seen. But more generally, they have really original and intriguing ideas (like communication, in which Basil and Sunny are two computers... Did I mention how I'm a sucker for original/unique plots and premises enough yet) and everything they do is something you've never seen before. It's amazing.

Note to Self: Don't Be Gay in Faraway Town by witheredahlia is also very, very good. It's a lot lighter, but it still made my gay little heart ache, because I'm a sucker for misunderstandings done correctly (fight me).

Detective Sunny by Det_Sun is genuinely one of the most creative, fascinating OMORI fics I've seen, and also way too underrated. It's an excellent read, and there's a bunch of ideas in it that you know go deeper than what is shown, and it makes my brain go at the speed of light. Many many thoughts about this one. (Side note: I fucking love it when there's unexplored ideas in fics. Makes my brain go brrr. Not everything has to be shown and when I see hints of "behind the scene" thoughts and character background that isn't discussed much but still implied, my brain becomes a feral animal. I don't know if that makes sense...)

[ask-cloverfield]

[quibbs126]

The idea of optic colors being influenced by different types/colors of Energon has come back to my brain, and I’ve written down a couple colors/types, so I just want to share. If anyone’s interested

So for starters, the color of the Energon matches the color the optics become. Second, the optics only become that color if the type of Energon they’re taking is the majority type in their systems. If you take med grade once, your optics won’t turn white. If it’s the main Energon you’re taking though, it will. The color can also change, but as a bot gets older, the more likely a certain color is going to stick even with a change of diet, and it takes longer to properly change

I don’t really know what the optic color would be if you take like, an even mix, but whatever

So let’s start

First we have blue Energon. This is the color of naturally occurring and standard processed Energon. It’s also the color bots start out with. It’s the most common type of optic color to have, since it’s from standard Energon, but it’s usually an indication a bot’s doing perfectly fine for themselves

Next up is yellow Energon, which I made up. This is oversaturated Energon, typically due to it being left out exposed in places with high concentrations of Energon in the atmosphere, such as Energon mines or refineries. While it gives more energy than blue, it’s really not healthy to be having in the long term. This is the type typically consumed by working class bots, especially the ones who work in Energon production, or poorer bots who can’t afford standard grade. There’s been some work in medical and ethical boards to discontinue the distribution of yellow Energon due to its negative effects, but it’s still the standard for the working class

By the end of things, you might be able to tell yellow’s the one I’ve thought most on. Granted, I’ve never figured what specifically the negative effects of yellow Energon are, other than generally causing weaker health

Anyways, next we have white Energon, which as I stated above, is med-grade. I don’t actually know what color med-grade is supposed to be, so it’s white here. It’s given additional nutrients for health and repair purposes. It isn’t the color of medical bot optics, but rather their patients. Due to med-grade being expressly for medical situations and not standard issue, white optic bots are rare. But if a bot does have them, it’s usually a sign of a long-standing or chronic disease, or just a sign a bot is gets into danger far too often

Now next up we have red Energon, which I have made synthetic Energon. I know it’s green in Prime, but I chose red specifically because it’s the main color of the Decepticons. Unlike blue, red is not made from natural Energon, but other components to best simulate it, which gives it a red coloring. I don’t really have a lot to say on what the color indicates about a situation, I more want to explain why I chose red, aka for the Decepticons. I think I came up with it with the idea that the Decepticons were banished from Cybertron, and/or a lot of the bots who later make up the Decepticons didn’t have access to natural Energon, which led to them creating their own synthetic alternative instead. Also, in g1 the Decepticons are constantly trying to make Energon from Earth resources, so you know, calls back to that

And the last one I’ve come up with as of now is pink Energon, aka high-grade. Sometimes Energon’s blue, sometimes it’s pink, so why not have high-grade be the other color? Anyways, this is the result of further refining of Energon that makes it taste far better than standard. Unfortunately, the taste tends to make it addicting, and in large quantities it tends to cause temporary glitches in the processor, so it’s meant to be taken in moderation. It’s also rather expensive due to the amounts of refining required to create. If someone has pink optics, they probably have an addiction to high-grade and should be encouraged off of it, or they’re a rich high-class bot who can afford to drink it in excess

And those are all the colors I have so far. Green and purple are still on the table for colors to use, I just don’t know what to do with them at the moment, since synthetic Energon’s taken and I’m unsure of if Dark Energon has a place in this, and what it’s supposed to do here. The mindset I’m writing these types of Energon with is that this is pre-war Cybertron, so I don’t think there’s a lot of Unicron involvement at this point

If anyone has suggestions for these other colors, feel free to say so. Or add in other colors, but other than orange I don’t really know what else to add, since it’s pretty much just brown and black left after that, which aren’t really colors for lights. I guess cyan? But that might just be classified as blue anyways