#I WANT TO DRAW MORE BUT I’M STILL RECOVERING FROM FINALS

[ghostgirl-22]

omg! omg! omg! do you have ideas on older jealous art? like what if he saw patrick on the date with helen at the hotel instead? or maybe saw patrick on a date with another man (grosu? 👀) and got really upset but didn’t understand why!

Oh yes, oh yes….<3

I think Art goes in the sauna, yes that sauna. But it’s before they ever meet up the night before they play the final.

CW: NSFWish, 18+

Summary: in which Art has a Karen moment because how dare you try and take his man—that he really doesn’t want (he promises). And no he doesn’t know what he’s weirdly sexually confused about. But it’s not that.

-/-/-/-

Art’s winning again. He’s mostly playing kids who are just so happy to be there or sad older guys who are so jaded and defeated about the idea of playing him that they’ve beaten themselves before Art even has to do anything. But still he is winning and it does feel good.

He’s trying to put the idea of Patrick out of his mind. Tashi tells him every single day, “He’s never going to make it to the final. He’s gonna choke. That’s his thing.” But Art notices every round he wins Patrick wins too.

His body is sore and he always feels better in the heat but being who he is in the tennis world he usually waits till really late at night to relax in the sauna. He’s sure no one else is going to be there so he’ll get a moment of peace and quiet without any of the younger players gawking over him or asking him career questions. But as soon as he pushes open the door he realizes he’s not alone at all. Patrick’s sitting on the bench and he’s not alone. He’s got some guy kneeling between his legs. The guy quickly gets to his feet when he hears the door and Art recognizes him vaguely from the draw. Victor Grasi or Grossi. Something.

The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and Patrick—very slowly— pulls the towel over himself, offering Art a smirk.

Art can feel his skin heating up. He wants to turn and run but he can’t move. His stomach is suddenly swooping around like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He didn’t know Patrick did stuff like that… with boys.

“What’s up Donaldson?” Patrick says brightly, like Art didn’t just catch him with some stupid pretty boy between his legs. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Art glares at him still struggling to form words. He hasn’t seen Patrick this close in so many, many years. He still smiles with his eyes but they crinkle now with age and around the edges of that smile he looks like he might be tired(sad?). And not just from lack of sleep. His hair’s shorter, skin darker the way it always was in the summertime. It makes all his freckles that much more visible. Art hates to admit the facial hair looks kinda good on him.

His body looks good too… Art’s eyes drift downward over where the towel is covering his very hard dick.

”I am so sorry Mr. Donaldson I’m a big fan. I think you are so talented. Not many Americans can win on clay,” Whatever his name is saying with a thick accent Art can’t place. It pulls Art out of whatever daze he was in. God was he just staring? Why was he fucking staring? He looks at Patrick’s face again and he’s looking at Art, amused. Smug.

Art’s annoyed all over again.

“And your game against Padilla.” The kid is still talking. “That was so good. I rewatched it twice. You’re so—“

“Thanks,” Art interrupts, his tone clipped. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly irritated with his presence. This dumb kid, probably 24 or 25, pink cheeks, perfect body just on his knees for…

“Didn’t he beat you yesterday?” Art asks, meanly, with a smirk.

His pretty little face goes stormy and Art feels a cruel internal joy when he sees it.

He mutters something in another language but Art’s certain it’s a swear word.

“I just—it was a bad day. I’m ranked much higher than him.” The kid tries to recover but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sure, exactly. It was just a bad day, Grosu,” Patrick chimes in, smiling as he rubs himself idly. “Lemme make you feel better.”

“You’re no good for me, Zweig.” The kid mutters.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Patrick smirks up at him.

Art’s jaw sets with irritation. Especially when Patrick’s grabbing at the kid’s waist and pulling him closer. Art’s not trying to look but for whatever reason his eyes trail back down. Probably because Patrick is just so insistently hard. And he’s touching it, just casually touching it.

The weirdest part is the way Art can feel his own balls tightening. It makes no fucking sense. He can’t possibly be getting hard. He’s one fucking step away from talking to his doctor about Viagra because he can’t get it up for someone as fucking beautiful as his wife and right now on a random night in the middle of the sauna is when he’s just ready to go. Brilliant. It’s like the universe just enjoys finding new ways to fuck with him.

The kid has forgotten about him, mesmerized by Patrick. Letting Patrick just touch him, all over. Art feels like his blood is boiling hotter than the room. He hurries outside without another word before the way his cock is swelling becomes visible to them. Not that they fucking care.

He’s barely made it into the locker room toilet stall when he’s leaning against the door jerking himself stupid. The whole thing is so fucked because in his head he’s imagining Patrick’s hands all over him. Touching him. Fucking him. Not that stupid pretty boy loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. His mind chants over and over, not sure if it’s about the kid or Patrick or himself. All the while his hand is racing over his dick, so desperate until he’s coming hard, spraying his load all over his hand and the toilet seat. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.

Because what the fuck is he doing? He’s too old for this shit. Mind games and lust and weird teenaged flirting. He needs to go home to his wife and kid. He’s a grown up. He has responsibilities. Patrick’s still a fucking child. Just doing whatever he wants. Just fucking whoever he wants. Like Tashi. It’s been years and it still stings. And now some stupid fucking boy sucking his dick when anyone could just walk in. It’s offensive. Art should probably complain. Tell that loser kids coach or whoever he’s working with that he needs to focus and maybe not fuck around with someone like Patrick Zweig. He cleans up quickly and hurries to go wash his hands.

He spots movement behind him in the mirror and turns to see Patrick walking from the lockers towards the shower. Naked. With only a towel on his head. God how long was he in here? Did he hear Art?

Patrick stops to smirk at him. He’s not hard anymore which means he probably fucked the kid. It’s still so fucking big even when he’s soft. Art swallows. “What do you want?” He manages.

“Nothing. You just look pretty flushed. Are you okay?” He says, grinning (like he knows what Art did). “I thought you went home.” He wraps the extra towel he’s got draped over his shoulder around his waist, covering himself and Art relaxes a bit.

“I am going home,” Art says. “Where’s the dumb kid?”

Patrick laughs, “You know he’s 27, right.”

“Well he’s still a loser,” Art shrugs. He doesn’t care. He hopes he never sees him again. (And that Patrick doesn’t either).

“God, must feel good to walk around with all that power. He got so in his head from your little comment. He wanted to go home. Didn’t even want to finish. It’s like he didn’t even remember how much fun we had last night after drinks.”

Art’s not sure how to take any of that. On one hand he’s mildly satisfied that he sent the kid into a tailspin, but still fucking irritated that he… that he what… that he got to fuck Patrick in the first place? This is so fucked. He can’t want this. He cannot want this.

“Well you’re not dressed yet.” Patrick continues, casually. “You sure you don’t want to join me and clean up in the shower?”

“I uh— uh—“ Art stammers, while he white knuckles the towel on his waist, his heart rate picking up and the distant feeling of arousal that he’d just conquered incredibly stirring again. He wants this. Fuck he wants this. “No I—“

“I’m just teasing,” Patrick shrugs, interrupting before Art can finish. An oddly melancholic expression flitting over his face. And then immediately back to being his usual carefree (careless?) self. If not a little more distant. Formal. “Good night, Donaldson, see you in the final.”

“Good night,” Art says, feeling his stomach sink just a little bit. He wishes he didn’t— but he believes it now with 100 percent certainty that Patrick is right— that they’re both going to end up there.

(Sorry anon that this took so long and also I apologize if this is what you were looking for. It’s been hectic so I didn’t have much time to get to into it— also wanted to leave a little space for canon to canon lol. Art is still so mad that he’s attracted to Patrick he needs to hurt him more 😭)

[insomniphic]

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, so here’s what I’ve done during the week.

The drawing above made me think that they’re visual novel sprites, lol. So I drew my thought ⬇️

Mentions

@/braisedhoney: you’ve already seen it so I’m not gonna @ you. Just felt like I nuked him when I drew him on the gala shenanigans thing XD.

@bucketfullofstrawberries: I’ll give you that Peter Griffin death pose one day or another. 😤

[finelinevogue]

soulmates

summary - your boyfriend visits you at uni and you’re getting ready to go out for the night

pairing - university-boyfriend!harry x uni!reader

word count - ~2.5k

🌙☕️🍯🍁🌙☕️🍯🍁🌙☕️🍯🍁����☕️🍯🍁🌙

Harry was visiting you for the first time, after not seeing him for a month.

You hadn’t seem him for so long since he now lives across the country at his own university, down south.

Being childhood sweethearts had made going to university difficult on your relationship, but you were determined to make it work. You loved Harry and Harry loved you too much to just give up. Neither were you going to give up your dream uni courses just to be with each other in the same city.

It was decided it was best to not see each other until a month after settling into uni, otherwise you’d never settle.

You had started planning when you were going to finally see each other again, before Harry surprised you one day by messaging you his train tickets after deciding enough was enough.

And now here you are.

Together.

You’re currently in your bedroom, with Harry’s bags chucked on the floor.

He hadn’t cared about them and neither had you. Both of you just wanted to be with each other - near each other.

You hadn’t moved off the bed since he arrived two hours ago.

You were laid down side by side. Harry’s arm over your waist and up the back of his t-shirt, drawing patterns on the skin of your back. His other arm had his head propped up so he had a little height advantage on you.

An advantage that he used to sneak quick kisses onto your lips when he couldn’t resist any longer.

“I like Poppy, though.” He said.

“So you only like my female flatmates? Hmm, interesting.” You smirked.

“I don’t not like Aaron and Joel.”

“Mhm.”

“I just… like Poppy, Farrah and Maria more.”

“Did you know Joel is gay and Aaron has a girlfriend?” You bit your lip, awaiting his response.

“And suddenly I like them more.” He laughed, ducking his head into the crook of your neck to hide his embarrassment.

He knows you caught him out on being a little jealous of your two male flatmates, but you’d been exactly the same when you’d seen how pretty his female flatmates were too.

But now, you’d both gotten over that jealousy. You knew you were only for each other. There was this feeling that you got with each other that you’d both never felt with anyone else.

“Poppy suggested going out tonight?” You suggested, combing your fingers through his hair as his face was still buried in your neck.

“To where?”

You smiled at the feeling of his breath against your neck. It was a ticklish feeling you’d forgotten how much you adored.

“A bar. Or club, maybe?”

“Do you wanna go? They’re your flatmates.” He moved his head to prop it back up again.

“I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Poppy only suggested it, because they want to get to know you.”

“They wanna scout me out, hm?” Harry chuckled.

“They already trust you. You brought me flowers and an extra bag with your clothes just for me to keep.”

You leant up to kiss him and he let you, leaning his head down so you didn’t strain yourself.

His hand snuck out from your t-shirt and went to cup your cheek, holding it so he could kissed you how and where he wanted.

You ended up kissing for longer than just an innocent peck, before pulling back to the conversation.

“Maybe we should just stay in.” You sighed, trying to pull his full pink lips back to yours.

Harry smiled but didn’t allow you to kiss him again. “Think with your normal brain, not your sex brain.”

“Sex brain?” You chuckled, “Why would I be thinking about sex?” You asked rhetorically.

You let out a laugh you didn’t even realise you had in you when Harry tickled your side in retaliation. Harry started chuckling when he heard you laugh and laugh.

“Stop! Harry, stop!”

Harry’s hand immediately went over your mouth to shut you up.

“Oi, I don’t need your flatmates to think I’m murdering you - what with these thin walls.” He rolled his eyes as you recovered.

“Dickhead.” You swatted him.

“Love you.” He kissed you and you let him, because God knows you needed to make up for the time apart.

“I love you too.” You said softly, kissing him proper.

You pushed him off you then, reaching over for your phone to see if there were any messages in the group chat about tonights plans.

You sat up in bed against the headboard and Harry wormed his way over so his head could rest on your chest comfortably. He often said he loved how relaxed feeling your chest move up and down made him.

There were a couple of texts when you opened your phone.

Maria: plans??

Aaron: I’m game to go out if you guys are

Maria: i will🫡

Poppy: obvs i will

Poppy: y/n wbu? you can bring harry of course

Joel: Yeah would be nice to see you him since you’ve locked him away in your room

You laughed out loud at Joel’s message, showing Harry your screen which made him chuckle too.

“I’ll go out if you want to, Y/N/N. I’m happy to stay in if you also want to do that. Up to you.”

“I don’t want to get fomo by not going out with them, but I also just want to be with you.” You pouted.

Harry twisted so he could sit up and look at you. “How about we go out and if we get bored or would rather just be in bed, we can leave?”

“Can we get a chippy on our way back and eat them in bed whilst we watch Modern Family?”

“I’ll buy you the damn chips myself if that’s what’ll make you happy.” He kissed you and you couldn’t help but smile at how amazing your boyfriend was.

“Okay then, we’ll go out with them for a bit then.”

“M’kay.” Harry sunk back onto your chest whilst you responded to the group chat.

You: we will bless you with our presence 😌

Farrah: YAY!!! big win

Poppy: does harry have any fit siblings he can bring next time? can stay in my room 👀

You: he has a sister

Maria: win for me

Joel: Loss for me :(

Aaron: So… besides this group chat turning into Tinder. Plans?

Poppy: i say pres in the kitchen at 8 and we’ll leave for town at 10?

You all were happy with that.

“We’ve got 2 hours before we need to be in the kitchen for pres.” You yawned out.

“Great. So i’ll nap for an hour and a half and you’ll start getting ready now?”

You laughed.

“Yup.”

✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨

“H? You ready?”

You walked into your bathroom that was private to your room - yes you paid extra just for the luxury - to find Harry gelling his hair in place.

He looked so good.

He’d gone for black trousers that were a straight fit, some Adidas gazelles and a white t-shirt that had a fun print on the front and back. The t-shirt also, apparently, glowed in the dark so you’d know it was him in a club.

You slipped behind him and slunk your arms around his waist, hugging him tight. You breathed in his scent and he smelt so fucking good. There was no way to describe him, other than yours - familiar.

“Yeah.” He responded. “Let me see you.”

He chuckled when you didn’t let him go easily, but was happy when you eventually did.

You were wearing a mini dark-denim skirt with black knee-high boots, and a black corset with a sheer black cardigan that tied over the top.

Of course you’d done your makeup as well, going all out for the night. You’d decided on eyeliner and glittery eyeshadow with a dark maroon lip shade.

Harry smiled whilst shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“What?” You smiled, furrowing your eyebrows.

“You.”

“What about me?”

Harry held onto both of your hands, pushing you out so he could better see your outfit before pulling you back in close to his chest.

“I’m so lucky you fell in love with me.” He kissed you once.

“Don’t make me cry. This makeup took too long to ruin.” Your eyes welled up buy you willed no tears to fall.

“You look beautiful.” He kissed you again. “Gorgeous.” And again. “Hot.” Again. “Mine.”

You chuckled against his lips when he kissed you one final time, leaving a subtle tinge to his lips from where your lipstick had stained.

You brought your thumb up to wipe the mark away, but he tilted his head away before you could as apparently he wanted it there.

“Missed you so much.” You wrap your arms around him to hug him. Harry rests his cheek on your head to hug you back.

“Missed you too, baby.”

“I’m glad you’re here though.”

“I’m here for you even when i’m not physically here. You know that.”

“I know. It’s nice having you here here though.”

Harry hums in response, giving you one final squeeze before deciding for the both of you that you’re late to join the kitchen.

You both leave your bathroom, Harry turning off the light.

You head to the full length mirror for one final check over your outfit, before picking up your phone and disposable camera. Harry pockets his own phone, spraying his cologne onto his neck and wrists - making him smell even more irresistible.

He stands in front of your mirror and your squeeze in front of him, holding up your phone to take a few photos.

Once you’re satisfied, you head out of your room - double checking you have your keycard - and heading to the communal kitchen at the end of corridor.

The lights are off in the kitchen, save the multi-coloured disco ball light that you’d purchased as a flat.

The room was lit in neon greens, pinks, yellows and blues. The music was on loud, playing the ‘pre’s’ playlist you’d created as a flat.

“Ayee!” Aaron shouted when you walked in with Harry.

“Damn! Look at you!” Poppy awed at your outfit, demanding you give a twirl.

“You look so good.” You exclaimed as you took in Poppy’s little black dress.

“We were worried she’s trapped you in there, bro.” Aaron and Harry exchanged a bro hug.

“Nearly. I escaped.” Harry returned the joke.

“Want a beer, man?”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry nodded and Aaron went off with Joel to grab Harry a drink. “Y/N/N, you want me to make you a drink?”

Harry had to lean down to your ear to ask you without yelling over the music.

“Yes, please.”

“Vodka cranberry?” He asked and you nodded. He kissed you on the side of the head before heading over to where Aaron and Joel were.

Farrah, Poppy and Maria instantly crowded your space.

“Y/N, I love him!”

“He is perfect, Y/N, the hell?!”

“Talk about boyfriend material.”

“Guys, stop!” You blushed, covering your face. You knew exactly what they meant though, because Harry really was perfect boyfriend material.

“No!”

“Never.”

“Y/N/N… I’m secure in labelling myself as lesbian but your boyfriend is currently making me question my sexuality.” Maria said, making you all laugh.

You watched Harry in the kitchen, politely asking Joel what he can and can’t use and where to find things. Aaron passed him a beer for himself and he stayed talking to Harry whilst he made your drink.

“If you ever break up, I’ll stop believing in love.” Poppy said, making you smile.

It was always a fear at the start of a strong relationship about breaking up, but you and Harry had overcome that fear and were confident that it would never happen to you.

Harry was confident you’d be together until you were in a nursing home.

The number of conversations you’d had about future life, including; children, house decor, living location and wedding ring ideals made you confident that you’d never need anyone but each other.

“His parents must be so attractive.” Maria sighed.

“His mum gets called a MILF quite often!” You joked.

“I bet… She single?” Maria asked, raising her eyebrow. You’d only known her for a tiny while but you’d already gathered she preferred older women.

You just laughed her off, not quite knowing whether she was being serious or not.

Harry came back with your drink just in time. You all sat down on the L shaped sofa in the small living space adjacent to the kitchen. Harry sat next to you on the edge of the sofa, allowing you to be in the group and not over inserting himself.

You watched as he took a sip of his beer as the others situated themselves around the sofa and the surrounding stools.

“You okay?” You asked him.

He smiled and nodded at you in return, making you kiss his cheek to silently let him know that that made you happy and you were really glad he was here.

“How about we play a game? Get the drinks going, yeah?” Poppy suggested, earning a round of yeses.

“Never Have I Ever?” Joel said and everybody was okay with that. It was something basic to start off the night.

As TikTok by Kesha came on you all ironed out the basic rules of you drink if you have done something, before you started.

“Never have I ever been kissed.” Farrah said, watching everyone around the table take a drink.

“We’ll find someone for you tonight, hun.” Poppy tipped her drink to Farrah.

“Or you could just kiss me?” Maria suggested, earning a blush out of Farrah. Maria smirked as she took another sip just because, but really it was to hide her own blush. It would be silly of Maria to ignore the fact that Farrah is beautiful.

“No flat-cest thank you very much.” Joel stopped that before anything could start. “Moving on… Never have I ever questioned my sexuality.”

You took a drink at that. Others did too but Joel looked surprised at you drinking and Maria was quick to question.

“Explain.”

“I went through a rough patch thinking that I was a lesbian, actually. I didn’t really feel anything for anyone I dated,” Harry’s arm snook around your waist as you were talking, rubbing small circles on the sliver of exposed skin at your waist, “Then H came along and I was definitely knew I wasn’t a lesbian. Kind of figured I might be Demi?”

“What does that mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It kind of means that you don’t find any sexual or romantic attraction for anyone other than ‘your person’. Harry just happened to be my person.” You blushed as you answered Aaron’s question, leaning back into Harry for comfort.

“That’s so cool.”

“Yeah, like soulmate shit.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, before whispering close to your ear just for you to hear, “Soulmates.”

[peachdues]

shoutout to both @humanitys-strongest-bamf and @amywritesthings for single-handedly bringing back my motivation to work on my secret pregnancy AU, Coalescence. Enjoy filth from a later chapter.

You pushed down on his head, trying to force him to return to where you needed him most, but it was fruitless; Levi only continued to lazily trail kisses along your inner thigh, his eyes locked with yours.

“Levi, please,” you whined, planting your feet firmly upon his rug and spreading your legs wider, bucking your hips slightly towards him in agitation.

The Captain only smirked as he pulled away yet again, this time trailing his lips along the sensitive seam of skin between your inner thigh and your folds.

You weren’t sure if you were already feeling the effects of pregnancy hormones, but if Levi didn’t put his mouth on you soon, you thought you might break down in tears.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” His voice was as sultry and dark as his eyes as he watched your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “Use your words.”

Another pleading whimper was followed by an impatient buck of your hips, but Levi’s hold on you only tightens, limiting your movements.

“You’ve gotta speak up, sweetheart,” Levi mocked between teasing kitten licks against your outer folds. his breath was hot as he exhaled against your damp core. “I’m waiting.”

Frustrated tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. With an impatient whine, you rolled your hips towards him desperately, eyes wide and pleading for him to do something to fill the empty ache you felt within.

“Not good enough,” Levi growled, tongue lazily circling your entrance, twitching away every time you jerked your hips towards his mouth.

“Levi, please, I—,” you choked off with a frustrated groan. “You’re not being nice — I’m pregnant —,”

The stoic Captain pulled his mouth away from you entirely, rocking back on his heels. From between your thighs, Levi studied you, a renewed heat flaring to life in his steely eyes.

“You are, aren’t you?” He conceded, his eyes locking in on your mouth as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip and mewled. “And all because of me.”

Levi’s eyes dropped back down to your core, slick and aching, ready to take him however he wanted.

“And what kind of father would I be if I made the mother of my child suffer unnecessarily?”

Any response or yearning plea you may have answered him with died in your throat as Levi surged forward, his tongue plunging deep within your entrance, his nose pressing right against that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

You just managed to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the scream he pulled from you as the Captain began to fuck you with his tongue.

—-

Levi’s chest heaved as he caught his breath beside you. “Didn’t take you very long to pull the pregnancy card, did it?”

“You’re just annoyed someone else knows how to play your game.” Your head rolled to the side, a shit-eating grin stretched across your mouth. “Didn’t take much to make you give in, either.”

His laugh was little more than a sharp exhale through his nose, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Guess not. I’m sure you’ll keep that over my head, too.”

Levi imparted one final kiss just below your belly button before he rolled to his side, drawing up next to you on the rug, one arm stretched out behind him. You waited for him to do something more, to pull you into him and continue what he’d started, but he made no movement save for a light graze of his fingers over your cheek. Frowning, you moved to sit up with to him, his hand a steady, guiding weight on the small of your back as he helped you rise.

“Wait — are you not —?” You reached for the buckle of his belt, bandage-wrapped fingers already working to pry it open.

Levi’s hands came to rest over yours, stilling them. “You’re still recovering.”

You shook your head, tugging insistently at his belt, but Levi’s hold tightened. “I want you.”

“You’re healing.”

“Don’t care; I’m well enough.”

“You’re not in a position to make that call. You’re biased.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back coolly, still working to pry his buckle open as he made a halfhearted attempt to twist out of your grasp. “Captains who take on the habit of fucking and impregnating their subordinates definitely aren’t biased in any way.”

A slight flare of his nostrils was his only reply, yet it was enough for you to know you’d backed him right into a corner that he was struggling to figure out how to maneuver out of.

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down to keep your triumphant grin to yourself.

Levi’s eyes tracked the movement, narrowing when you softly release your lip, swollen and plump. There, beneath the half-undone buckle of his belt, his cock strained hard against the seam of his pants.

Before you could offer some quick remark on the obviousness of his need, Levi’s arm shoved under your legs, the other, anchoring around your waist. Deftly, he lifted you up into him, cradling your body close to his.

At your raised eyebrow, he sighed. “I’m not fucking my pregnant girlfriend on the damn floor. I have more tact than that.”

anyways part I will probably be today? Tomorrow? I’ll test drop on AO3 first most likely.

[nerdy-novelist017]

Borrowed Bites (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader pt 2)

Added another part since the last one was received so well! Thank you for the kind words and appreciation! I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts on this part! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 2.9k+

Summary- He just couldn't get away from you. You were corrupting his routine, his life, his thoughts.

Eric sought refuge in the library, a quiet sanctuary where the weight of the facility’s sterile air seemed to lift, just a little. The room was a cocoon of silence, the faint scent of old, yellowed books filtering through his senses. Here, amid the shelves of dusty volumes, he could be transported to somewhere else, somewhere where the walls were not closing in on him little by little every day. 

He was supposed to be assigned to cleaning the room for the next hour, but he was finished within the first 30 minutes, so now he sat in the aisle, leaning up against the shelf. He was lost in the pages of an old art book, the kind that made him ache for life outside of these walls. He was staring at a particular page of a charcoal drawing of a horse, the scene bringing back his own past in a swirl of paint strokes, charcoal lines, the delicate dance of light and dark. 

But that moment was shattered by the sound of the door opening and footsteps approaching him. His heart sank, a heavy stone sinking into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air around him seemed to buzz with a familiar energy, one he had been trying – and failing – to avoid. 

“You hiding out in here, artist boy?” your voice broke through the stillness of the room, a playful tone that underscored something sharper, something that pricked at his defenses. 

Eric’s eyes glanced up, catching just a brief look at your face above him before dropping back to the book in his lap. He knew by just the few times of your interactions since your arrival to the facility a week ago, that his disinterest would not be enough to make you go away. No, it seemed that you could not take a hint, no matter how obvious it was. 

“This place is a real snoozefest,” you said as you lowered yourself on the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged. You leaned forward on your hands, trying to peer at his book. “I didn’t peg you for the library type.”

“It’s quiet here,” he muttered, his voice almost devoid of emotion. “That’s why I like it here.”

“And here I thought you came for the thrilling company,” you teased, your voice taking on a hint of something more – a curiosity perhaps, or an understanding that he didn’t want you to have. 

“Shouldn’t you be off trying to seduce the guards?” he bit back, referencing your words from his first unwanted interaction with you. 

You grinned mischievously as you brushed a strand of your unruly hair out of your face. “I’m still working on that, don’t you worry.”

“I’m not interested,” his fingers tightened around the edges of his book as he spoke with a certain level of finality, attempting to completely sever the connection you were trying to forge. 

“Not interested in what?” you pressed, tilting your head in a way that Eric came to understand as you attempting to figure him out, like you were trying to put together the puzzle pieces of his mind. 

He hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He didn’t know how to answer, how to articulate the mind-jumbling swirl of emotions inside him. He finally grumbled, “In whatever game you’re playing.”

A brief flash of hurt flickered across your face, so quick that he almost missed it. But then you recovered with that infuriating grin. “Who says I’m playing a game?”

Uncomfortable with that reaction, his gaze fell back down to his book, as if the words would allow him an escape of whatever trap you were setting. “Just leave me alone.”

But of course, that wasn’t enough to deter you. You weren’t the type to back down so easily. Instead, you leaned back against the opposite shelf from him, folding your arms as if preparing for a long conversation he had no interest in having. 

“You know,” you started, your voice a touch softer now, “you’re not as invisible as you might think.”

Eric’s jaw tightened, the words hitting him hard. He had spent so long trying to be just that – invisible, a ghost passing through unnoticed. But you saw him, and you wouldn’t look away. 

“I’m not hiding,” he retorted quietly, but the words sounded hollow even to himself. 

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Your question hung heavy in the air between you, a challenge he wasn't sure how to meet. 

He forced himself to look up at you, your direct gaze sending his heart to his stomach. He refused to admit it, refused, but something about you drew him in like a moth to a flame, something about your eyes that refused to look away. 

“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice low. 

You didn’t answer immediately, your gaze evocative as you studied him silently, as if searching for something beneath the surface. “I want to know you,” you said finally, the simplicity of the words cutting through him. 

Eric stared at you, his mind racing to find a response to that strange statement, something that would push you away, make you see that there was nothing worth knowing in him. But all he could manage was, “Why?”

“Because,” you said as you leaned forward slightly, your voice barely above a whisper, “you’re different. I can tell.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to respond to the sincerity in your voice. The way you seemed to genuinely care unsettled him, the way you saw him and refused to let him fade into the background like he wanted. 

“You don’t know me,” he said after a moment, his words heavy with frustration and something else that he didn’t want to examine too closely. It was the same words he had told you a week ago when you first spoke to him and flipped his world upside down, but he couldn’t find anything else to say to you. You didn’t know him, that was true. But you definitely wanted to fit yourself into his life, to know him as he knew himself. 

“I think you’re worth figuring out.” A small smile tugged at your lips.

He wanted to scoff, to brush off your words as naive and misguided, but there was something in your tone, in the way you were looking not just at him but through him, made it impossible to miss. You were being sincere, and that shook him to his core.

“I’m not,” he retorted, his voice weaker than he intended. “I’m just another screw-up, just like everyone else in here.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. I think you’re more than that.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know how to process the unfamiliar warmth swirling in his chest. All he knew was you were getting way too close, digging too deep into feelings he’d locked away a long time ago. He reached for the book, flipping it open to a random page in a futile attempt to avoid your intense gaze. But the words on the page blurred, the images that had once brought him comfort now seemed distant, unreachable. 

Before you could say anything else, the sound of the door opening again startled both of you, shattering the temporary bubble you were enclosed in, and Eric looked up just in time to see a guard round the corner of the aisle, his heavy footsteps thudding on the worn carpet. He instantly sat up straighter, his heart racing slightly when the guard’s eyes caught sight of the two of you. 

“What are you doing in here?” The guard’s voice was a harsh intrusion, his gaze narrowing between you like a hawk sizing up its prey. 

Eric shot you a nervous glance your way. To anyone else, your expression would have looked completely neutral as you regarded the man nearing you both, but Eric could see the tension in your jaw, the way it ticked ever so slightly, betraying the anger brewing just beneath the surface. 

“I’m not doing anything,” you replied casually, almost dismissive. But the guard’s wasn’t in the mood for games. He cut you off before you could say anything more.

“You know the rules,” he barked, his voice echoing in the stillness of the library. “No fraternizing.”

You put your hands up in mock surrender, a gesture that might have seemed playful if not for the sarcasm dripping in your voice as you replied, “Yeah, right. God forbid anyone make any friends in here.”

The guard’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing to slits. Without warning, he grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet with a roughness that made Eric flinch  “You’re not here to make friends. You’re here to get sober and stop being a burden and a piece of shit to society.” 

The harsh words hung in the air like poison, their words seeping into the cracks the moment. Eric felt a surge of panic in his chest as he snapped the book shut, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence. He stood quickly, instinctively knowing it was best not to argue, not to escalate the situation further. Just follow the rules, he told himself, a mantra he clung to since he got here. But he knew you well enough now that you wouldn’t – couldn't – do that.

“Wow, tell me how you really feel about it,” you shot back, your voice clouded with defiance. 

“You think this is funny?” The guard hissed, his voice dropping to a menacing low. “Keep running that mouth and you’ll find out just how serious we are.”

For a brief moment, Eric saw a flicker of something in your eyes – a flicker of doubt, maybe even fear – but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same defiance that both worried and awed him. 

Eric felt the weight of the moment bearing down on the room, the oppressive atmosphere of the facility closing in. He knew he should say something, do something to alleviate the tension, but the fear of the repercussions, of going back to solitary confinement, held him back, rendering him silent and still. 

“Come on,” the guard snapped, pulling you towards the door. “We’re done here.”

As you were dragged away, you cast one last look over your shoulder to Eric, and he could see the mix of emotions in your eyes – anger, frustration and something that resembled regret. And Eric’s chest tightened at the sight because you weren’t just leaving as you always did. You were being taken away, and he was powerless to stop it. 

The door slammed shut behind you, and the silence that followed was deafening. Eric stood frozen, staring at the spot you occupied just moments before, his mind racing. He gripped the book in his hand with a white knuckle power as he realized he had let the guard take you without so much as lifting a finger, without saying a word. The realization twisted like a knife in his gut, a painful reminder of his own helplessness. 

*****

Eric didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He tried not to think about how he even noticed your lack of presence and especially how it made him feel. The day passed with the same level of dreadful monotony that he had been subjected to since the very first day he’d arrived in this hellhole. 

It wasn’t until lunchtime the next day until he saw you again. The cafeteria thrummed with the repeated sounds of everyday life here – the clatter of trays connecting, the gentle murmur of quiet conversation, the sporadic eruptions of laughter or from souls lost in their own struggles. Eric sat by himself at a table near the corner of the room, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of his tray as he picked at the array of bland, tasteless food before him. The harsh fluorescence above cast a stark, unforgiving light over everything, rendering the room devoid of any warmth. 

He was halfway through forcing another bite of the food when you suddenly materialized across the expanse of the bustling room. You slid into the seat across from him, a mirthful grin on your face. 

“Did you miss me, artist boy?” you asked with a tilt of your head, that signature smirk playing across your lips.

He wasn’t going to answer that, not even for himself. He averted his gaze to his tray instead, afraid that you would be able to read through his expressions as you so often did. That didn’t seem to bother you though because without hesitation (or permission) you reached over and swiped a roll from his tray, taking a bite as if it was casual. 

“Hey,” Eric protested softly, though his voice lacked any true anger, more like mild annoyance. In fact, he was actually relieved to see you, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. There was a brief moment last night as he lay awake in his bed going over the interaction of the library when he wondered if you had been locked in solitary for your actions. He didn’t think you had said or done anything to warrant such an offense, but you were unpredictable. He had no idea if you continued to fight, to mouth off after the guard dragged you away. Seeing you here in front of him was confirmation that, for once, you had refrained from doing anything to further your punishments here. 

“What?” you asked with a nonchalant shrug. “You weren’t eating it.”

Eric rolled his eyes, a silent gesture of exasperation. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You quipped as you leaned back in your seat, your gaze sweeping across the room as if you were just examining the scene before you, waiting patiently for something – anything – to disrupt the routine. 

He watched you for a moment, captivated by the restless energy that perpetually seemed to follow you. It was as though you were perched on the edge of some unseen cliff, ready to plunge off the side at any given moment. The near constant state of heightened alertness was both exhausting and irresistibly captivating for him, an anomaly that left him simultaneously drained and drawed in. 

“Why do you do that?” he asked suddenly, the question catching himself off guard, and he instantly wanted to take it back. 

“Do what?” you replied smoothly, not missing a beat. 

“Act like . . . I don’t know. Like nothing matters.”

You blinked at him, momentarily taken aback. Then you smiled and with a half shrug, responded, “Because it doesn’t. 

But Eric could see the flicker of something more profound, a bit sad even in your eyes, and it casted doubt in the authenticity of your words. 

“Right,” he muttered, his voice laced with skepticism. Your gaze left his and he took that as a sign of your wanting to drop the subject so he returned to his food, though his appetite was severely diminished. 

For a while, silence enveloped the two of you. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, albeit still surrounded with the rest of the cafeteria buzz. When he glanced back up at you, he could see the sudden change in your eyes as you glanced about the room once again. He had witnessed that look before – one that usually preceded your reckless actions, the calm before the storm. 

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with caution.

You turned your attention back to him with a look of feigned innocence. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing,” Eric replied, his tone now carrying seriousness. 

A familiar spark of chaotic energy ignited in your eyes as you grinned. “What makes you think I’m planning something, Eric?”

“Because you always are.”

You giggled, clearly amused at his concern, and he tried to ignore the rush of butterflies that hit his chest at the sound of it. “Relax. I’m not about to blow up the place or anything.”

“That’s not comforting,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile betrayed his true feelings. 

Before you could respond with yet another one of your signature quips, a guard ambled by, scanning the room with hawkish vigilance. You immediately straightened up, your playful grin fading as you donned a more neutral, guarded expression. 

As the guard continued his stroll, you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial low. “Meet me by the west wing storage closet after lunch.”

Your tone left no room for negotiation or refusal, but Eric hesitated, a storm of instincts battling within him, urging him to resist. But there was something in the way you looked at him – something that compelled him to nod reluctantly. 

You shot him a quick, satisfied smile before rising gracefully and sauntering away, leaving Eric alone once again with a whirlwind of emotions and a nagging feeling that he was about to be pulled into something he would regret. Yet, despite the better judgment that screamed caution, he knew he would go. Because as much as you exasperated him, left him bewildered, and sometimes even frightened him, there was a part of him that was irresistibly drawn to you. A part that yearned to unravel the mystery of why you were the way you were. 

"Fuck," he murmured under his breath.

-Tag List-

@redwitchbitch1 @marshm3770fluff @one-of-thewalkingdead @rubyfruitjungle @mrsvalbaker @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @a-differentbrandof-jeans

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 11

Part 1 Part 10

Steve Harrington is stoned out of his mind in Eddie Munson’s bed. His eyes are red and periodically drooping closed, and he’s been smiling goofily up at the ceiling for the last ten minutes.

He’d started out sitting but has been steadily melting into Eddie’s pillows ever since. What a lightweight. Eddie refuses to be charmed.

“I’m hungry,” Steve whines, smacking Eddie’s hip repeatedly with his good arm.

“It’s the munchies, man. It’ll pass.”

Steve fucking Harrington fucking pouts in Eddie fucking Munson’s fucking bed in the fucking underworld. “I’ve never had them before,” he mutters.

Eddie eases down next to him until they’re hip to hip, so he doesn’t have to keep looking at him. “You don’t usually get hungry when you’re high?” he asks before remembering this is somehow his first time.

“Weed virgin,” he says, before dissolving into laughter, drawing out the E in weed so much that it sounds like he’s saying an extremely unenthusiastic “whee!”

Eddie can’t control himself. “Well, if you ever get too hungry, I’ve been told I taste delicious.” It comes out lascivious, just like he meant it.

When Harrington starts laughing, he wants to shove the words back down his throat and let them curdle like spoiled milk. “Like, like, the Donner party?” he asks, gasping through his laughter. It’s starting to sound a little hysterical.

“So caught up in the hilarity of cannibalism you didn’t get the innuendo,” he squeezes Steve’s cheek mockingly, caught up in the joke now, in the high of making a pretty boy laugh with a stupid quip and not getting punched about it.

“What’s an innuendo?” His eyes are wide and trusting, face flushed by the hilarity of the moment.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, “you’re high out of your gourd.”

Steve smiles over at him, nuzzling into the pillow.

“Oh, no.” Steve Harrington is sweet when high. He may never recover.

“Hmm?” It’s barely a sound with the way Steve’s smushing his face into Eddie’s pillowcase.

“Go to sleep, pretty boy.” He does. It takes Eddie much longer.

Eddie wakes in the night to Steve muttering in his sleep. He sounds distressed. On instinct, Eddie movies his hand to pat the other boy’s head, running his fingers through his oily hair until he falls back asleep.

He’d think it was a dream, but when he wakes up again, first this time, his hand is still in Steve’s hair. He removes it hastily, pulling at the strands as he extricates himself. Steve murmurs, blinking his eyes open.

“Mom?” Steve blinks his eyes blearily a few more times.

“What day do you think it is?” Eddie asks, breezing past the moment. “It has to be at least Monday, right?”

Eddie can almost see Steve’s brain rebooting, changing tracks. “Ugh,” he says, levering himself upright. “I’m going to fail Chemistry.”

“I already did!” Eddie says, smiling brightly, like the thought of summer school doesn’t make him feel like dying.

“Dude,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It’s November. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Eddie thinks of the missed quizzes, failed labs, unfinished homework, and wishes it worked like that. Maybe it does for people like Steve with rich parents and jock tendencies. Someone who teachers like. But Eddie’s a Munson straight through – there’s no way this is coming up heads.

“You know, maybe this whole thing will be worth it if I never have to see Mrs. Click’s face ever again.”

Steve finally stands from the bed, putting a hand on his hip and wagging the other in Eddie’s face. “Young man, if you don’t apply yourself, how will you ever get anywhere in life?” He pitches his voice high. The intonation’s off, but the tone is eerily accurate. Eddie shudders.

“Never say that to me again.”

Steve laughs. They lapse into silence.

Eddie wants to offer the other boy breakfast, an extra toothbrush, some coffee, but he settles for grabbing one of the water bottles and handing it over, reveling in Steve’s quiet, “thanks.”

“What now?” Steve asks.

“Truth or dare?” Eddie asks, just to be an ass.

“Truth,” Steve says, no hesitation, like he’s used to answering fast at intimate parties Eddie’s never been invited to.

“When did you first have sex?” he asks, just to be an ass again.

“Jenni Bartley, seventh grade.”

“Dude gross,” Eddie says, nose wrinkling. “You were like a child!”

Steve shrugs, crosses his arms defensively, “I was thirteen!” Then his nose wrinkles, too. “Oh, gross.”

Eddie laughs.

“Well, what about you?” Steve asks wiggling his eyebrows dorkily. “When did you pop your cherry?”

Eddie feels his cheeks blooming pink. “Nu uh!” he says, crossing his arms like he’s seen umpires on TV do. “You can’t just repeat the same question back, man. That’s cheating.”

Steve throws his hands in the air. “Fine! What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get out?”

The first thing that crosses his mind is a shower, followed closely by a milkshake and a basket of fries from the diner. That’s not what sticks, though. “Give Uncle Wayne a hug.” Steve’s mouth drops open. “Why do you look surprised?”

He picks at his nails, not meeting Eddie’s eyes. “I don’t know.” He picks the skin around his thumb, sucks up the bead of blood that blooms up. “I just wouldn’t have even thought of that.”

Eddie thinks of what all the kids in the halls used to say, big house, no parents, and can’t say he blames him. “What would you do?”

“I thought we couldn’t just repeat the question,” he says, but continues before Eddie can mount his defense. “I want a full breakfast from the diner.” He sighs, like he’s imagining it now. Steam rising off a hot cup of coffee, butter melting into pancakes fresh out of the gridle, hash browns fried just right, bacon dripping with fat. “I’d kill for some bacon.”

Eddie clutches his hand to his chest with a theatrical gasp. The smack of his dislocated then relocated finger against his chest hurts, but the show must go on. “I thought you said you wouldn’t eat me!”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head ruefully. “Last resort, man.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks.

“Obviously black.”

“Black isn’t a color, man,” Steve says. “You really are flunking chemistry, huh?”

“That is not chemistry!” Eddie says with faux indignation.

He pushes the hunger pangs down and continues the game. They’ll have breakfast at the diner again someday, even if he has to kill for it.

Part 12

[forlorn-crows]

𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏 & 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔

pairing(s): ivy/cowbell words: 795 rating: everyone

notes: cowbell is nonverbal, but has his own system of sounds for communication. for @wrathofrats who i know hasnt been feeling the best lately. here's some sickfic boys for you ♡

Ivy cracks open the door, careful to glide past the creak in the hinges in case his mate is sleeping. “Bellflower?” he calls into the dark room.

There’s a slight rustle in the blankets, but otherwise no response.

Ivy squints. “You sleepin’?”

Another rustle, the mass of blankets shifting until the bright flash of an eye peeks out between the folds of fabric. It’s a mistake on the other earth ghoul’s part, though, because he screeches and groans, turning away from Ivy. 

Ivy sighs. “Can’t hide from me forever, sweetheart. C’mon, up.” He walks over to the curtains, parting them just enough to let a sliver of cool afternoon light filter in. 

Under the blankets, Cowbell hisses. 

“I made you the canned soup with the sta-a-r-ss,” Ivy sing-songs. Cowbell, many weeks ago, had snuck a can into the den after seeing it in the Sibling’s pantry, no doubt stocked for some of the children still running around the abbey. Ivy turned his nose up at it (even though it did smell delicious), but Cowbell slurped it down in three to four gulps with the roundest eyes he’s ever seen. Like a dog’s eyes widening as it licks whipped cream from a cup.

Consequently, he’s been fixated on it ever since, to the point that Omega had to make sure it was on their grocery list. Ivy doesn’t understand it—he could make so many better, more hearty, more fulfilling soups than this. But he thinks it may be the only way to get the other ghoul to eat anything at the moment. 

Ivy watches Bell’s horns hesitantly pop out from the covers. A curious trill follows. The bribe is working. 

“Mm-hm. But’cha have to get up if you want it.” 

Cowbell sighs. Clicks through a series of sounds that translate to Fiiiiine, give me the soup.

“That’s the spirit, bellflower,” Ivy smiles. He sets the soup on the desk he scooted across the room to serve as a bedside table while Cowbell’s been equally voluntarily and involuntarily bed-bound. Ivy draws the covers slowly away from his eyes, chirping when his eyes and nose are revealed. “Hi darlin’, let’s get you set up.”

Though Cowbell grumbles again, he lets Ivy set him up against the headboard, cushioned by pillows and still tucked into the comforters. Warm fingers brush away the jagged wisps of hair away from his slightly damp forehead, which are swiftly replaced with a cool washcloth smoothing over his face. 

Bell hums a relieved mmm, leaning into his touch. 

Ivy cocks his head, considering his mate’s condition. “Seems like your fever’s finally breaking. Still feelin’ hot?”

He whistles through his teeth. A little.

“Better than ‘on fire’ like yesterday.” Ivy trades the cloth for the bowl of soup, precariously climbing onto the bed into the space beside him. “Alright, open up.”

Cowbell sticks his tongue out between his fangs, making a sound that’s a cross between a growl and a screech, reaching for the spoon.

Ivy rolls his eyes, holding tight to the utensil. “I know you can do it yourself. But don’t pretend like you wouldn’t immediately toss this spoon aside and drink straight from the bowl, you little devil.”

He hisses. But instead of looking threatening, Cowbell slips into a lung-clearing cough. 

“And that’s why I’m not lettin’ you do that,” Ivy says pointedly, trying very hard not to sound like a mother scolding her child. 

By Lucifer’s grace, Cowbell recovers from the coughs quickly, narrowing his eyes at his mate but ultimately allowing him to spoon warm, sodium-ridden soup into his mouth. It only takes four or five spoonfuls before he’s purring, closing his eyes in appreciation with every swallow. 

“Laaaast one,” Ivy says softly once the bowl is empty, making sure to scoop up all the star noodles that are left stuck, catching them all with the spoon. Cowbell’s eyes are droopy as he takes them off the spoon, comforting warmth no doubt radiating from his belly. “Good?”

He trills and licks his lips, reaching for Ivy as soon as he sets the bowl down. He whistles a low tone, pulling him close. Cuddle.

“Do ya always gotta pull me into your sickbed, Bells?”

An indignant chirp, limbs still grabbing. Yes.

Ivy smiles fondly and shakes his head. “Alright. A little cuddle.” Ivy guides him back down into bed, stealing a pillow for himself as he slips under just one of the blanket layers. Instead of tucking himself into the crook of Bell’s neck like he normally would, he opts to cuddle around his middle, pressing his lips to his (now warm) belly. He presses his nose to his hip and hums, closing his eyes.  

“Get some sleep, bellflower.” Above him, Cowbell trills and threads his spindly fingers through Ivy’s hair.

[allykabbet]

Sneezing dynamics I like 5

"Excuse me, I have to sneeze so much."

"Ugh... That hurts" / "Ugh... That looks painful," says someone to another after a particularly strong sneeze that seems to tear at their throat.

Comfort gesture: someone putting a hand on the back of the neck of a person having a sneezing fit, gently stroking, perhaps with their nails, to provide a bit of comfort or relief.

"I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m sneezing so much."

"X pressed the handkerchief harder against their nose, feeling the warmth of his breath against the fabric."

The perspective of a subordinate/secretary/employee witnessing their boss sneeze for the first time, seeing this authority figure lose control. Can they do something as mundane as sneeze? They’re human, after all.

Someone who rarely sneezes is sneezing all day. Their roommate, initially unconcerned, begins to worry. "What’s going on? You’ve been sneezing all day." "I don’t know, it started this morning" / "I don’t know, I’m sneezy today." "Are you okay?" "I think so."

Someone has been sniffling for a while but can't sneeze, as if the sneeze is stuck. They clear their throat, scrunch their nose, release shaky breaths, or gently pinch their nose in frustration. Eventually, their roommate complains. "Could you just blow your nose already?" "Could you dust already?" "Is dust really the issue here? Just blow your damn nose!" "ItsxCshHUu!" "I guess that’s a no."

"ATTschu! Oh my g-ho…Tschu!" (A gasp interrupted by a short, unexpected sneeze that leaves them breathless.)

Groaning after a sneeze. How many times must you have sneezed to groan afterward? Or maybe it hurt from being stifled too hard?

After a particularly strong sneezing fit: "Bless you, darling, are you cold?"

A rapid stifled fit. Small, muffled sneezes that, due to their frequency, the person decides to stifle so as not to "bother" anyone. Their chest tightens with each sneeze, and as the fit continues, the sneezes grow a bit louder, harder to stifled, and more painful, until one or two finally escape uncontrollably.

"Oh dear, are you okay?" The person witnessing the fit puts a hand on their shoulder, worried, forgetting to bless them due to the impact.

A holding a handkerchief to the nose of a vulnerable B, completely overwhelmed by a sneezing fit. This situation is somewhat unrealistic for everyday circumstances, but who knows… Perhaps someone with their hands full? Someone unable to move for some reason? How vulnerable must you feel, at someone else's mercy, to help you cover a sneeze? Perhaps, when B slightly recovers, they could place their hand over A's, without them pulling away. A would feel the moisture and force of B's sneeze through the handkerchief, the way their nose contracts, their head shaking from the effort, the warm breath…

Sneezing on the subway/train/elevator, or in a crowded space where they can’t leave until it reaches its destination. Maybe they’re forced to stifle the sneeze, even if they usually don’t, or they sneeze into their shoulder or hand or inside their coat to avoid spraying anyone and trying to be as discreet as possible. Still, sneezes inevitably draw stares.

Sneezing inside a coat is special. Simply.

Pre-sneeze face, so obvious and desperate.

"ATTSShiu!!" (A usually stifles) "Ow, that was strong. Are you okay?"

A person sneezes a fit of 5-6 times, and someone blesses them each time. "You don’t have to bless me each time; this might go on a while." "But I want to."

Sneezing into a mask, and the mask itself makes your nose itch even more, making you sneeze more.

Sneezing twice in a row and changing the way you cover up for each sneeze, perhaps realizing the first method wasn’t polite enough.

A habitual stifler lets a sneeze slip due to illness or fatigue (they’re too tired to contain it), and someone nearby who knows them well comments: "Oh, bless you! I’ve never heard you sneeze like that." "Thank you," they say, embarrassed.

Someone realizes unknown aspects of another person by analyzing how they sneeze, cover up, or apologize each time they sneeze.

"You’re more polite than I thought!"

Sneezing inside a high-neck sweater, pulling up the collar.

Someone with a generally extroverted personality, except in their sneezing. They usually stifle to avoid drawing attention, feeling weak or less funny/protective/caring than usual. The contrast of their generally loud personality with a soft sneeze stands out, despite their attempts to avoid it.

Sneezing when your throat hurts. The sneeze almost feels like it’s tearing at your throat, and you try to sneeze as softly as possible, making the sneeze almost unsatisfying. It may be accompanied by a groan and rubbing your neck with a grimace of pain.

Someone is about to sneeze into their hand, but midway through an inhale, they realize it’s impolite and pinch their nose with their fingers or cover their sneeze with their elbow.

Sneezes where the exhale is louder than the sneeze itself.

There’s something extremely charming about someone who apologizes after sneezing, even when their sneeze is entirely QUIET, discreet, and polite.

Sneezes that aren’t far apart but have two or three seconds between each sneeze. The people around bless each one, and the person doesn’t have time to thank them, being trapped in the next sneeze.

Sneezing on the phone. The person on the other side imagines the sneezing person’s expression and, lacking the visual cue, focuses on the strength of their inhale, the sound of the sigh, the pressure sound as they rub their nose, and the congestion in their voice. The person sneezing moves away from the phone, so the sneeze sounds more distant or softer than usual, and then they apologize for the interruption.

Sneezing differently when sick, due to allergies, or casually. For example, someone typically stifles their sneezes, but when they’re sick, the sneezes are much more unexpected, frequent, and barely stifled. Those who know them well recognize these as their “sick sneezes,” clearly seeing when they’re coming down with something. (Idea courtesy of @secret19stuff)

[numbuh24insane]

Bowser vs Eggman: The Aftermath, Sonic's Realization

Restoration HQ

The Restoration's base hummed with quiet industry, a symphony of activity unfolding in the sprawling headquarters. Engineers tinkered with machines, repairing damaged equipment salvaged from the frontlines of battles past. Analysts poured over maps and reports, ensuring the Restoration could respond to any crisis at a moment’s notice. Volunteers bustled through the corridors, distributing supplies to be shipped to remote villages still recovering from the scars left by Eggman’s takeover.

Near the central operations hub, Tails oversaw a group of technicians calibrating a new detection system, his twin tails flicking with excitement as he explained the upgrades. In another corner, Belle hummed a song as she worked on long overdue repairs, her focus undeterred by the chatter of Jewel's logistical assistants organizing supply runs. The day was typical, steady, and predictable. Something that was becoming more and more common in this fantastical world.

Sonic leaned against a safety rail on the upper balcony overlooking the main floor, his arms crossed casually as he took in the scene. Below, a pair of members chuckled at the antics of Rough and Tumble on a monitor. The bumbling skunk duo had tried robbing a supply caravan earlier that week, only to be thwarted by Whisper and Tangle.

"You know," Sonic idly started as Amy came up behind him, "This place runs like a well-oiled machine. Kinda weird seeing it so . . . calm."

Amy smiled. "It’s what we wanted, right? To rebuild without having to fend off badniks every day."

"Yeah, I guess." He tapped a foot idly against the ground. "Just feels like it’s been too quiet. The biggest threats these days are Rough and Tumble making a mess of some random store or Clutch trying to pull off another shady deal. Hardly the kind of thing that gets my blood pumping."

"Maybe that’s a good thing," Amy said, looking at him. "We’re not supposed to need you to be the hero all the time, Sonic. The Restoration can handle the small stuff."

“And I’m here to clean up the big stuff . . . but nothing big has happened in months. I can’t even remember the last time Eggman pulled one of his ‘I’m-gonna-conquer-the-world’ stunts. Man, I just can’t shake the feeling that something big is going to happen, that it’s just right around the corner. If that makes sense.”

"It does," Amy admitted, her tone thoughtful. "I mean, after everything with Starfall Islands, I thought we’d have a new crisis by now. But Eggman’s been completely off the radar."

"Maybe he’s finally throwing in the towel," Sonic said, tilting his head back and gazing at the ceiling. "You know, after losing Sage . . . I think that hit him harder than he’d ever admit. She was like a daughter to him."

Amy frowned, taking in this new information. "You really think that’s enough to stop him? Eggman’s a lot of things, but giving up isn’t one of them. If anything, he’s probably using this quiet time to build something even more dangerous."

"Maybe," Sonic said, tapping his chin in thought. "Or maybe he’s finally realized there’s more to life than building giant ego-machines. I like to think losing Sage might’ve made him . . . rethink things."

Amy glanced at him, her expression softening. "You always see the best in people, even someone like Eggman. But I don’t think he’ll ever stop being Eggman. He’s always scheming, Sonic. Always."

Sonic smirked, the corner of his mouth curling as he turned to face her. "Well, if he is planning something, we’ll handle it. Like always." He tapped the rail. "But for now? I’m gonna enjoy the peace. Even if it is a bit boring."

Before Sonic and Amy could exchange another word, the lights flickered ominously across the Restoration’s base. A sharp crackle of static blared through the speakers, drawing everyone’s attention. The monitors scattered throughout the facility turned black for a brief moment before the familiar crimson insignia of the Eggman Empire appeared with the text ‘Please Stand by’.

The room erupted in confusion and alarm. Restoration workers scrambled to consoles, engineers fumbled with emergency protocols, and Tails bolted to the main control panel, barking orders to the tech team. Above it all, Sonic remained leaning against the rail, his grin widening.

"Well, well," He said with an amused chuckle. "Speak of the devil. Let’s see what ol’ Egg for brains has been plotting!" He could feel that surge of excitement and adventure rise up within him.

"If you are seeing this," Eggman began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “Then I am dead."

A stunned silence fell over the room. Even Sonic’s grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a raised eyebrow of genuine surprise. Amy’s eyes widened before shaking her head with disbelief.

Eggman continued, his image flickering as though the message were pre-recorded. "Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking. 'Is this some sort of trick?' Let me assure you, if this message is playing, then I have shuffled off this mortal coil.”

He paused dramatically, letting the words sink in before throwing his arms out in mock despair. "Tragic, isn’t it? The world has lost its greatest genius! A monumental loss for science, for civilization, for Mobius itself! But don’t mourn me too much! I’m sure my end was spectacularly dramatic!" The scientist laughed, twirling his mustache.

Eggman continued, his tone shifting to a speculative drawl. "Speaking of which, I’m curious. What could possibly have done me in? Was it one of my magnificent plans going down in flames? Did one of my creations rebel and finally catch me off guard? Or . . . " He grinned, pointing straight at the camera. ". . . did you finally do it, Sonic?" He leaned back stroking his chin as he considered the possibility,”If so, I do wonder what prompted you to do it. I had to have had a truly devilish marvel of a scheme to get you to finally cross that line.”

Eggman suddenly retracted, waving his hand dismissively. “Ah, who am I kidding? You’d never do it. No, no, no you’re too soft. Always playing hero, always keeping me alive so we can do this little dance forever. Ohohoho!”

Amy crossed her arms, annoyed.. “He’s still insufferable as always.”

Eggman wiped a tear from his eye before continuing his spiel, “But fear not Sonic, even if I’m gone you’ll still have quite the foe on your hands! Should Metal Sonic still be operational, and really, why wouldn’t he be? I built him to perfection. Then my empire is in capable hands. Metal will carry my legacy, and he will succeed where I could not. He will destroy you, Sonic. Oh yes, your days are numbered. Even now, I’m sure he’s already formulating the best way to turn you into a smoldering pile of ash! How proud I am!”

The screen glitched momentarily, then Eggman continued, his expression softening into a smug grin. “Of course, I can’t leave without a personal touch. I’ve prepared special messages for each of you. Think of them as parting gifts from beyond the grave! They should be arriving . . . oh, about now.”

As the video cut off, the Eggman Empire logo pulsed on the screens, and then, one by one, the Restoration’s systems began rebooting. Almost immediately, individual monitors across the room displayed specific names: Sonic, Belle, Amy, Tails, and others.

“He can’t be dead, can he?” Belle questioned, her wooden body rigid and eyes wide with disbelief. She was shaking, almost to the point of breaking. The poor puppet jumped as Tails placed his hand upon her back and got her to calm down.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Sonic uttered out, for once he didn’t have his casual smile upon his face. The wind seemed to have been taken out of his sails. One by one each of them approached a different monitor, wondering what kind of message Eggman had left for them.

Sonic leaned forward, his finger hovering over the notification bearing his name. The air around him felt heavy now, the reality of Eggman’s proclamation beginning to set in. He steadied his shaking finger and tapped the screen.

The screen lit up again, revealing a new recording of Dr. Eggman. This time, the background was less ominous. It was his usual workshop, cluttered with half-finished machines and screens displaying blueprints of his countless schemes. Eggman lounged in his oversized hover chair, a smug grin plastered on his face. That grin while still as smug as ever, seemed less performative and much more natural, as though this part was meant for Sonic and Sonic alone.

"Sonic," he began, spreading his arms grandly, "If you’re watching this, then congratulations you’ve outlived me. Bask in the glory of knowing you survived the greatest mind in history! I’m sure you’re standing there, smirking like you always do, thinking you’ve won. But let’s not get too carried away. Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’ll never really consider this a win. Not against me"

Sonic nodded, it was true. He never wanted to see Eggman die. He always dreamt that Eggman would have a change of heart, that he would re-adopt that Mr. Tinker persona and work on making the world a better place. That was what victory meant to the Blue Blur, not this.

Anything but this.

"You know, Hedgehog, you’ve been the proverbial thorn in my side for years, and yet . . . I can’t say I ever hated it. Not truly. Sure, you’re insufferable, cocky, and annoyingly fast, but you’ve also been . . . entertaining. From our first little dance back on South Island to our more ambitious confrontations, like, oh, I don’t know, the time I turned you into a werehog . . . Not one of my brightest moments, mind you. But the point still stands! You pushed me, Sonic. Forced me to innovate, to improve, to strive for perfection. The brutal truth is that I am glad that you foiled my plans, it made my future endeavors all the more worth it."

"But," Eggman snapped, his voice snapping back to its usual boisterousness, "Don’t let this go to your head! Even dead I’m still smarter than you in every conceivable way. GAH! If I’d had just a little more time, I would have won! Make no mistake about that!” He pounded his fist against the table before calming himself down,”I’ll admit . . . there were times I almost respected you. Almost."

Sonic let out a soft smirk, understanding that was a confession of respect from the egomaniac.

The workshop around Eggman seemed almost smaller now, the man himself quieter despite the bombast in his words. "But alas, here we are. I’m gone, and you’re still here. I know you’ll carry on, saving the day and being that insufferable do-gooder you’ve always been. And honestly?" He allowed himself a small, almost wistful smile. "The world’s better for it. If I can't take over the world, then you better ensure that no one else will!"

Sonic’s hands dropped to his sides, the faint ache of realization settling in his chest. This wasn’t just another one of Eggman’s melodramatic speeches. For the first time, the finality of it all began to sink in.

He hated this.

This was something that he couldn’t run from, that he couldn’t use his prowess to overcome. Eggman was gone . . . and that fact truly hurt the carefree blue blur.

Sage had asked him to look after Eggman. Those were her final words, for him to ensure that her father would continue to live, for them to make up their differences. And he had failed that little girl, and he had failed himself.

Eggman straightened, his expression shifting to something sterner. "But enough sentimentality! I saved the most important part of this message for last." He tapped the side of his chair, and a familiar figure appeared on the screen beside him. "Sage."

Sonic's eyes went wide as he pressed his head against the screen.

Sage was gone, why was Eggman bringing her back up?

Eggman let out a confident smirk,”I managed to save her, Sonic. I scoured the Starfall Islands and all of Cyberspace, finding the remnant parts of her code, stitching it all back together and nursing her back to health! I succeeded where you failed her!” He uttered out, pressing his finger against the camera.

“She’s alive!?” Sonic shouted out, prompting glances from other Restoration members. A soft grin emerged upon his face,”Of course she is . . . It’s Eggman after all.” He was a miracle worker, always able to do the impossible.

“I’ve already integrated her into the Eggnet. She’s protected now, there won’t be any incidents such as what happened last time, and she WILL outlast me.” Eggman guaranteed, having worked long and hard to ensure Sage’s longevity and survival.

The image on the screen pointed directly at Sonic, his gaze sharp and serious. "And here’s the kicker, since I’m gone, I need someone to look after her. Someone who understands her. Someone who . . . " He hesitated, as if the words tasted strange in his mouth. " . . . who can help her find her place in this world. That someone, Sonic, is you."

The weight of the words hit Sonic like a freight train. The usually confident, quick-witted hedgehog found himself at a loss.

"I know what you’re thinking," Eggman said, his smirk returning faintly. "Why would I trust you with something so precious to me? The truth is, I don’t. But you’re the best shot she’s got. You’re . . . a hero, after all. And for what it’s worth, I think Sage would have liked that."

Eggman leaned back in his chair, a glimmer of something almost human in his eyes. "So, there you have it, Sonic. My final request. My final challenge. Take care of my daughter. And try not to screw it up." He then let out a grin,”And if you do? Then I’ll find a way to rise up from the grave and get you! Oh-hohoho!”

Sonic stood there absorbing Eggman’s last request as he heard the wicked scientist laugh for one final time.

The message ended abruptly, the screen fading to black. For a moment, the bustling sounds of the Restoration felt distant, muffled. Sonic stared at the blank monitor, his chest heavy. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

Sonic jumped as he felt a hand land upon his shoulder. His head spun around as he saw Amy looking at him, concern clear in her eyes. She ushered him over to where Tails was comforting Belle. The four of them found a nearby table, a heavy silence was practically smothering them as they sat there.

Belle shuddered.

Amy gently placed a hand on Belle's arm, her usual energy tempered with concern. "Belle . . . do you want to talk about it?"

Belle hadn’t spoken yet, her head still bowed. Belle’s hands trembled as she finally looked up, her voice quivering. "H-he called me his daughter." The room fell silent, all eyes turning to her.

"He said . . ." She paused, wiping at her wooden cheek with her sleeve. "He said he never understood the value of family until Sage. But that . . . he regrets not seeing it sooner. Regrets not seeing me as his daughter while he still had the chance." Her voice cracked, and a tear slid down her face, glinting like dew. "He hoped I could accept Sage as my sister. That we could . . . be a family. Even without him."

Amy moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Belle’s shoulder. "Belle . . ."

"But he’s not my father," Belle said quickly, her voice defensive and firm, though the tears kept falling. "My father was Mr. Tinker. Not him. Not-" She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don’t know what to feel. He hurt so many people. Hurt me by becoming him again. And yet . . ." She shook her head, her voice breaking. "I still wanted to hear those words."

Sonic stood, his face unusually serious as he placed a hand on Belle’s shoulder. "For what it’s worth, Belle . . . Mr. Tinker was real. He was Eggman, just without all the bad stuff clouding his mind. And if that version of him could care about you, maybe that means the Eggman we knew had some of that deep down, too."

Belle’s wooden fingers tightened into fists as she looked at him. "Do you think he really meant it? That he wanted us to be . . . sisters?"

Sonic gave her a small, reassuring smile. "From what he said in my message? Yeah. I think he did. He talked about Sage too, about how much she meant to him. And I think you meant as much to him as Sage does."

Belle bowed her head, letting the tears flow.

Tails frowned as he pat her back, trying to help his friend in her grief.

"Well, I don’t know what I expected, but that message was . . . something else." He crossed his arms, his twin tails flicking behind him. "Typical Eggman, though. Started off talking about how he was the greatest genius of all time y'know, classic 'Doctor Ego', but then he said something about me being . . . what was it? 'The second-smartest mind to ever grace this world.'" He snorted, but there was a small, conflicted smile on his face.

Amy leaned forward, curious. "Wait, second-smartest? That’s a compliment coming from him!"

Sonic smirked, reaching over to ruffle Tails’ fur. "Well, you are the smartest guy I know, little bro. Took Eggman long enough to catch on."

"Yeah, but then he said, 'With me gone, I suppose you’ll finally have a chance to take the top spot. Don't mess it up, Prower. Not that you’ll ever match my heights!' Like he couldn’t resist one last dig." Tails shook his head, but the faint admiration in his tone was undeniable. "Still . . . hearing him admit that? It means a lot, I guess."

Sonic glanced over at Amy,”What about you Ames? What did Eggman say to you?”

Amy looked down at the table, her brow furrowed. “Mine wasn’t much better. He said I should stop chasing after you, Sonic.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed through. “‘It’s unbecoming,’ he said. And that I’m wasting my potential, that I’d be better off focusing on myself instead of clinging to someone who doesn’t share my feelings.” She huffed, trying to mask the hurt. “Then he called me ‘stubborn to a fault’ and said I’d probably ignore his advice anyway. But . . .” she hesitated, her voice softening. “He said I’m stronger than I think. That’s . . . the only nice thing he said.”

Amy sighed, “He wasn’t completely wrong, was he? Maybe I do need to focus on myself more. I’ve been thinking about that for a while now.”

“You’re all right to feel how you feel. Eggman’s always been full of himself, but this . . . this is something else.” Sonic rubbed the back of his head, his eyes darting away. “It’s weird, you know? He’s always been there, always scheming, always chasing me down with his machines. And now he’s just . . . gone?”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Eggman’s absence settling over them.

Sonic pushed off the table and stood upright, his tone shifting to something more determined. “I can’t just sit here and let this stew. I’ve got to find Sage, and I’ve got to get some answers.”

Amy stood up, worry etched on her face. “Sonic, wait. It could be a trap. Eggman’s always been two steps ahead, even when it looks like he’s lost.”

Sonic gave her a half-smile, the sadness still lingering in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’ve got to get some answers. I owe it to all of us to figure out what’s going on.” Without another word, he turned and bolted from the room in a blur of blue, the air crackling in his wake.

Amy sighed heavily, crossing her arms again. “That hedgehog . . . He’ll never change.”

Tails leaned forward, a soft smile on his face. “Don’t worry, he’ll be okay. He’s Sonic after all.”

Belle wiped her face, her voice soft but resolute. “He’ll find her. He always does.” She paused, “And when he does, I’ll have my own questions for Sage. About him. About all of this.”

Eggman Land

Sonic raced through the countryside, the wind roaring in his ears, his mind churning. As he neared Eggman Land, the imposing theme park/fortress loomed over the horizon, its garish lights and towering structures stark against the twilight sky. Yet, something was off . . . there were no patrols, no badniks racing out to intercept him.

The gates were wide open, the rides whirred and the neon lights shined bright, but not a single soul in sight. It felt as though the place had been abandoned in a hurry, left on autopilot. Sonic slowed his pace, the eerie silence pressing down on him. His instincts screamed that something wasn’t right, but he pressed forward, weaving through the empty attractions until he reached the central tower.

As he entered it, he noticed the broken pieces of glass that littered the floor. Moving his gaze upwards revealed the monitors that were all destroyed, laid in ruins. One cracked monitor had Eggman upon it announcing his death in repeat. He finally turned his gaze to the center of the room and saw a man there, leaning forward at a console. He wore a black suit that was currently unkempt, shards of glass hanging loose off of the sleeves.

It was Agent Stone.

One of, if not the most loyal of Eggman’s followers.

Sonic took a step forward, glass crunching under feet. The sound alerted Stone to his presence, the man twisted around gripping a wrench as he faced the blue blur,”You!” He growled out with a rage that Sonic had never seen before. “You’re not allowed to be here! This place is sacred! A monument to the Doctor’s genius!”

Sonic gave a sheepish smile as he raised up his arms in surrender,”Woah! Don’t worry, I’m not here to mess with Eggheads stuff, I’m just here to get some answers. Such as . . . “ Sonic disappeared in a burst of speed, reappearing directly in front of Stone, the wrench wrenched out of his hand. The man fell back onto his chair in surprise,”Such as what happened to Eggman.”

Stone felt his own powerlessness as he turned his head away from the Hedgehog. “He’s not dead.” His voice was full of pain,”He can’t be dead. The Doctor doesn’t die . . . he always has a plan! He is a genius! The greatest genius! D-death is something that can’t apply to him.” His voice broke,”He wasn’t supposed to be gone for this long.”

Sonic’s head tilted as he caught the last part of Stone’s grief-filled speech,”What do you mean, he wasn’t supposed to be gone for this long?” He asked.

Stone glared at the Hedgehog, but gave in as he saw the sheer concern in Sonic's eyes,” . . . Months ago, the Doctor was studying the limits of the warp topaz. It opened a portal to a whole new universe. At first, Eggman wasn’t interested in it. It was far too underdeveloped compared to our universe, that was before he caught sight of a kidnapping attempt and discovered the Koopa Kingdom.”

“Koopa Kingdom?” Sonic questioned,”Never heard of it.”

“Of course you haven’t.” Stone blinked,”I just told you it was from a different universe!” He leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh,”That Koopa Kingdom held a tremendous power and seemed as ambitious as the Doctor, so the Doctor decided to conquer it before it could become a threat to his own plans . . . “ Not to mention he wanted the power that Bowser held for himself. “There was a time table and plans he had to transport his whole army to this new universe, to execute Operation Catfish and then conquer it with one big battle . . . Only, I haven’t heard anything from the Doctor since he left.”

Sonic nodded, everything was beginning to fall into place here. It was like old times, Eggman finding some power that no one knew about and trying to get it for his own ends. It goes badly and now it's time for Sonic to bail him out.

He let out a smirk.

“Stone, you can transport me there, right?” Sonic asked, ready to go out and save Eggman and Sage.

Stone blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Why would I do that? You’re his enemy. If anything, I should kick you out of here!”

“Think about it,” Sonic grinned. “If Eggman’s stuck in some other universe, you’re not exactly going to get a postcard from him. I’m fast enough to get in, find out what’s going on, and get back before you can even finish another cup of coffee. What have you got to lose?”

Stone turned back to the console, his fingers flying over the keys. “There’s a portal generator in the lower levels. I’ll activate it and set the coordinates to the universe that the Doctor went to.”

Sonic gave a confident grin. “Thanks, Stone. I owe you one.”

“Don’t thank me,” Stone muttered. “Just . . . bring him back.”

Sonic nodded and turned to leave, his mind racing. “Hang tight, Egghead,” he said under his breath. “I’m coming for you.” With that he disappeared into a blue blur as he sprinted downstairs and into the portal below.

KOOPA KINGDOM

The transition was instantaneous yet disorienting. For a moment, Sonic felt weightless, as if he were floating in an endless void. Then, with a sudden burst of light, he was propelled out of the portal and into a vast, vibrant landscape.

He landed on his feet, skidding to a stop atop a hill covered in bright green grass. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. The air was warm and carried the faint scent of flowers, reminding him of home, of Green Hill Zone.

He shot out in a burst of speed, rolling around at the speed of sound. He crossed each and every hill as he searched and searched. His leg collided with something hard and caused him to trip. He groaned as he twisted himself around and gasped. What his foot had collided with was the remnants of metal sonic. His entire lower body had been eviscerated, his upper body remained in three separate parts.

“Metal.” Sonic uttered out, expecting and hoping for the robot's eyes to light up, but there was nothing. It remained dim and Sonic felt a lump form in his throat as he questioned what could possibly hold the power to destroy Metal Sonic.

“Can’t stay here.” He reminded himself and continued forth. Each and every step he became more and more worried, as questions ran through his head. After all, he knew that Eggman would never leave Metal there, not like that.

He bounded over a Hill and became privy to a scene of utter carnage. In the distance, the Egg Dragoon was hoisted in the air, its body having a massive spike of Earth through it. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Eggman’s body, but breathed out a sigh as he realized that was just one of his D3COYs. His head swiveled around, going over the sea of badnik parts and seeing the disembodied head of the Death Egg Robot.

“What happened here?” Sonic muttered out, a tinge of fear in his voice. He jogged down hill, going straight towards that head . . . but stopped as he caught sight of the Egg Mobile. It was cracked, left in a derelict state.

What’s more was the fact that it was completely made out of stone.

It was over.

Sonic knew that it was over. That Eggman came here to conquer and he lost everything. After all, the Egg Mobile was always his last line of defense. It was how he always escaped and survived, not even a blackhole would destroy it. It was a safety net for the Mad Scientist, that no matter how bad things became, he could always escape it via the Egg Mobile.

But here it was.

Broken.

Just like everything else around here. From Metal Sonic to the Death Egg Robot, there was no way that Eggman survived.

Sonic sat down, leaning his back against the cold stone. His gaze moved up to the clouds, wishing that things could be different. Wishing that he had followed through on what Sage had asked of him at Starfall Island and that he checked up on the mad scientist.

For a long moment, Sonic said nothing. Then, his voice broke the stillness, soft and almost hesitant. “So . . . this is it, huh?” Sonic said softly, as if Eggman could hear him. “Leaving without ever truly saying goodbye. You always had to make things dramatic, didn’t you?”

The silence stretched around him, the wind rustling faintly through the distant grass. Sonic rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a small, bitter chuckle. “You know, for all your evil schemes, you were never boring. I kinda liked the challenge, you always kept me on my toes.” He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Even after all the times I trashed your plans, you never gave up. Always bouncing back, always coming up with something new . . . .”

Sonic chuckled, running a hand through his fur. “I know I give you a hard time, but I always thought . . . maybe one day, you’d change. You had it in you. I mean, look at Belle. Look at Sage. You’re capable of more than just destruction, y’know? You can create such fantastic things, I know if you put your genius into it, you could’ve made a better world. I mean, look at how much joy you created back when you were Mr. Tinker.”

He sighed, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “I just . . . I wish things could’ve been different. That maybe, just once, you’d decided to fight with us instead of against us. You always said you wanted to conquer the world, but I think what you really wanted was to prove something. To yourself. To everyone.”

Sonic leaned his head back, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his face. “You were the biggest pain in my butt, but . . . it was fun. The races, the battles, the smack talk, it was all a game to you, wasn’t it? And, yeah, I had fun too. More than I’d ever admit out loud.”

Sonic got up to his feet, staring over at the Egg Mobile. “I’m going to look for Sage, I know you wouldn’t have put her in harm's way. I’ll find her and bring her back home. I owe it to the both of you.”

He raised up his arms and fist bumped the machine.

“Thanks for the memories, Doc.”

With that he sped away.

[lookingfts]

Thank you for your meet-cute ideas! I love them all and may write more of them, but for tonight I chose this idea from @rk19991999, so thank you!

He’d never felt more out of place.

The wedding was beautiful, of course. Dorset seemed happy, exchanging hushed words on the dance floor with his new bride. A lovely girl. Edwina – that was her name. To be fair, Anthony had only met her for about five seconds when they visited his table at dinner.

Daphne and Simon, the only other people he knew, had bowed out a bit early – Daphne’s pregnancy was making her regularly queasy. Anthony couldn’t quite recall, now, why he hadn’t made an excuse to leave with them.

Oh, right. The bridesmaid.

Edwina’s sister was very likely the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. He nearly dropped his phone when she walked down the aisle, draped in colorful fabric and heavy gold jewelry. Anthony rustled a floral decoration rather loudly, and the sister had looked at him sharply. He was torn between wanting the ground to swallow him whole and catching his breath, because really, she was fucking beautiful.

She’d recovered, and so had he, and then she had been surrounded by family all night. Anthony was certainly not above hitting on an attractive woman at a wedding, but to do it front of her relatives felt…uncouth.

After a while, he lost sight of her altogether, and swallowed down the rest of his champagne. He was happy for Dorset, genuinely, but it was long past time to make his exit.

Anthony stood, and a slim hand wrapped around his wrist. He turned to find the sister, her eyes urgent and her cheeks a little flushed. “Hi,” she said in a low voice. “Are you single?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Good. I’ll give you fifty pounds if you play along with what’s about to happen. An extra fifty if you kiss me right now.”

His first instinct was to tell this woman that he didn’t need the money, actually, and then realized that was an extremely stupid thing to lead with. Especially since he’d spent the whole night staring at her from across the room.

Tipping her chin up with his thumb, Anthony pressed his lips to hers gently. He didn’t want to push too far, but her skin was so soft under his palm and she tasted like mango and it was making him more than a little stupid.

Her nails raked through his hair, her mouth moving more insistently against his, and an embarrassing moan formed in his throat. Even more so when she nipped at his bottom lip, drawing back with dark, blown eyes and shallow breaths.

Christ, he wanted to take her home. Or – scratch that. Somewhere closer. A hotel room. A powder room. His car. This table right in front of them.

“Kathani!” He jumped at the voice behind him, forgetting for a moment that they were playing some kind of role. She tucked herself into Anthony’s side as three older woman descended on them, and he reciprocated, sliding his arm around her waist and holding her tight against him. His heart was still pounding, and he wondered if she could feel it as she placed her hand on his chest.

“This is David,” Kathani said, and he realized with some satisfaction that she sounded breathless as well. “My fiancé.”

--

“I’m sorry about that,” she sighed, linking her fingers together behind his neck. “The aunties are relentless.”

It had been quite the interrogation. Anthony wasn’t sure how to convincingly fake a relationship with a woman he’d literally never met, but Kathani had a quick answer to everything. They’d met on the tube; he was a surgeon; she wasn’t wearing her ring because they didn’t want to draw attention away from Edwina’s big day. Anthony had been happy to stare at her adoringly and hum his agreement at appropriate intervals. The aunties probably thought he was dim-witted, but they had called him handsome several times.

Finally, she’d tugged Anthony onto the dance floor, blending in with the sea of couples. “What happens when I’m not actually a surgeon named David and we don’t get married?”

Her eyes went wide. “Fuck! I never even asked your name.”

“It’s Anthony,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’m Kate,” she responded, wrinkling up her nose in a very endearing way. “Kathani, of course, but only my family calls me that. And to answer your question, I don’t care. Eddie’s wedding just brought out the vultures and I didn’t feel like being told everything I need to change about myself to attract a man’s attention.”

“Ouch. My mum kind of does the same thing, to be fair.” They shared a laugh, and Anthony felt his heart turn over in his chest. Her laugh was as stunning as the rest of her. “You don’t need to change anything, by the way. I almost disrupted your sister’s whole wedding because you took my breath away, walking down the aisle.”

She stiffened a little, blinking up at him through long lashes. Maybe it was too much, but Kate deserved to know that she was not lacking, at least not in his eyes. Whatever she did with that information was her choice.

A soft flush rose in her cheeks as she sank her teeth into her lip. “I, um…” Kate cleared her throat. “I might have chosen you as my fake fiancé because I liked the way you looked at me.”

Anthony did an internal cheer of victory. He was suddenly glad that he’d been too stubborn to leave the party early. Waiting for a chance that had turned out much better than he could have imagined. “Well, I am willing to keep up the pretense. Take you out for dinner, you know. Learn your life story so I can actually contribute to the lie next time. The aunties definitely thought there was nothing going on upstairs, if you know what I mean.”

Kate snorted, biting back a smile as her fingers played with the fine hairs at the back of his neck. “We should work on the kissing, too. A solid first effort, but I think we can get better.”

“Of course,” he agreed with mock seriousness. “We can’t half-arse it, can we?”

[tickly-trashcan]

Joke {Cyno and Tighnari}

“And then I said–”

Tighnari interrupted Cyno’s joke with a loud groan, pulling his ears down so he did not hear the punchline. Cyno failed to notice and went on with the punchline anyway, looking at Tighnari for a reaction. He furrowed his brows when he saw Tighnari had turned his back to him and pulled his ears down.

“And then I said, ‘I think the Padisarah could use a light snack.’” Cyno repeated, much louder this time. “Get it? Because Padisarah is a plant, and since it was hungry and plants use sunlight for energy–”

“Archons save me,” Tighnari released his ears and turned to Cyno with a weary look. “Cyno, explaining a joke makes it less funny.”

“Well, I didn’t even know if you heard the punchline the first time, how was I supposed to know if you understood it?”

“Context clues?”

Cyno crossed his arms. “You’re in a sour mood…”

Tighnari shrugged and waved a hand. “It’s been a long day, and I can only handle so many jokes. If you’re trying to make me laugh, it’s not going to work.”

Tighnari turned on his heel and continued on, Cyno following behind as he went through other jokes he could tell. He finally decided that Tighnari was no longer in the mood for jokes, but he still wanted to at least get him to crack a smile. Cyno thought up a plan and smirked.

“I heard that there’s a good amount of Kalpalata Lotuses around here, so hopefully we can get some and get going,” Tighnari said as he crouched by a small bundle of vines and looked around for the flower. “Cyno, do you know if– Ahh!”

Tighnari whipped his head around at Cyno when he felt hands go up his sides and clamped his arms down. “Cyno!”

Cyno gave Tighnari an innocent smile. “You had a bug on you.”

Tighnari’s eyes narrowed, not fully trusting what Cyno said, but he moved on regardless. As he spoke, Cyno crept his hands up to Tighnari’s sides again and wiggled his fingers lightly, making Tighnari squeak.

“Would you stop that?! This is serious!”

“It is serious. You’ve got a bad case of the No Funsies, and we need to fix that,” Cyno chuckled. He latched onto Tighnari’s hips and gave them a firm squeeze, making Tighnari topple back and laugh.

“Cynohoho! Why ahahahare you– Ack! Dohohon’t tickle mehehe!” Tighnari whined, turning back and forth as Cyno scribbled all over his tummy.

“You weren’t laughing at my jokes earlier, now you can’t stop laughing? You’re giving me mixed signals, Nari,” Cyno teased with a snicker.

“It’s behehecause you’re– you’re tickling mehehehe! Cynohohooo!!”

“Admit I’m funny and I’ll consider stopping.”

Tighnari threw his head back and cackled when Cyno found his ribs. “Nehehever!”

Cyno shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.”

With that, he buried his hands under Tighnari’s arms, making him positively shriek. He arched his back and squirmed, clamping his arms down as he hollered.

“Not thehehere!! Cyno– Cyno, plehehehease! Stahahahap!!!”

Cyno only whistled a tune, pretending to be lost in thought until Tighnari was red in the face. “You know how to make it stop, Nari.”

“Okahahay! Okahahay, you’re funny!!”

“How funny?”

“Ahahaharchons, Cyno, just stahaHAHAP!!”

Cyno rolled his eyes and pulled his hands away, folding his arms over his chest while he waited for Tighnari to recover from the tickles. He laid there with his arms out, chest heaving, and shot Cyno a nasty glare.

“You still need to work on your jokes, though…”

Tighnari let out a yelp when Cyno pounced on him once more, drawing out more of that frantic laughter until Tighnari admitted that, not only was Cyno funny, but he had the best jokes in all of Sumeru.

[springsylph]

bodyguard.

[bodyguard!john price x rookie actress!reader]

extension of this blurb. || minors, do not interact.

read on ao3

this was supposed to be a one-off thing but uh. my hand slipped? had to cut down the "price wouldn't do that" monster with my "i can do what i want" sword, and we got 3k of an unedited brain dump that i typed on my phone at six in the morning. also my first time writing something for price! woo!

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?"

Yelling secures you your first big project.

You can’t pay those bills until I land a job. A real job.

You’re almost certain your agent thinks you’re throwing a tantrum, and it leaves a coarse grit in your molars. You don’t like to pick fights. Hate it, really. But pushes are usually succeeded by shoves, and you can’t afford to get knocked out of the ring this time around.

The worst they can do is say no, right?

Thankfully, one yes is all you need to beg for. Your chariot arrives in the shape of a surprisingly low-budget rom-com, in simple terms. You and your C-list costar (flanked by a squeaky clean track record, thank god) are swept up in a soundless spiral of table reads and filming and wrapping before you can really, truly process.

But a warden stands guard at the eye of your perfect storm. John Price, assigned to you through your agency without so much as a proper word.

(“Squeaky clean,” apparently, didn’t take a history of overzealous stalkers into account.)

The peephole to your dilapidated apartment can barely contain him. blocks him—or attempts to do so—like a child might shield their sandcastle from the pulsing tide. Only, you think the tide might be more forgiving. He’s rooted in place, made harsher under the cracked fluorescent bulbs out in the hallway. They hum along with him. Faint, unless your breathing stills.

You’d feel a little more at ease if he were actually ex-military; the scraps of information you’ve been fed tell you that he’s been discharged, but you don’t believe it. Not for a second. You hadn’t been given much else apart from that and a face, but you could put together that he was disgustingly overqualified—not that you were complaining, though. Not yet.

You watch as John Price—Price?—gazes with a deceiving sort of apathy toward the end of the hall, then to the other, and back to the other end in three smooth seconds.

You think he’s seeing things till the apartment two doors down produces a tenant from its depths and price is turning, warding the disturbance off with an easy mornin’ and a wave of a large hand. He says nothing when they shuffle off awkwardly without a response, and the slow crawl of his opposite hand away from a flash of metal at his hip draws your pupil like a magnet.

It’s then that you note the suspiciously white shirt—rolled up to his elbows, tucked neatly into dark denim. hands tucked into pockets. Beard trimmed. Everything not protected by the skin on his body squared away just so, with just enough of his bulk on display to prompt that second spike of wariness.

A meticulous problem, then.

You peel yourself away from the door after an inhale and swing it open regardless.

The smell of tobacco and cologne hits your nose like a hammer the moment the door hits the bolt behind you, but you recover the feeling in your knees quickly. The fisheye lens doesn’t quite do him justice—you have to look up a bit to take another quick scan, cheeks cramping with the sudden momentum of your smile.

“I don’t see a bible or a pamphlet, so I’m assuming you’re not here to preach?” 

The joke doesn’t fall flat, but it does sail into one of the weaker bulbs before it shuts off with a buzz.

“…Captain Price, right?”

His eyes crinkle with a hint of what might be a grin. Under different circumstances, maybe. “Right on the mark. A pleasure to finally meet you, Ma’am.” But that thrum of irritation is there, as is the narrowing of his eyes when you extend your hand in greeting. “Just Price’ll do though.”

Hm.

He reaches up to fix his beanie just above his brow before giving your hand a firm shake. Definitely military. And hot as a furnace. You’re more than a little dizzy when he pulls back to check his watch, the inside of your wrist now raw from the grazing of a fingernail.

You can feel the skin he’s taken with him when he looks you in the eyes. Assessing. You don’t know why, but think you’ve won until he’s looking back down at his wrist.

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?”

Nine in the morning.

Or, at least it was thirty minutes ago.

“I—yeah. Lost track of time, sorry.” You scratch just under the collar of your shirt, straighten it out when the itch turns into a tingle you’re willing to overlook. You realize after an embarrassing beat that he’s probably asking for the actual time. “I sleep like a rock,” you add anyway. Your agency had actually given you three things, not two: a poorly put together profile, a face, and a meeting time.

It dawns on you now that a thirty minute “test of patience” with your back pressed to the door may not have been the way to go.

Price looks up, finally. Rolls his shoulders back as if to shed the pileup of gravity that’s compressed his spine in the half hour you’ve kept him waiting—and somehow, someway, seems to double the amount of space he takes up.

“That so,” he questions. Low in his throat, and a tad exasperated, because you’ve studied exasperation. Went into debt to have that understanding feel like a second skin. Which is why you observe, perplexed, as he gestures to the entryway. You think you feel your head nod, and he brushes past you to push through the door. “‘Nother habit we’ll have to kick.”

Any objections you might’ve had are killed in your throat the moment his prowl begins, and your socks catch on the scuffed linoleum as you flounder in after him.

The door slams back against the bolt while Price’s boots press the air out of your hardwood floors, squeals escaping with each heavy step. You squeak out a feeble excuse me alongside them once or twice, but to no avail. He can’t hear you, too intent on following some internal rhythm that takes him to the open window, the dusty cabinets, slipping fingers into the creases of a space you’re barely acquainted with yourself.

Something like nausea begins to bubble. You planned this. You’d planned out your introduction. Picked out your clothes, your shoes, where you’d grab coffee so you could build up your integrity and explain to him that you’re not looking to be coddled, he’d just get in the way. And now you’re wringing your hands, abject unease burning in a dense knot between your eyes while you figure out how to melt into the poorly hidden pile of dirty laundry.

There’s a delay in your processing, and you don’t start to catch up until Price finally slows down enough for you to realize he’s been talking.

He’s stooping over your dining room table, swiping a finger over his tongue before using it to card through old mail. “Real sorry ‘bout this, Ma’am. Not the most ideal introduction, I know, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch. Standard protocol—’m sure you know how it is, yeah?”

Price moves to turn over a stack of magazines on your dining table, and you wonder: were you supposed to know? You’re sure his question is rhetorical, and you’re certainly not inclined to answer. But something about the way it hits the water stains on your ceiling justifies the way he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

Concern. An uncut gem, plucked from some cavernous fissure that might be closer in proximity to hell than your own flesh and blood.

The crease between his brows deepens. “You have had security before, haven’t you?”

“Don’t get out much. I do my work, come right home.” You shrug, but your shoulders can’t seem to come back down. Perhaps this was why they’d put him on leave—he couldn’t do math.

You shuffle a bit in place, kick aside a ratty tennis ball left behind from one of your pet sitting stints. It hits your refrigerator and he’s still looking down at your feet, so you look with him.

—at the last two toes sticking out of your sock.

You rush to cover it with your other foot while Price sucks his teeth. He doesn’t move, hands still planted on the table, but each time he blinks his eyes are trained on something different.

Price lets out a sigh before he finally stands upright, perching his hands on his hips. “I'm surprised your people waited this long to call someone in. Right idiots they are, I’ll tell you that.”

Your people. You wrap your arms around your middle, pinch the fabric of your shirt between your fingers.

“I can't really blame them,” you say after a moment. Tip your chin up, a last ditch attempt at salvaging what little of your farce is left to cover yourself with.

Price tuts, strangely unconvinced for someone you’d only known for around ten minutes. “You’d be smart to blame them.”

“Don’t think I can do that when I'm working for them, Price.”

“Can’t you? S’clear they’ve done fuck all to look out for you.”

And you could. Should. Want to. So, so desperately need to. But you’re already saddled with enough things to hate. Hope of catharsis is an outbound ship, a blip on the horizon that you don’t have the funds to board. 

“…I don't follow.”

Price doesn’t flinch when the table rocks without the weight of the magazines to keep it steady, and neither do you.

“You don’t follow,” he repeats. Like a crucial detail has been lost in translation.

You shake your head.

“Well, that’s no good.”

Cigar smoke snakes its way into your headspace again when he strides past you to put his hand up against the door, muscles in his forearms flexing when he pulls at the doorknob. He beckons you closer, and you’re pulled out of orbit when you skirt close enough for him to reach, guiding your hand to the cool metal while he stands just behind you.

“Here,” he mutters. Your chest is a cushion, and the rumble in his chest is a bright red pin.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if the crackle of a walkie-talkie might bury how frighteningly human he sounds.)

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

He takes his hand off once you’ve stopped throwing glances at him, and your knuckles sizzle in his absence. What was he looking for? Nothing…looks different. 

You can’t focus. His eyes are on your neck, and you can’t focus.

And suddenly, you don’t like how close he is. You’re reminded of how he’d shoved his way into your apartment. Barely spoken to you before driving a stake through the bubble put together with your blood sweat and tears. Made you feel ashamed in your own home.

Righteous indignation flares up, and you’re spewing words you’re certain you believe in until they tumble out.

“If you’re just here to poke fun, I’m not—”

Pop.

You look down. The keyhole pokes just out of the doorknob and you look to Price, his face remarkably passive.

“Lock’s been tampered with.” He runs a thumb over the offending protrusion, watches as it slots back into place. “You should see some scratches on the other side of it. Thought I noticed something when the door first slammed, but I didn't want to startle you in case my eyes were playing tricks. Can’t quite see like I used to.”

Why not get glasses?

“I would’ve put up less of a fuss if you’d told me up front.”

He looks at you, eyes a perfect congruence of something just beyond what your fingertips can touch. But he smiles, and you think you can understand. Maybe mash the pieces together. A distending warmth. Nepenthe sinking into every orifice until you’re expelling your woes through your nostrils.

Your axis tilts when Price puts a solid hand on your shoulder.

“It’s not good to lie, mm? Not to me.”

Not good to lie.

When you slide out from under his palm, his callouses snag on the exposed seam of your shirt. You toss him a grin, a bone. “Noted.”

Insecure seconds pass, but not without movement. 

It begins like this: Price walks away from the door, and you’re almost grateful for the squealing underneath his feet to fill the silence. He takes your stack of mail and magazines, sets them exactly as they had been before he’d entered. The table is righted, and he works in reverse from that point on.

Closing cabinet doors. Angling that picture frame you’ve been meaning to adjust for weeks. He’s putting things into their proper place, like setting bones before they’re enclosed in a stiff cast. 

You, though, are still standing awkwardly by the door.

“You really don’t need to—”

He holds out a hand. “Relax. ‘M just having a second go around.”

You bristle, but your decision to pad over to the couch is of your own volition. It caves in when you sit, and you wiggle to get the cushions to realign with your hips. Your hands feel around blindly for the remote to your TV before remembering you’d dropped it out of the window in a fit of anger some weeks ago, so you sit back, spine hitting the hard frame of the couch. Price’s noises pair well, somehow, with the wind sliding over the glass and the neighbors downstairs.

Until you feel his presence at the back of the couch, and a thought smacks you right across your forehead.

You shoot up, heart rate suddenly inflamed by panic. “Price?”

The movement stops, and you turn around, peer over to find Price prepped to duck his head under the couch. “Hm?”

“Uh.” You hesitate. Shit, think—

“H-how much are they paying you, anyways?” Good save. Maybe a little less than good.

You feel a little bad that you’d stopped Price mid-crouch; you can’t quite remember how old he is, but you know he’s old enough for knee pain to be a concern. He looks up as if crunching the numbers in his head. Hums. “Enough.”

“What’re you looking for?”

“Saw the picked lock, didn’t you?”

“Were you really discharged?”

“Depends. There something under this couch you don’t want me seeing?”

Looks like you can knock “interrogation skills” off of your list of special skills on your resume.

Your jaw snapping shut is enough to send his arm sliding under, and you can only watch in horror as his clutched hand emerges holding a scrap of thin blue fabric. He pushes himself up off of his knees. Takes his sweet time wringing out his back while your eyes track his hand like he’s got a thumb over the button of a detonator.

If he had any shred of decency—

“Another thing I caught on my way in,” he huffs. He holds out his hand and allows the blue fabric to uncurl. A flag, hung full mast right between your eyes. Another one of his tests. 

“Price.”

“C’mon, now. Take it from me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice; your arm shoots out and you win it back in one go. Stuff your lacy underwear into the pocket of your pants and wait for your ceiling to collapse in on you.

“Can’t leave pretty things like that layin’ around.” And Price stops, watches as you curl in on yourself. Voice like the push of velvet shifting underneath your palms. “Likely to rip if you’re not careful.”

You pull your head into your shirt and curl your knees into your chest. It’s a shock when you find yourself face to face with your heartbeat, the skin over your left breast jumping underneath your nose. “I think we’re done here.” 

Price makes that sucking noise again with his teeth—agitation, you think it’s agitation—and you trace the hazy shadow of him through your shirt as he steps around the couch to walk to the window. He snaps twice, and you’re beginning to entertain the thought of what might happen if you had enough strength to push him out.

“What now,” you croak.

“Eyes up.”

Slowly, you muster up enough spite to bring your head just above the collar of your shirt. Military men and their incessant need for…whatever the hell this was. 

“You’ve gotten better at this. Quick study,” Price remarks.

“Better at what.”

“Listening. That’s good, real good. That’ll make this a whole lot easier,” he says, a note of appreciation that you haven’t heard yet stirring that tiny pool of filth just underneath your navel. You hum.

Price crosses his arms. Flicks his stupid eyes toward the fluttering curtains. “How often d’you leave this open?”

Your face pinches. “I mean—pretty often? It’s hot, Price. And in case you haven’t noticed,” you wave your hand to the general state of disrepair, “I don’t exactly have good circulation in here.”

This gives him pause. Whatever plan he’s recalibrating, you want no part of it. You do notice that he hasn’t put his hands in his pockets since he showed up on your doorstep, instead favoring the use of his left hand to rub his chin. 

“Come over here and close the window.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. “...Close the window? Price, you can’t be serious.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Can’t…can’t you close it?”

“It’s not my window. Can’t do everythin’ for you.”

He stares at you expectantly. Your tailbone is beginning to throb, and for some damning reason, that note still ringing bright in the back of your skull. That’s good. Good, good, good.

Price catches that eager glint the moment it surfaces.

“Go on then, love.” He tips his head. “Close it.”

The rest of you surfaces slowly. You look back for a moment at the indent left on the couch, think about how long that imprint will be there until you feel inclined to fluff out those cushions again.

(Later. You’ll get to it later.)

Shutting the window doesn’t take much effort, but the swampy temperature is noticeable. You turn around a little too quickly, so you hold an arm out to the now sealed vault in an exaggerated show of bravado. I did it, see?

Price slides past you to look outside. He purses his lips when he finds what he’s looking for, and you can almost see the note being stashed into some faraway file.

He turns to you. “Keep this window closed till further notice,” and a hand reaches out to tug the curtains shut, and yellow from the lamp you’d left on last night washes over the room instantly.

“Price.”

“I take my work seriously. You take yours seriously, you’ll need me.”

It feels like a slap in the face. “I do, but that doesn’t mean—”

“My job,” and he points to himself, then to you, “is to keep you out of harm's way. Can’t do this if you don’t trust me.”

“You’re asking a lot for someone who hasn’t—”

You go silent as he reaches a hand into a back pocket, pulls out his hand and you count one, two, three square devices around the size of a nail.

“Busted lock, three faulty cameras, all outside. You’re lucky these people are idiots.” He shoves them back into his pocket before returning his focus to you. “You need me.”

You blink. 

Price smiles, raises his eyebrows as if the conversation is already over. “Hungry?”

You stumble back. “But what about—what about the apartment?”

“S’fine,” he says. He checks his watch. “I know a couple guys, you’re in good hands.”

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Did Someone Say Running Back to Fiction to Cope??

It's probably safe to call this Me Losing My Mind over Veilguard 5/??

One of the things upsetting me the absolute most is no mention from the Inquisitor about Varric's death. Perhaps the most integral storytelling mechanism and all around champion of reluctant heroes has been taken away from us, and one of the people he was closest to doesn't feel even a little compelled to discuss him with his apprentice?

I'm still a little dumbfounded, clearly.

Even if we as fans didn't deserve better, Varric deserved better. I've always believed that the better the character, the better a death they deserve when it's their time to go.

So anyways. In my smooth pea brain, I can't reconcile a world in which Lavellan shows up with her unconditional love blazing without first confronting and resolving the fact that her love has led to the death of one of her closest friends. So it's back to the drawing (writing?) board to soothe my disappointed soul.

I saw a version of Varric's letter to a Solas-mancing Lavellan that was datamined and ran with it.

One: All the Words Unwritten

Charter,

Yes, the trail went cold, but we haven’t entirely lost it. Solas left us a little farewell note. So I’m not giving up just yet. Maybe it’s gullible of me, but I know the Inquisitor feels the same: Solas isn’t too far gone to save. And she’d never forgive me if I didn’t try. But I don’t think I’m wrong here. Solas didn’t have to warn me and Harding off the chase when he could’ve killed us like the others who came after him. I don’t think he wants to do this. So, I’m taking the chance. Tell the Inquisitor…tell her I’ll bring him back.

—Varric

Her first tear spatters onto the parchment. The final sentence becomes an ink-stained massacre, and she throws it far away before she can lose any more of the handwriting she’ll never again see waiting for her above the seal representing his best friend’s house. Her palms bite into the unsanded wood, welcoming the bite of pain as she shoves back from the recovered tree stump she’s been using as a desk.

“Inquisitor.”

Morrigan’s voice doesn’t register, hardly rises over the sound of blood rushing through her ears like an open wound. Gods, wrong comparison . But there it is, playing out against the darkness of her eyelids every time she blinks to try and stem the flow of more tears. The wound in Varric’s chest, gushing with no one to hold pressure over it, to ensure the rise and fall of his sternum until help could arrive, no one to watch his back because the woman who did it best is no longer able to. This too, is her fault, and there has hardly been a conversation in the years that followed where she hasn’t looked into Varric’s quieter, sadder eyes and wanted to beg him for a forgiveness she knows he’d have frowned at her for needing. 

It had been her job to keep him safe now, her promise to Hawke that the choice to become another martyred hero in Ferelden’s bloody history wasn’t in vain. And here was the proof at last that she was every inch the fantasy-addled fool bards wrote about when inspiration ran dry. Here was the proof that her hope was a mantle, weighing down everyone around her until there was nothing left but blurred ink and bloodstained pages in the famed Inquisitor Lavellan’s wake. 

[faruna]

Hello! I’m back with more furifaru!

Modern AU where they are teachers at the same school:

info under the cut:

So Furina used to be this big, French actress who sacrificed every ounce of herself for her career but was caught in some sort of scandal and fell from grace. She finds that teaching is a healthier way to pursue her passion for the stage and that she feels content now that she has more agency over her life. (The one thing I really like about Furina’s story quest is how skillfully she guides the theater troupe, it gives the impression that she’d be a very insightful and caring teacher.) Some people still have mixed feelings about her but the students who take her class are pleasantly surprised by how approachable she is in person. Every musical she directs is so ridiculously over the top for a school production, and yet they pull it off brilliantly every time so the tickets always sell out immediately.

I could see Faruzan teaching Geometry and maybe one Archeology class that she had to fight the school board to have. She used to do fieldwork as an archeologist but at one point she got lost in a system of caves and though she was eventually saved it took a while for her to physically recover. Her lectures are dense sometimes but she has some very exciting stories to tell. She has that same grandmotherly attitude but she’s a young teacher who accomplished a lot and she really just wants to be respected as such. The curriculum is a bit daunting but if you participate in class she’ll give you a candy.

Faruzan’s classroom is close to the auditorium and at first she’s irritated by all the noise down the hall and has definitely marched into Furina’s class to complain but over time she develops a fondness for the theater professor next door. (Furina is immediately smitten and all her students can tell. They joke about it relentlessly and applaud when she finally manages to ask Madam Faruzan out on a date)

Hopefully I’ll have time to draw more of them later.

Thank you for reading!

[ikn0wtheend]

thoroughfare - modern!ellie x reader

summary: you knew ellie once and a road trip back home together complicates things more than it should. 

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

word count: ~4.5k

c/w: angst, fluff, mutual pining, language, implied sex, hopeful ending? loser lesbians as always.

a/n: um I do not know where this came from seeing as this is quite the diversion from ‘the record’ but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I was just listening to ethel cain’s ‘thoroughfare’ (as a girlie does) and I blacked out and apparently wrote 4k words of whatever this is. spoiler alert: they don’t even make it back home, they drive for like 5 hours. as always let me know what you think and if you’d like me to make this a series (I'm currently on the fence about it). <3

main masterlist & thoroughfare [2]

It was hot. The kind of hot that doesn’t give you a reprieve no matter how many layers you take off or how hard you fan yourself with your hand. It was sticky and miserable. You want to claw at your skin. 

Sitting on the sidewalk you waited for Dina to arrive, you hadn’t really gotten the full details from her. All she had said was “meet outside your apartment” giving you a specific day at a specific time. But you couldn’t complain, you were the one that had called her in distress, forgetting about timezones when she answered the phone half-awake.

Someone eclipses the sun from their spot next to you. You turn with your hand above your brow to get a better look at them and when you do your face automatically scrunches up. 

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“Why the fuck are you sitting on the sidewalk?” 

You stand up, brushing your pants off. “Oh fuck you, Ellie.” 

“No fuck you.” She retorts.

You were going to punch her. Right here. Right on this very sidewalk. You were going to draw your fist back and punch the freckles on her left cheek off of her face. You clench your fists. “I’m not gonna stand here and argue with you.” 

“You started it.” 

“You’re really gonna play the blame game?”

“Who the fuck calls it a ‘blame game’?”

“Literally everybody you fuckwad.”

“So we’re calling each other names now?” She places both hands on her hips. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I see you’ve lost your touch.” You mirrored her stance. “Asshole isn’t very creative.”

“Neither is fuckwad, you fuckwad.”

You throw your hands up. “Jesus Christ, you’re impossible.”

“No you’re imposs-”

Your phone rang interrupting Ellie from finishing, what you were sure was a very clever rebuttal, Dina’s name flashing on the screen. You quickly turn your back to Ellie and answer.

“Hey-”

Dina cuts you off. “Has she shown up yet?”

“Who?” 

“Ellie.” 

You sucked in a breath and pinch between your eyes. “Dina, please don’t tell me my ride across the country is Ellie.” You chanced a look at the girl in question, painfully aware of the way she raised her eyebrows to remind you she could still hear you. 

“Um yeah? You said you need a ride and that it was urgent and Ellie was closest.” Dina stated simply. As though she didn’t know that this was bound to create a mess, one you might not recover from. 

“Okay maybe I exaggerated when I said ‘urgent’, I would’ve happily of waited for you or Jesse.” The words rush out of you, eager to get her to understand and to undo this mess. 

“You were literally in tears when you called and like I said Ellie was closest. You’ll be fine.” She said flippantly. As though she wasn’t a first-hand witness to the shit-storm that had happened two years ago. 

“I don’t think we share the same definition of ‘fine’, Dina.” Her name comes out with a bite. 

You hear a long sigh. “Look just trust me on this. And hey maybe this will be good for the both of you, you’ll finally be able to talk about it.” 

“Did it even occur to you that I left because I didn’t want to talk about it?” 

“Fair point.” She concedes. “But listen I can’t come get you until next week, and that's being generous, so just suck it up and come home. I miss you.”

Fuck, you thought. You couldn’t stay here, not for another week, and hearing Dina say she missed you made you press the heel of you palm into your chest to try and calm the ache. It wasn’t the first time she had told you she missed you since you left, you heard it everytime you called. Sometimes when the time stretched thin between the two of you she would send you a text reminding you she was thinking of you. That she hadn’t forgotten. 

“Okay.” 

“Yeah?” You can hear the concern in her voice now. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” You clear your throat. “I miss you too.” You really did.

She throws out a number of goodbyes and ‘I love you’s’, words you return, before she hangs up. You take a deep breath before turning to look at Ellie again who was standing there with your bags in her arms. She looked silly, you thought. Adorable. You scowl.

“I can carry my own things you know?” 

“Just get your arse across the road and into the car.”

“Sir yes sir.” 

You think you hear a huff of laughter escape her, you think the heat is making you imagine things.

You’re avoiding looking at Ellie, instead you’re focused on the stretch of road laid out in front of you. The two of you had been stuck at a stand-still for the last couple of hours, neither wanting to be the one to break the silence. Maybe it had less to do with not wanting to and more to do with not knowing what to say. 

You knew her once, could tell anyone that would listen how loud she liked her music, the way she took her tea. You knew which side of the bed she preferred despite her protests that it was childish to have a favourite - it was the left. 

You knew her. You knew her. You knew her. 

You’re not sure if you still do. Her hair is different and her shoes look new - you don’t recognise the brand of air freshener hanging from the mirror. This time when you feel an ache in your chest it feels like something akin to grief. But she still looks like your life two years ago and the thought that you might not look the same makes you slump in your chair. 

It’s another silent hour before you make your first stop at the gas station, even so Ellie still gets out of the car without saying a word. You watch her for a second, eyeing the way she leaned back against the car with her arms crossed over her chest, before unbuckling your seatbelt and heading inside to grab some snacks. 

You take your time browsing down the aisles, glad for the chance to stretch your legs for a bit. There was something about gas stations that made you nostalgic, something about you and Ellie at a gas station that made you nostalgic even though she was outside pumping the gas. There were too many times to count when the two of you would make your way to the closest one at all hours of the night to stockpile on chips and candy for movie nights. You would walk through every single aisle and she would follow, not once complaining over the fact that you got the same things everytime and they were two aisles over. She would hold out a hand to carry the food and you would pay, swatting at her whenever she tried to sneak her card to the cashier who looked far too tired to even act amused. Ellie would say ‘thank you’ and you would tell her that it was on her next time although you both knew that was a lie. 

So you allow your mind to wander and your feet to carry you aimlessly. You rely on muscle memory to take you where you need to go because all these gas stations are built the same. You pay and try to leave the memories at the automatic doors.

Ellie is still standing outside the car when you exit with a full bag, arms still crossed. You call her name and chuck a chocolate bar at her a bit more aggressively than you originally planned, because it hits her square in the chest and falls to the ground with a sad splat. Ellie looks at you irritated. 

“What the fuck?” 

You wince, shoulders up by your ears. “Sorry.” You say sheepishly. 

She rolls her eyes as she bends down to grab the bar off of the ground, you see the moment her harden gaze softens and as quick as it was there it was gone again. She rises slowly, flipping the bar around in her hands. 

“I hope they’re still your favourite.” You wring your hands together.

She nods. “Get in the car, we gotta go.” Before you can respond she turns her back to you and retreats to the car. 

You puff out your cheeks before blowing the air out and make your way back to the passenger side, dumping your bag of snacks onto the floor in front of you. You buckle your seatbelt and lift your head to see Ellie already looking at you, she raises an eyebrow in lieu of asking if you’re ready. You nod.

The two of you drive in silence for roughly another 30 minutes before the urge to speak hits you. The last time you were in this car, you and Ellie talked until you couldn’t breathe, saying whatever was on your mind and taking breaks to sing whatever song was playing. You fear that if you don’t say something now you might choke. 

“Do you remember the time Dina was learning to drive and she hit the curb so hard she started crying?” You don’t know why this is the thing your brain conjured up, maybe the combination of recycled air and the smell of Ellie’s cologne was getting to you. 

Ellie snorts in surprise and looks between you and road. “How could I forget. We had to drive home with a flat tire.”

You’re laughing now, “And you had to bribe her back into the car with the promise of burgers.” You throw your head back. 

Ellie’s laughing now too, a far away look on her face. “Yeah I did, didn’t I? Jesus Christ I thought she was gonna stand in the middle of the street all night and someone was gonna run her over, honestly I wouldn’t of blamed them.” One of her hands was off the wheel and gesturing wildly. “I don’t even know why she was standing on the road, the car was halfway up the sidewalk she should’ve stood there.”

Your laughter tapers off but a wistful smile remains on your face, you see Ellie look at you funny out of the corner of your eye. “What?” You ask softly, your eyes now on her profile. Pretty, you think.

“Nothing. Your laugh sounds the same.”

You struggle to maintain your composure. “Is that a bad thing?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just makes me remember.”

You don’t ask what exactly it was she remembers, because you think that it doesn’t really matter. She remembers your laugh and that's enough for you. It has to be, because you know you weren’t in the position to ask for more. 

 Ellie hesitantly calls out your name this time. 

“Yeah?”

“Why did you leave?”

The question was sobering, you were expecting it the moment you saw her yet it still made you flinch. “I couldn’t stay.” You say. 

You don’t elaborate.

She furrows her brow and you have the urge to smooth it out gently with your thumb and apologise for being the reason that its there. “Why didn’t you come back?” She tries again, voice strained like it hurt her to ask. Maybe it did.

You give her a smile. “I am now aren’t I?” 

“I don’t know, are you?”

Your smile falters. 

“Fuck you.” You snap, smile fully gone and replaced with something harsh. You quickly try and backtrack. “I’m sorry-”

“No it’s okay.” You both know it’s not okay. “I shouldn’t of asked.”

“Ellie-”

“Do you want to listen to something?” She interjects as she reaches over you to open the glovebox and pull out a stack of CD’s with one hand, you remember buying her some of them, she plops them down in your lap. “Take your pick. That Fleetwood Mac one is in there somewhere if that’s still your thing.” It was still your thing. 

You grab something different instead, something that you couldn’t immediately attach a memory to and put it in the slot and press play. 

You had swapped out the CD playing twice before you finally gathered the courage to speak to Ellie again, still embarrassed you had thrown your words at her face. 

“How have you been?” You wince at your own words.

She turns to look at you incredulously. “Is that really what you’re going with?” 

You huff even though you knew that it was a dumb question. “Fine. Why did you say yes to driving me home?” 

“Dina forced me.” She was quick with her response.

You let the words sink in before asking another question. “You still could’ve said no.” The Ellie you knew was much more stubborn than Dina, could often outlast any insisting from her.

You watch as she shuffles in her seat and sighs. “Yeah I could’ve but then she would’ve annoyed me about it for forever, so it was easier to just say yes right off the bat.”

Silence fills the air once more as you think about it. Something wasn’t right and perhaps the stifling air in the car was making you agitated or perhaps Ellie wasn’t telling you the truth. The sky was so blue out here, you think.

“Not everything has to mean something.” She blurts out in irritation.

You turn your head to find her already looking at you. “What?”

“I can tell you’re sitting there trying to pick apart what I just said.” She bites at you like you did her, eyes darting between you and the road rapidly as her knuckles grow white from where she clenches the steering wheel. “You do it so fucking much that you forget to fucking listen. Not everyone is trying to speak to you in fucking riddles you know? Maybe, just maybe, when someone tells you their favourite colour’s blue they just really fucking love the colour blue. It has nothing to do with the ocean or the sky, it’s just something that is.”

There was a version of you that she knew and probably was expecting, the same version of you that had snapped at her earlier. That was a small lapse, one apparently Ellie managed to bring out of you. But that part of you that resides somewhere in your chest wanted to yell at her, deny everything she had just said and say something back that would hurt her - hurt you too when you see the look on her face. But nowadays you’re mostly just tired. Besides, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

You click your tongue and hold her stare when she looks back at you. “You done?”

Her chest heaves. “Yes.”

“Good.” You look away. “Focus on the road.”

You hum along to the song playing over the sound of her deep breathing as she tries to calm herself down. When some time passes you open up a bag of what used to be her favourite chips, you were unsure if she still liked them, but you still offer them to her first. You hold the bag steady when she huffs and sticks a hand into the bag to grab some. You’re still mad at her and you’re sure that she’s still mad at you, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care when she continues to crunch on the chips like her life depended on them. It was all so familiar.

Your anger had settled into quiet exhaustion when Ellie pulls into a 24-hour diner. It was iffy-looking but there was something oddly charming about it. You follow her inside and take note of the outdated furniture and the weird smell permeating throughout the room, you like it, you think. 

Ellie slides into a booth and sitting across from her you see her under the fluorescent lights. She looked more gaunt here, eye bags prominent. You still thought she looked good. You pretend to look at the menu when its placed in front of you by a young teenage girl, knowing what you’ll get but wanting to look busy. The waitress, Betty her name tag says, comes by with a pot of coffee in her hand, she fills up your mug first and goes to fill up Ellie’s when you quickly cover the cup with your hand. Betty’s look of initial confusion is replaced with a big grin. 

“So, what can I get ya?” Her voice is chipper. 

You open your mouth the speak but Ellie beats you to the punch.

“She’ll get the pancakes, extra strawberries, and I’ll just get some bacon and eggs please.” Her eyes widen. “Sorry-”

“-No, it’s okay.”

“I must be tired from driving. I wasn’t really thinking-”

“-No really it’s okay.”

The sound of both your voices overlap as Ellie tries to apologise and as you try to tell her that it’s okay. It’s okay that she still knows you. You see Betty out of the corner of your eye watching in amusement, but to be fair the diner was empty so this was probably the most entertainment the place had been in awhile. 

“Is that all?” Betty asks, grin still taking over her face. 

“She’ll get a diet coke.” You say nodding your head in Ellie’s direction. She looks away with rosy cheeks.

“Y’all are cute. I’ll be right back.” You watch as Betty practically skips away. This diner was oddly charming indeed. 

You’re fiddling with the handle of your coffee cup when Ellie’s drink is deposited in front of her. There was an outrageous curly straw swirling from the tall glass and the sheer disbelief on Ellie’s face made you want to laugh. You lift your mug to hide your face behind it. It was decided then that you and Betty would make great friends.

“You think this is funny don’t you?” The defeat in Ellie’s face is endearing. 

You take a loud sip of your coffee, eyes meeting hers over your cup. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She sighs. 

“It’s a straw Ellie.” You say, unable to hide the teasing in your tone. “If you don’t want to drink from it just drink straight from the glass.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eyes when she takes her first sip and you try to look anywhere but her mouth around that damn straw. She sucks the drink up and you watch the liquid travel around in its various loop-de-loops, Ellie releases the straw between her lips with an exaggerated lip smack. “Refreshing.”

You snort. “You’re making me jealous.”

She takes the opportunity. “Of the straw?” A single eyebrow lifts in question. 

“No you bitch.” You feel yourself begin to fluster. “I obviously meant of you. Because you got a cool straw and I got this chipped mug. I mean look at it-” you gesture wildly towards it, “-its bright pink and has like a million swirly things.” Swirly things? Really? Maybe Betty is better off remaining your waitress and not your best friend. It wouldn’t be too big of a loss, you didn’t know her that well anyway.

Ellie was laughing, very clearly proud of herself. “I’m just fucking with you.” She says. “You know that right?”

Right.

You avoid her eyes that were looking for yours, cheeks still warm. “Of course, no harm done.”

“Good.”

There’s a stretch of silence before you hesitantly break it. “Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

You pointedly make eye contact with her hoping that she sees if for what it is, an apology or an admission, either way you hoped she saw it. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t of stayed. Back in the car.” You hold up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “I know you’re gonna ask me why, but I don’t know if I can you reason.” 

She reaches across the table to grab your hand that had abandoned your mug. She looked feral in a way, eyes wild. “Try.” She begs. “Please.”

You nod and try to clear the lump forming in your throat. “I think I always wanted to leave, think you knew that too, but I wasn’t gonna leave without you and you weren’t gonna stay without me.” Ellie nods and you continue. “And I would’ve been happy, more than happy to continuing the life that I was living with you. You were my best friend. But do you remember when we got into the argument? The one right before I left?”

You watch as Ellie looks down at your intertwined hands and gulps. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Yeah I remember it too.” You give her hand a squeeze. “I called you every name in the book and you told me that it was suffocating being my friend.” 

She grips you tighter as though she was scared you’ll pull away. “I didn’t mean it-”

“I know.” At the time you wished you had read between the lines to find the something in her words, in the same way she had berated you over in the car. Because she did mean it when she said it and you had felt the same way back but hadn’t put it into words. The two of you were suffocated by the love you had for each other that was disguised as being merely platonic. “But Ellie, I left because I was suffocating me too.” 

It seemed as though Betty had impeccable timing because there she was happy as a clam with your two plates of food. You look at Ellie looking at your hands still holding each other and you think Betty was either your saviour or your worst enemy. 

“Here you two go!” You and Ellie break apart. “And here’s your extra strawberries.” Betty gives you a wink and skips back to wherever she appeared from. 

Ellie looks between you and the food. You give her a smile. “Eat. I’ll still be here to talk about it later.” The words you said sounded awfully like a promise.

Betty comes back to grab your empty plates, coffee in hand as she pours you another. “Can I get you another diet coke?” She tempts.

“No I’m okay. Thank you.” Ellie says.

“No problem, holler if you need anything.” There she goes again.

Ellie calls your name this time, you leave your mug untouched. “What did you mean when you said that you were suffocating yourself too?”

“Everytime I looked at you I felt like I was dying.” It wasn’t a full answer, but you weren’t ready to give so much of yourself away. You feel the same way you did two years ago before you left. “Do you understand?” Please understand, you think.

She looks at you with something in her stare that feels holy, like a revelation. “Yeah I think I do.” 

The period of time between you meeting Ellie and now is often remembered in differing stages of hurt. The hurt in your hands when you clenched your fists too tightly that time in class when you saw her staring at a girl you couldn’t even name. The hurt on your hip when the two of you got matching tattoos. The hurt in your heart when you went away and stayed away. 

The waiting hurt and so did the leaving.

And the realisation that it didn’t need to hurt, especially for as long as you did, left you feeling unsettled. The hurt was familiar, almost as familiar as Ellie, and you didn’t know if you could leave it behind too. Didn’t know if you would survive it. But surviving wasn’t living and this hurt could feel different. Because maybe, finally, all this love will have a place to go. 

You stand up to go pay and Ellie doesn’t try to stop you like she used to. You leave Betty a big tip and she gives you a cheesy grin in return with her thanks. Ellie is waiting by the front door with her shoulders slumped and hands fiddling when you turn around. You walk towards her. 

“Let’s stop somewhere for the night, yeah?”

“Yeah-” her voice cracks and she clears her throat, “-yeah sounds good.”

When you arrive to the closest motel it wasn’t nearly half as charming as the diner you had just eaten in. There was also no Betty to greet you at the front desk, instead a ragged man who was staring a bit too hard at you told you there was only one room left available. He looked far too happy when he sensed your discomfort. 

Ellie places a foot right in front of where you’re standing and steps forward, obstructing your view. “We’ll take it.” She pays this time.

The man throws the keys on top of the counter and grumbles to himself. Ellie places a hand on the small of your back when you turn to walk away and you subconsciously lean into it before you feel her nudge you along. The two of you made the walk to your room in silence but you can still feel the heat from her hand radiating up your spine. You shiver.

Ellie taps your hip, a gesture you remember, to get you to move aside. She swings both bags she was carrying on her shoulder higher so she can open the door and you’re immediately met with the sight of a bed, there was other furniture in the room but the bed really stood out. 

There was one bed. 

It’s okay, you thought. You had shared a bed with Ellie multiple times, you practically lived at her house that one summer and all the summers following. 

“Are you coming?”

You don’t trust your words so you nod and step inside. You didn’t realise closing the door would make the room seem infinitely smaller otherwise you might’ve left it open and just dealt with whatever the consequences were. Because there was still only one bed inside of a really small room. You try and play it cool. 

“You’re taking the left.” Smooth.

Ellie agrees easily. “Fine by me.”

You watch as she throws the bags onto the bed and begin rooting through hers, pulling out an old t-shirt that you recognised and a pair of sweatpants. She makes her way to the bathroom without once looking at you. You huff and grab your pyjamas too, changing into them hurriedly and lying down on the right side.

Ellie turns off the light and joins you in bed, the two of you staring at the ceiling. You hear her breathing and it sounds like your childhood. It sounds like your future too, the one you dream but never talk about. 

You both lay there under the covers on your backs and you think about how close she is to you. You didn’t know how to tell her you missed her, there simply weren’t enough words in the English language to express it, so you remained quiet. You think a lifetime has past when she decides to speak. In a way it had because you feel a new you being created in this dirty motel room. 

“I hate you for leaving.” Without me. You hear the unspoken words this time.

“I know.” 

“I hate you.” She states, stance firm.

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.”

You don’t know who reaches for who first, all you know is that you turn over and there she was, consuming your senses in a way only she knows how. You think about her lips on yours and the way her tongue traces your bottom lip. You think about her hands gripping your waist tight and the way she sighs into your mouth, you think that you want her to do it again. You think that everything about this road trip was doomed from the start. You think that it’s a problem for tomorrow’s version of you to deal with. 

You stop thinking when she pulls you on top of her and tugs at your shirt. You sigh into her mouth this time. 

[true-blue-sonic]

Got an idea for an Espilver fic taking place during Forces from an ask, so enjoy ^-^

~~~~

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?!”

Sonic shoots right up. The walls of the infirmary shake, the sweet nurse tending to him and Silver loses all colour in her face, and the door to outside heaves a deafening creak as Espio hurls it open and slams it against the wall.

“Hey, Espio,” Silver purrs from one bed over.

“Um,” the nurse brings out in a squeak. “Uh, Mister Espio…!”

Espio does not listen from where he comes storming inside. And it has been six months, and as much as Sonic hates it, that long stretch of time has been enough to make most memories of his dearest friends just a bit dulled at the edges and muted as a whole.

But he’s never seen the chameleon looking this frantic before, of that he is certain.

“Are you okay?!” is the next thing that gets yelled out, luckily at a more manageable volume. Probably because a handful of manic paces has put Espio right next to Silver’s twitching ears… and Sonic stares, just a bit dumbfounded, as purple arms fling themselves over a grey chest and the duo becomes one.

“Help,” the nurse mouths to Sonic from where she stands frozen in a corner, her eyes wide and terrified. He doesn’t really know either, the speedster shrugs back. Heck, as far as he knew, both Silver and Espio aren’t exactly fond of being touched… yet that idea couldn’t fit more poorly with the hug they’re both in now, considering how Espio all but lays half on Silver’s chest and Silver presses their heads together as if to merge them both into a single being of fright and affection. When Sonic strains his ears he can hear Silver’s murmurs that it’s okay, and Espio’s that it’s very much not, and the speedster slowly sinks down into the pillows again. Not that he wants to listen in or anything, but this nurse is both sweet and very good at insisting he and Silver stay here to rest and recover. Getting up now will only draw his friends’ attention in all the wrong ways. Thus he waits, gaze flicking over the two bodies so tautly pressed against each other until finally, slowly, chameleon pulls away.

“I’m okay. Really,” Silver whispers, fingers curling around Espio’s hand. It gets tugged up to a pale peach muzzle, that gets cupped ever so tenderly for a moment while the two seem to drown in each other’s eyes.

Sonic cannot place the look on Espio’s face, not exactly. Anger, sure; relief, certainly. But also something else…?

“That… that’s good,” the other shakily nods back. Purple shoulders sink down, the noise from a chair scraping over the ground making Sonic grimace as psychokinesis pulls it closer and Espio collapses on top of it. Silence stretches out afterwards, in which Silver expectantly studies Espio and Sonic does too… until the chameleon’s face of relief shifts and tenses. “Because what were you thinking. Have you lost your mind?!” follows, much more heatedly. “You can’t just- You didn’t even-!”

“I told you I was going to fight him. The soldiers needed hope,” Silver shrugs, altogether callously.

“You can’t just say that to me and then just leave!”

Silver smiles; half guiltily, half cheekily. “I did give you a kiss. That very much did happen.”

“Yes,” Espio huffs back, yet the way his hand tenses around Silver’s does not match the irate lashing of his tail or the unwavering eye contact between two golden gazes. Which is lucky for Sonic, whose own eyes have widened to plates as he hears that confession.

Kissed?

...But he knows better than to speak up now, what with the way Espio is fretting. “And then you ran off,” the chameleon adds with just the smallest of wavering cracks in his voice, “and you nearly-!”

“Nearly dying isn’t actually dying," the absolutely incorrigible response comes, and that at least is a normal Silver thing to say amidst some others Sonic would never, ever have expected to hear from him.

“…No. No, it is not.” Face souring Espio holds Silver close still, Sonic grimacing at the look of deeply concerned anger twisting his features. He knows well enough that Espio feels strongly about the protection of Charmy especially and also Vector…

But apparently, in the past six months Silver had been added to that as well.

“And besides,” the hedgehog in question continues, “Amy called Sonic in for me immediately. Even if we lost, it was a sign for the people that it’s not hopeless and our foe not invincible.”

“That- Maybe, but- You…!” are the approximate sputters filling the air, Espio shifting and fussing. “I don’t… Don’t you dare do that ever again! Next time this happens, I’m going with you!”

“Ooh. A date,” Silver grins… and Sonic cannot muffle a surprised snort this time.

Two sets of golden eyes shoot over in an instant, equally narrowed and peeved. “Sonic. It is rude to listen in on others’ conversations,” Espio speaks up first, a veneer of threatening politeness in his voice.

“Yes! This isn’t your business,” Silver nods, though his lips twitch up more amusedly and a discreet wink follows as well. Shifting himself upwards with a quiet groan the hedgehog rolls his eyes as gloved hands grasp and tug at him to push him down, his head altogether leaning into Espio’s chest with how he’s sitting. “Perhaps you should leave Espio and me to discuss this in private, hmm?”

“Woops! Sorry,” Sonic retorts, weighing his options with especially Espio glaring a hole in him. Silver clearly wants him to leave… and, coincidentally, he himself would rather be out and about as well, and staying in stuffy infirmaries doesn’t exactly fit with that. Besides, relationships aren’t his thing; nor is he one for lovey-dovey discussions and flirting or relationship arguments, or whatever it is Silver and Espio are doing now. None of his business.

Stifling a sigh of relief despite the aching and complaining in his legs Sonic pushes himself onto the ground, giving the nurse shooting over with a protesting noise an assuring smile. Laying still isn’t his thing either; going on a walk sounds exactly like what he needs, after everything. “I’ll be going on a short trip around the Resistance,” the speedster decrees, gratefully wrapping an arm around the nurse’s shoulder to stabilise himself. She probably also shouldn’t stay here if Silver and Espio are going to have a heated argument or apparently make out; Sonic can’t exactly tell which one if more likely with how the two are acting. Shuffling to the door with her help the speedster shoots them a wink. “Have fun.”

“We will,” Silver begins to agree-

Except Espio leans over, tail lashing and the hedgehog’s face grabbed firmly.

“After I’m done scolding you.”

“Espio,” Silver grouses back, floundering in his grasp, and that is the last Sonic sees of what they’re doing as he limps through the cracked door into the hallway. It’s not the last he hears: that would be what he suspects is a kiss, if Espio’s surprised noise followed by a soft sigh and Silver’s happy hum within a suspicious stretch of silence is any indication.

…And after that, it’s Espio, in an endless ramble about responsibility and not being reckless and being careful on the battlefield.

“…Romantic?” the nurse whispers as if she’s scared Espio will overhear, Sonic laughing at that. He can only hope for Silver the other can sneak in some more kisses to quiet Espio down if that’s what they’re doing with each other these days. Well, things can change in six months, that much is obvious. And why would love be unfindable in times of war?

“That’s who Espio and Silver are,” he assures his current companion. “Headstrong, the both of them.”

Pulling a scolding face herself the nurse shakes her head. “As are you, Mister Sonic. Sit down. You must rest,” the speedster gets ordered, the nurse all but pushing him onto the first seat they come across in some quiet area with a few couches and chairs. Sonic lets her, gesturing for her to sit down as well and humming sympathetically at her sigh as she collapses into the cushions as well. “I… I hope those two will be alright,” follows slowly. “Mister Espio seems… upset. I think.”

A smile forms on Sonic’s face before he can help it. “I know them well enough. They will be, I promise.”

Alright and dating and in love with each other, apparently.

Well, Sonic tells himself as he makes himself comfortable for the coming few hours, any sign that love and faith and hope persevere even in the darkest of times is one the Resistance can use to keep their heads up, and one that proves wrong their adversary on top. And when Espio’s voice in the distance has finally quieted down again and Sonic has limped his way back to the infirmary to get some shuteye, the speedster can only smile at the both of them:

Espio laying on the blankets with Silver underneath, snuggled in his embrace, and both as closely held together as possible.

Seems like they’ll have a few things to celebrate once this war is over, Sonic smiles to himself; a comforting thought that lulls him into a gentle sleep himself.