#It's been an absolute delight writing with you !

[musicallisto]

AHHHH this was so so good!!! party 4 u is such an excellent choice for lando and you made that shine here. exes to ??? is all i've been finding myself able to write lately, so it was so pleasing to see it from another angle, and what a delightful angle; you really master the bittersweet reunion of two people who were once carnally intertwined and are now worse than strangers. the metaphors you choose—"a girl with neon in her bones, with the necessity to crack in order to shine a little"—HELLO?? please let me inhabit your mind i bet it goes absolutely crazy in there. my favorite part was "Tracks after tracks, you dance for Lando to watch, and you can’t remember if it was tears or tongues that wiped the specks of glitters on your cheek", though. SUCH a banger line don't even get me started on the specific choice of the word tracks and all its meanings

✶ WATCH ME PARTY ON YOU

summary: post-race parties usually don't come with invitations, but this one does. you understand why when you see lando norris, your ex, mixing on a rooftop in monaco.

F1 MASTERLIST | LN4 MASTERLIST

pairing: lando norris x ex!f!reader

wc: 1.5K

cw: alcohol, many many the great gatsby references because party 4 u is just so tgg coded, exes to ???, reader is bisexual because i'm bisexual and i'm the writer, complicated relationship, not proofread.

note: requested here! i decided that writer's block wouldn't get me and that no matter how much i hated it i wouldn't delete a word once it's on the page, enjoy this one sitting madness <3

THE INVITATION HAD come gold-lettered, and your name nowhere to be seen on the expensive, grainy material of the paper. You had laughed in Kika’s face, because no one ever came to post-Grand Prix parties with invitations— you knew someone who knew someone who knew a friend of the person who was invited, and it was proof enough. The brunette shrugged, muttering something about a special occasion as she gently sweeped the bristles of her highlighter brush on your cheekbone.

Monaco is small when you’re someone, which is why every face on the rooftop is familiar. You leave lipstick stains on darkening blush as acknowledgement even if first names escaped you, and welcomed the cool droplets of those who dipped in the pool for celebration against your burning skin. The music throbbed low and intimate: lights were dark purple swirling with the dangerous golden hem of your dress, your body pulled flush against Kika’s. There was something about the way the beat looped, syrupy and sticking to your collarbones in its sweetness, that turned the atmosphere heavy with secrecy.

The tongue of the girl you kissed tasted like vodka and cranberry juice, and the perfume of the man with his hand on your hips smelled of endless car rides from one country to another. They both ended up talking about the earlier Grand Prix, the words getting lost to you in the heat of the first hours of morning. Kika had told you about the winner, which you promptly forgot about— she looked at you with barely contained pity when you answered you no longer tracked the fingerprints staining the trophies.

“The music’s good!” the girl comments. You nod through the lemony haze of your cocktail— it was good. Familiar, even, and your eyes turn to the booth at the very end of the rooftop, where the sky brushes the railing with modest curiosity.

The name Kika had uttered between layers of sounds crashed onto you.

He’s up on a platform, one headphone half-on and his shirt half-opened in a similar fashion, exposing the slick of his tan skin under the Monaco air. His curls are longer, grazing the back of his neck the way you used to. The sickeningly saccharine liqueur that is melancholy sobers you right up: Lando Norris was not supposed to be good at this—the mixing thing he picked up after too many nights post-race with too much adrenaline and too little sleep—but somehow he is. Of course he is.

Lando excelled at everything he set his mind to. Yet, when it came to you, to the quiet maintenance of love  and all the small, thankless instances that came with it, he faltered.

You weren’t built for waiting. Patience was a language you never learned; the world had never asked you to slow down, so you never did. Life moved with you— not the other way around. When Lando didn’t show up the way you needed, you didn’t wait for him to catch up. 

You left before he even had the chance to prove if he ever would. 

The tangled mess of bodies dancing together under harsh brush strokes of lights stills for the half of a second, and memories come flooding back in the dull brown of strangers in train windows. As the beat lags, imperceptibly, and the pads of his fingers you imagine must still feel as rough as his steering wheel hovers over the board, you still knew him well enough to deduce he saw you too.

The crowd is champagne-colored when you go back dancing but your heart is already heavy with a hangover when your feet find the tempo. Lando’s eyes, as he navigates through the music for the night, glides over you like water when you drop in people’s arms, laughing and singing, one after the other. You didn’t enjoy it one bit— not because it was unwanted, but because the knowledge of his presence made you all too aware of the debauchery you’ve been indulging in ever since you left. The outside perception of your humanity was not something you liked to be reminded of.

Tracks after tracks, you dance for Lando to watch, and you can’t remember if it was tears or tongues that wiped the specks of glitters on your cheek.

The party doesn’t end in a cathartic split. It bleeds out, like so many other things.

Bit by bit, the bodies disperse. Laughter thins into whispers, lost to the humidity and the inevitable promise of tomorrow. The last bottles sweat themselves warm on sticky countertops, cadavers-shaped confettis floated in the pool, the shades of light going from enamel to watercolor, and somewhere below, Monaco exhales— restless and bright.

You lost sight of Kika hours ago, you realize as your bare feet plunged into the water. You find yourself alone again. Not in the literal sense— there are still a few limbs flung on velvet couches, a couple kissing like the night will never end. You wished it did, so you wouldn’t have to find yourself in your own company.

Behind you, the music switches to something treacly, ripping open parcels of your heart without much thought about the consequences on the feeble hold you had on it. The melody trickles down your spine. The first lyrics escape your lips like a well-oiled, forgotten jukebox.

You don’t look to see whose feet dips in the water next to yours. “That’s a nice song choice,” you comment instead, eyes locked on the dark water below. The melody spills like honey into the quiet. You remember swaying to it in the kitchen light, tucked comfortably in the warmth of his arm, the rare times he allowed you to settle between the shards of his self-doubt. He held you at the base of your spine like it was the only place he could linger without trembling.

The notes had never felt more intimate as they do now.

“Thought you might like it,” Lando answers, and the only bite behind it is the unforgivingness of the cool evening air on your bare shoulders.

The silence stretches for a minute longer than it should, dense. The last stragglers had stumbled awkwardly to the exit before the Brit spoke up again, the melody of the song echoing between each syllable. “I play it at the end of each after party,” he says, barely above a whisper, shifting. “In case you’d drop by.”

“You sent the invite.” It’s not a question.

Lando nod. “Kika told me you’d be in Monaco.” He breathes in, sitting a little straighter next to you. “I just… I wanted to know if that's what it would take.”

“You could have just asked.”

“I didn’t think you’d come if I did,” he says. It’s almost sheepish, as if he was the one declining your own party. He put you on a pedestal deserving of a marble idol— you were just another woman with neons in her bones, with the necessity to crack a little in order to shine. Nothing like who he pictured when he kissed you.

Which is why you replied, “Me neither.” Then, after a beat. “But I’m here, so now what?”

That undoes him a little, you can hear it in the hand he runs in his hair.

Lando draws a breath, pursuing something that already slipped past the fragile skin of his lips. “We could try again,” he offers, voice brittle with something desperate. “We could go back to what we were before, you and me. Before it all fell apart.”

You let yourself savor the possibility— but that’s what it was: a suggestion. You could play pretend at being a different person than you were back then, and Lando could too, but the truth was that you were still the same people who couldn’t push the thorny edges of their own minds to love each other properly. The city below sparkles, but the rooftop is dim, quiet.

“We can’t repeat the past, Lando.”

He turns to you fully then. You can finally catch the dark rim lining his lower lashes, and the flicker of something wide-eyed in his gaze. The want inside of them blurred into a child-like naiveness, which you could only compare to a boy staring through a looking glass and hoping to find the answers he seeked. “Why not?” he asks. “It was good, wasn’t it? While it lasted?”

The last rooftop light flickers behind you. Once, twice, and dies. A final green blink before you’re swallowed in darkness. The music stopped a few minutes ago, the only familiar rhythm now the aching pace of Lando’s breathing.

You don’t answer. You choose to kiss him instead, and it grounds you. His mouth is familiar, yet salted with nostalgia and softened by regret. His tongue slips in your mouth to swallow your secrets, his fingers wipe the black stains running down your cheeks following the map he traced so long ago. You finally feel real again.

The rooftop stays dark and the city spins on. Here, in the quiet wreckage of a night that once belonged to the both of you, you kiss him as acknowledgement that the past did happen. As a testimony that, in this moment, it was still yours to hold.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

All She Needs

Summary: A few years after Dean’s feral rut claimed her, their family is growing, and Y/N is content with having all she needs.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: Teen

Bingo Square: Pack Dynamics for @jacklesversebingo

Triggers / Warnings / Tags: Omegaverse, A/B/O,  A/B/O dynamics, alpha, omega, pack dynamics, pups, mentions of feral rut, mentions of heat, mentions of mating, mentions of knotting (all non-descriptive), pregnancy, nesting, daddy Dean, light smut, light references to labour and giving birth (all non-descriptive)

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I enjoyed writing this sequel to All She Wants so much, and I hope you enjoy it too! All feedback is welcome, so please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite or leaving a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse 💖

A/N2: Woohoo! This is my first fill for Jacklesverse24 bingo, and the first thing I've posted in a LONG time!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Your POV

The pitter-patter of small feet rings through the air, occasionally followed by shrieks and laughter as Dean chases the twins along the winding hallways of the bunker. It’s pure heaven, and there’s no sound in the world you love more than the ones you hear outside your bedroom door at that moment.

They hadn’t been planned, and neither you nor Dean had expected it, but you hadn’t exactly been surprised by your pregnancy either. You’d stopped taking birth control when you went on heat suppressants, but Dean’s feral rut had triggered an exceptional heat, and with all the mating and knotting that came after it, you knew the odds were against you coming out of that cabin without a pup.

The bigger surprise for you both was that you were expecting twins. Once the shock had worn off, you teased each other mercilessly about whether your ovaries were overzealous and had released two eggs or Dean’s sperm was so powerful it had split one. As it turned out–much to Dean’s absolute delight–it was the latter, and you gave birth to two healthy and happy identical boys who looked exactly like their father.

They were fiercely independent for four-year-olds, and had their own individual personalities since the day they came into the world; Bobby was brave and strong with a big heart, just like his father, and Charlie was smart, curious and determined like you. They were far too young for anyone to know if they’d both be alphas like their father and uncle, but they were already showing strong alpha tendencies, which Dean was immensely proud of.

You made another trip from the closet to the bed, carrying more of Dean’s clothes for your nest. You were anxious and could feel that it was almost time. With Jody, Donna, and Cass on standby, and everything ready and prepared, you were impatiently waiting for the birth of your and Dean’s baby girl.

Crawling into the nest and surrounding yourself with your Alpha’s scent, you take a deep breath and try to relax. Dean can tell your blood pressure is high, saying your heartbeat hasn’t been the same these past few weeks, and baby girl’s is a little faster, too. He’d confined you to your shared bedroom to put your feet up and to try and keep your blood pressure down.

Being waited on hand and foot had been nice at first, but now you’re fed up and extremely agitated all the time. You know you’re no fun to be around right now, but being unable to perform your duties as an Omega and take care of your pups, your Alpha, and—as the matriarch of your pack—everyone else, is beginning to take its toll on you.

To add to your distress, you’re upset to be missing so much time with your boys, and Dean has had to calm you down about that at least once a day. In the end, he agreed to go to their bedroom each day and get some of their clothing for you to add to your nest so you had their scents constantly around you. It helped, but the pit in your stomach never really went away.

The boys came to see you all the time, though, telling you all about their adventures with Daddy and Uncle Sam. You particularly enjoyed their stories of how they constantly wound up poor, unsuspecting Uncle Cass. Those were your favourite moments of the day. That, and when Dean came to bed. It’s only then you truly feel content, loved and safe in your Alpha’s arms.

As you settle back into your nest, the twins come crashing through your bedroom door, and you grin happily.

“Mommy! Mommy! Help! Daddy’s trying to steal the treasure!” Charlie shouts, even though he’s only a foot away from you and there’s no need for his raised voice.

“Quick, hide!” you say dramatically, throwing the bedcovers down and encouraging them to crawl in next to you.

Bobby and Charlie pull the covers over themselves and cuddle into your side. Each boy wraps an arm around your expansive stomach, and you sigh contentedly.

“Ma’am, I am sorry to disturb you, but you wouldn’t happen to have seen two little scamps running through here, now, would you?” Dean drawls from the doorway. He winks at you, and you grin back.

“Why no, sir, I have not,” you respond, placing each hand on top of the lumps next to you.

“I’m truly sorry for disturbing you, Ma’am. If you do see them, I’ll be down in the kitchen having me some pie,” he responds, a silent question hanging between you. ‘Are you okay? You got them?’ You nod, grinning when he winks again and closes the bedroom door.

“Daddy’s gone, boys. You can come out now,” you say, smiling at the feeling of four small hands rubbing your swollen stomach.

“We want to cuddle with you and our sister,” Charlie responds, and you chuckle.

“We’d both like that very much,” you smile at the timely kick to one of your kidneys, and hug your boys tighter to your sides, sighing happily.

Dean’s POV

The serenity Dean felt from his Omega at having her pups in her arms kept him content enough to help Sam do some research for a few hours. There had been whispers and rumblings across the hunting community of what was probably the biggest and wickedest coven of witches anyone had ever known.

The ancient coven of Vindicta Pro Prima had roots going all the way back to the 1692 Salem Witch Trials, and was likely hundreds strong across continental America. The Winchesters weren’t stupid enough to think they’d be able to take them all down, but the more information they could gather, the better chance they had at protecting themselves and keeping up with whatever master plan Castiel and Rowena said they were cooking up.

Exhausted from worry for his Omega and unborn pup, and from taking care of his pack while she cared for herself and the life she was growing, Dean eventually relented at Sam’s insistence that he go to bed.

“I’ve got this, Dean. Go and rest with your family,” Sam smiled, still not quite believing the change in his big brother over the past few years from a stubborn alpha with commitment issues to a doting husband and father, and a fierce pack leader.

“Thanks, Sammy. Don’t stay up too late, alright? We can pick this up again tomorrow,” Dean said, standing from the table and stretching his back and shoulders out after sitting hunched over a laptop for hours.

“Goodnight, Dean.” Sam hadn’t agreed with him, Dean noticed and knew his brother wouldn't come back out easily once he’d gone down a research rabbit hole.

“Night, Sammy.”

Dean’s heart soared at the sight he was met with in his bedroom: his beautiful Omega fast asleep with a soft smile on her face and an arm around each of their boys. Bobby and Charlie were curled into their mother, snoring softly and, he hoped, having pleasant dreams.

Quietly, he made his way over to the bed and gently stroked Bobby’s hair, making him stir slightly. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you to your own bed, huh?” he whispered as he lifted the still half-asleep little boy into his arms.

Your POV

You jolt awake at the movement, ready to start a war with whoever had disturbed your sleeping pups. Realising it’s Dean, you smile, settle back down, and watch as he lifts Bobby into his arms. A small smile flits across your Alpha’s face as the tired boy snuggles into his neck and immediately falls back asleep.

Dean walks around to the other side of the bed and expertly picks Charlie up one-handed, making heat pool in the base of your stomach. Dean smirks, and you know he can feel it too, but you don’t care. Your big, strong Alpha is taking care of your pups; hormones or not, that is the sexiest thing in the world to you.

Your eyes drop to his ass as he walks out of your bedroom and carries your pups next door to their bedroom. Your mind drifts to the last time you and Dean had ‘alone time’ two months ago. You’d missed it; missed him, but you hadn’t been in the best of health for most of this pregnancy, and it’d been the last thing on either of your minds until now. And right now, you need him. Desperately.

You’d been surprised at how submissive Dean became in the bedroom when you were pregnant. It wasn't an Alpha tendency to let his Omega take control during sex, but something about you carrying his children made him soft and gentle, and allowed you to take what you wanted, how you wanted it. 

“Oh, I know that look!” Dean chuckles as he comes back into your shared bedroom.

“Pants off and get your ass over here, Winchester!” you giggle, throwing your pyjama shorts at him.

“Yes, ma’am!” Dean smirks, quickly stripping off his clothes and climbing into bed.

As soon as he’s settled, you straddle his thighs and kiss him, shivering as his hands skim up your legs and tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head and throwing it to the floor.

“I’ve missed this,” you sigh as you sink down on his length, moaning and rolling your eyes at the feeling of him stretching your walls. 

Murmured voices wake you from a deep and peaceful sleep. There’s no suffocating but comforting heat surrounding you, so you know Dean is already up. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you climb out of your cosy nest and follow the murmuring into the kitchen.

“What are you doing up, sweetheart? You’re supposed to be on bed rest,” Dean says, although his tone isn’t as stern as you expect. Likely due to you reassuring him several times last night that you and the pup are fine.

“I heard voices,” you say, looking around at the faces smiling back at you. Jody, Donna, Jack, Rowena, Castiel, Eileen, and Sam – your whole extended pack are all huddled around in the kitchen. “What’s everyone doing here?”

“I asked them to come,” Rowena states. “I have information on the coven that needs all of your attention–”

“Except yours, Omega,” Dean states, his Alpha beginning to show its dominance to the pack. “You don’t need to be a part of this. You need to rest.”

“Oh, nonsense, Dean. Trust me, I am fluent in pregnant omega, and I can assure you that both Y/N and the baby are completely fine and healthy,” Rowena smiles knowingly, and you frown at her. “About to give birth, but completely fine.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you panic.

“That’s the other reason I asked everyone to come. You’re about to give birth, dear. The stars have aligned, and a little… something last night pushed you along, but all is as it should be. Now, let’s get you comfortable and settled,” Rowena soothes. ��You need to save your energy. You’re in for a long day. This precious little girl will not be born under the sign of Taurus.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you repeat, feeling your heart begin to hammer.

“Omega, calm down,” Dean instructs, and instantly, you take a deep, controlled breath to lower your increasing heartbeat.

“She is meant to be a curious, intelligent, and witty little Gemini,” Rowena chuckles. “Funny, really, given that her brothers are twins!”

“But that’s–” you trail off with a frown.

“Sometime tomorrow, dearie, yes.” Rowena patiently placates you.

“But…” you look at your watch. “The sun is barely up.” The birth of the twins was long, and you’d hoped, based on everything everyone had told you, that things would go much quicker this time.

“Like I said, you’re in for a long day. Come, let’s get you in a warm bath to relax your cervix.”

“My… what?” You’re stunned. You’re not due for another month, and the news that your daughter is coming early is not what you expected when you woke up this morning, and you wonder if this is all a dream.

“I know you’re not officially due for another five weeks, but the fates never lie, dear. This baby is coming today… Well, tomorrow, but you know what I mean,” Rowena pauses, another knowing smile gracing her porcelain face as she waits patiently for you to catch up with everything she’s told you.

Your water breaks, and Rowena steps closer to you, taking your arm and guiding you towards the bathroom. “My bag, please, Dean,” she calls over her shoulder.  

“Dean!” you yell, noticing he’s just as stunned as you are and has made no effort to follow you and Rowena.

“What? Oh… right. I’m coming.” He springs into action, grabbing Rowena’s bag as requested and following his wife and the witch down the hallway.

Dean hasn’t left your bedroom for hours. In the early stages, he’d go and play with the twins for short bursts of time, but as your contractions became closer together, he stayed in the room, pacing like a caged animal as he impatiently waited to meet the newest member of his pack.

You’d thought Rowena was playing a cruel joke on you when she said you wouldn’t give birth until the following day, but now, at nineteen hours into your labour, you are exhausted and more than ready for your daughter to make her way into the world.

In a sudden whirlwind of activity after such a slow build-up, you cling desperately to Dean as he whispers how proud he is of you, and Rowena continuously encourages you to push, telling you it’s almost over.

Before you’ve fully caught up with what’s happening, a high-pitched wail erupts through the otherwise still and silent bunker. All of the pain, tiredness, and frustration vanish in a second, and all you want is to hold your little girl.

“There we are, beautiful,” Rowena coos as she wraps the wriggling baby in a soft, pink blanket. “Time to meet your mummy!” The witch places the crying baby into your arms to start the scent bonding between you and your pup.

Knowing omegas are particularly protective and can be aggressive if disturbed before they’ve formed a bond with their children, Dean lets you be, staying back and watching on adoringly as you fuss over the little pink bundle in your arms. 

“I’ll go and let the others know. They’ll be banging down the door in a minute if someone doesn’t go and see them,” Rowena smiles, watching as the baby stops crying. The initial bond between you both is now complete.  

“Alpha,” you finally say, chuckling as Dean’s face lights up, knowing exactly what you’re going to say next, and yet, he waits until you say the words.

“Come and meet our daughter.”

Dean climbs onto the bed and carefully takes your daughter in his arms, starting the scent bonding process all over again, this time between Alpha and his daughter.

There’s a knock at your bedroom door, and Dean looks to you for permission to grant them entry to your nest—you and your baby’s safe haven. At your nod, Dean announces for them to enter, and you smile as the first visitor isn’t Sam as you expect, but Castiel.

“Rowena tells me the baby is beautiful like her mother and stubborn like her father,” he says as he walks slowly over to you. “Though I can’t speak for her stubbornness yet, she is very beautiful.”

“Thank you, Cass,” you beam.

“Would you allow me to bless your daughter?” the angel asks, and Dean once again looks to you for permission.

“Of course, Cass. Thank you,” you nod, giggling as you feel Dean’s anxiety levels rise at the possibility of his pup getting hurt.

“Easy, Alpha,” you soothe, placing your hand on his thigh. “This isn’t anything we and the boys haven’t already been through. She’ll be fine.”

“What is her name?” Cass asks, directing his question at Dean in an effort to help placate the tense Alpha.

“Joanna,” Dean smiles, feeling more and more at ease with every stroke of his Omega’s hand over his thigh.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Joanna,” Cass says softly to the baby. “I can tell you’re feeling safe and happy in your father’s arms, and I promise you won’t feel anything.” The angel recites a prayer and a blessing, before bestowing the same angel wardings her parents, brothers, and uncle have.

“Of course, you’re already a daddy’s girl!” you chuckle softly, taking Joanna from Dean and looking her over to check she isn’t showing any signs of discomfort from the angel’s protection ritual.

“The twins are impatiently awaiting an introduction. Should I tell them they can come in, or do you need some more time to bond?” Cass asks, and you laugh again as Dean looks to you for permission, his puppy eyes almost rivalling his baby brother’s.

“Of course they can come in! They need to meet their little sister!” you giggle softly as you feel Dean’s relief, the protective Alpha desperate to have all of his pups in the same room to keep a better eye on those who mean the most to him.

Sam brings the yawning, heavy-eyed twins into your room. They hadn’t wanted to go to bed and miss the chance to meet their little sister, so they had fought valiantly to keep themselves awake. Their tiredness disappears as soon as they see the pink bundle of blankets in your arms, and they run over to your bed, carefully climb onto the mattress, and crawl closer, their eyes wide and already filled with love.

“Boys, this is Joanna,” you tell them, and smile encouragingly as Charlie moves closer.

“Hi, Joanna,” Charlie whispers. “I’m Charlie, your big brother!”

“And I’m Bobby. Your bigger brother. I’m six minutes older than Charlie!” your other son adds, and you and Dean share a chuckle before settling down into your nest to rest with your growing family. 

You wake a few hours later, knowing on instinct it’s because Joanna is hungry. It’s a huge relief that you’ve bonded with your baby because you hadn’t really felt much from her until now, and with the twins, the connection was instant.

Feeding Joanna, you can’t help but smile. Yes, you’re tired and sore, and you know it’s not going to be easy running around after three kids, but you’re happy. And that’s all that matters, because a few years ago, you couldn’t even imagine this would be your future, but now, even though the road was long and bumpy, you have all you need.

The End

Tag List:

@acitygrownwillow | @akshi8278 | @ashbatz | @candy-coated-misery0731 | @chriszgirl92

@deans-baby-momma | @deans-spinster-witch | @deansbbyx | @deanwanddamons | @duncanhillscoffeecups

@foxyjwls007 | @giggles1026 | @globetrotter28 | @hobby27 | @hoboal87

@impala67rollingthroughtown | @iprobablyshipit91 | @jackles010378 | @jamerlynn | @jc-winchester

@k-slla | @kazsrm67 | @kmc1989 | @lacilou | @ladysparkles78

@leigh70 | @lyarr24 | @michecolegate | @mrsjenniferwinchester | @nancymcl

@negans-lucille-tblr | @nelachu2423 | @octoberclidan | @perpetualabsurdity | @roseblue373

@sandlee44 | @sexyvixen7 | @spnbaby-67 | @spnwoman | @stixnstripesworld

@stoneyggirl2 | @suckitands33 | @synmorite | @twinkleinadiamondsky | @winchestergirl1720

[fwaist]

Hiii! I saw on your pinned that you’re a fan of RDR2, so for your alphabet challenge, would you please write NSFW letter X for Arthur Morgan? Thank you!

ohhhh anon you have TASTE. i’d be DELIGHTED to write this for you.

x is for x-ray | arthur morgan

warnings: explicit sexual content, nudity, detailed anatomical description, language consistent with 1800s setting, voyeuristic focus on male body, light exhibitionism, use of second person pov, erotic fixation on physicality, unprotected sex implication, emotionally intimate context, mild praise kink undertones

tags: @destinedtobegigi, @pittsick, @bambiangels, @talsorchard, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @lovefaist, @won-every-lottery, @zionna

notes: hey angels just a lil note—i absolutely love writing for challengers and the bear, and i’ll always be down to explore more of that, but if you ever feel like sending in asks for other fandoms too, please do! it really helps me stretch my creativity and explore new voices/vibes. writing for arthur morgan was such a joy, and i’d love to dive into more worlds like that. don’t be shy! okay i’m gonna stop because my hands hurt, i wrote a lot today 😭 enjoy!

The room in Valentine is nothing special—wood-paneled, narrow, scuffed floors and faded wallpaper peeling at the edges—but it doesn’t matter. The second Arthur strips off his coat, it ceases to be a hotel room. It becomes a cathedral. A shrine. A holy place built around the gravity of his body. And for the first time, you get to see him not as he’s dressed for the world—layered in denim and dust and guns—but raw. Bared.

It starts simple: the shrug of that trail-worn coat from his shoulders, the soft thud as it drops over the back of the chair, the flick of fingers undoing buttons down his shirt. But there’s nothing simple about the man himself. Arthur’s frame commands the space like it was built to worship him. Broad. Thick. Weather-hardened and sun-fed. His shoulders stretch the fabric of every shirt he owns, and once he peels it off—slow, like it’s never occurred to him someone might want to watch—it becomes impossible to look away.

He’s built like the frontier. Rugged. Untamed. A map of sweat and sun and scars. His skin is the color of oak bark in summer, golden and burnished with the kind of tan that doesn’t fade—it’s in him. Part of him. A deeper warmth than just skin-deep. His chest is massive, pelted with a coarse dusting of tawny-blond hair that gathers dense across the sternum, softens as it trails down his stomach in a thick line. His pectorals are full, heavy, not sculpted like a statue’s but lived-in—flesh formed from years of labor, from chopping wood, breaking horses, dragging bodies.

The hair down the center of his chest glows golden in the angled light, catching the color of the sunset leaking through the curtains. It creeps over his collarbones, softens the harsh ridge of old scars. One scar slices diagonally across his left pectoral, paler than the rest of him, like a whip cracked hot against the skin long ago. Another curls near the hip, a jagged crescent hidden in the shadow beneath his ribs.

And then the suspenders fall. The belt buckle clicks. He kicks off his boots, and his pants sag low on his hips. Wide hips. Solid hips. Built for carrying weight—saddlebags, corpses, the weight of guilt he doesn’t speak of. When he pushes those pants down, slow and unceremonious, he steps out of them like a man shedding his sins.

He is naked in the truest sense. And it’s devastating.

Arthur Morgan’s cock hangs thick between his thighs, flushed deep red at the head, darker toward the base where the hair thickens into a coarse nest of dirty blond. It’s big even soft. Long enough to demand respect. Heavy, veined, the foreskin resting back just enough to tease the slick pink of the glans beneath. A single bead of precum shines there, like he’s been holding back too long. And you know he has.

As you stare—open, shameless—he twitches. His cock thickens slowly, like it’s waking, like it’s watching you as much as you’re watching it.

Arthur notices. His smile is shy, but crooked, a hint of self-deprecating charm. “Ain’t exactly a prize hog,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, but you can see it—the flush crawling down from his cheeks to his chest. He likes being seen. Even if he doesn’t know how to say it.

His thighs are thick and wide-set, dusted with blond hair, dappled with fading bruises, knotted muscle flexing under skin every time he shifts his weight. There’s a line of scabbing down his shin from a ride through bramble or a botched dismount. His calves are strong, veined, the kind only years of walking, climbing, riding could build. Everything about him is earned.

And that stomach—not flat, not soft, but strong in a way that’s real. A faint curve over the belt-line. Muscles beneath the skin, not gym-trained but carved by work. He’s got a fine dusting of hair there, too, curling tighter below the navel, guiding the eye downward toward the dark root of his cock.

His arms are worth their own chapter. Thick biceps that stretch the seams of his shirts, veins standing prominent, forearms like sculpted stone. His hands? Massive. The kind that wrap around the butt of a rifle like it’s nothing. The kind that grip reins and throats and thighs with the same ease. They’re calloused and dirt-streaked and holy.

And the more you look, the more detail unfolds. His neck is thick, corded with sinew, shadowed by stubble. There’s always a touch of sweat just at his temples, the scent of him musk-heavy—leather and iron and firewood smoke, cut with the faint sweetness of molasses if you get too close to his throat. His beard is full, well-kept but untrimmed, flecked darker around the chin and mouth, soft-looking despite the thickness. And then there’s his hair—messy, sun-lightened, curls catching at the nape like he’s been riding all day with his hat off.

He’s staring now, too. Watching you watch him. That stormy gaze softened around the edges with something quiet. Something almost vulnerable.

“I know I’m rough,” he says low, voice catching like wind in a canyon. “Ain’t got much polish to me. But… well. I clean up all right, don’t I?”

And you want to laugh. Want to cry. Because this man—this towering, muscle-bound, scar-splattered outlaw—is standing bare before you, cock heavy and leaking, chest heaving just a little from the weight of your gaze, and still he wonders if he’s enough. If he’s worth looking at.

He’s more than enough. He’s obscene in his beauty.

You reach for him like gravity pulls you there. Your hands span his hips, your fingers brushing the wiry curls at the base of his cock, and he shivers. That flushed cock jumps against his stomach. The skin there is so hot it burns, a furnace under your palm. You drag a thumb over the slick head and he grits his teeth, groans low and deep, a sound pulled from somewhere in the belly of him.

“Fffffuck, sugar,” he gasps, shoulders flexing like a draft horse under harness. “That’s—s’tender. Been thinkin’ about this too long.”

But you don’t stroke. Don’t tease. You just look.

You memorize the shape of him. The texture of his skin. The way every part of him—from the pink of his nipples to the curl of his toes—is alive with anticipation. And when he leans back on the bed, thighs wide, cock resting against his stomach and glistening, one arm propped behind him to hold his weight—he looks like a goddamn vision. Like something carved out of the dirt and sun and blood of the West itself.

Arthur Morgan, in full.

And nothing’s ever looked better.

[glasskey]

Season 6 WTF!

Am I the only one who thinks this season is almost a complete write off? A season that fucked up great characters and gave redemption arcs to everyone BUT the characters who deserved them? Promised revolution and then sat around doing absolutely nothing for episode after episode, waiting for the last 2 to finally take off? This is the FINAL SEASON….we waited 9 years….Season 6 WTF!

Honestly I can barely be bothered to watch this car crash anymore, they’ve performed a brutal character assassination on Nick Blaine (like I suspected they would) consequently sacrificing THE most engrossing character dynamic they had going for them. To say this was stupid would be underselling it. It was bad enough that they continually focused on comparatively the most bland pairing throughout the seasons, but to actually kill off any kind of connection between Nick and June really did the show no favours. Even watching the two of them fight at The Boston Globe was more engaging, simply because of the combustible character dynamic. As a result, without these two, for the most part unless Lawrence is in the room, I’m pretty fucking bored. They failed to beef out other character arcs earlier on and consequently they act as footnotes or accessories to Osborne. Lawrence remains engaging because of Whitfords ability to convey his delicious snarkiness and he painfulness of his recent nuptials. His interactions with Charlotte have been an unexpected delight. Shifting from demanding she be removed from his study at the beginning of the season, to stealing her away from her lessons to teach her chess, much to Naomi’s chagrin. Naomi is really earning her keep this season; her demands that Lawrence clean out the basement while June and Moira were squirrelled away down there, engaged in acts of rebellion was absolutely hysterical.

In terms of any type of actual character prediction or analysis for the rest of the season; in episode 3 Blaine said he said he couldn’t lose Osborn and now he truly believes he has, leaving him desolate and cold. He already appeared desperate in episode 7, he was mainlining whiskey in episode 8 and by episode 9 he’ll be fucking ashes. Wharton has dragged him under and by the end he’ll either kill Wharton to prove some sort of loyalty once again, be dragged back to Canada by Tuello in cuffs when the revolution goes down, (he’s still an asset even if he’s not embedded), be killed by Osborn as a test of character against Gilead, die like a dog defending her or some such combination of all of the above. I mean how fucking hard is it just to have a character join Mayday? To cross the border and join the underground? It’s pretty easy, they seem to be doing just fine with Lawrence and he’s probably the LEAST deserving of the two.

There’s a multitude of allusions to Blaine being killed off throughout this season, not to mention the litany throughout the previous seasons, and it’s very possible they’ll get Osborn to do it. They’re asking the audience to believe the mother of this mans child would actually kill him, when several episodes prior she was ready to leave her husband for him….it’s all pretty ridiculous and requires the audience to suspend their disbelief, but what would be different from the rest of the season at this point? It’s also a complete violation of Atwood’s text, but they already massacred Blaines character in terms of this, so you know, why stop now? The books state that he’s part of the underground and EVERY other character is being maneuvered into place so you would expect them to do the same for him. However given the ridiculous skewing of his character over the last season, I’m putting nothing past these writers at this point. Given his nonsensical character transformation and the just the ludicrous judgement being passed on such a benevolent character who fucked up once, I’m finding it reeeeaaally hard to get on board with punishing him in the final hours. It all just feels so unjustified after years of service. I’d be more inclined to feel like the writers just did his character really dirty than gave him his comeuppance. Even Osborne’s accusation “you’re just like all the others” seemed more completely unjustified and honestly just fucking harsh, instead of the moment of enlightenment that the writers had intended it to be. The meeting between Blaine and Osborne at the start kind of haunts me as the last time they met in a forest was 4 10 when they disposed of Fred. At that point Fred was expecting a son and Nick had said “for whatever a man sows, so shall he reap. You brought this on yourself commander” and June and a group of women appeared over the horizon. It may be a portent of Blaine’s fate because of the Jezebels, but again this feels horrifically unjustified.

The plot line to bust Nick and June apart was like watching a 3 stooges act put into motion by Luke and June themselves. How I was meant to feel sorry for the protagonist when all of this was just a comedy of errors as a result of hitting her favourite errand boy up for yet another favour, I’ll never know. Particularly when for the last 3 plus seasons I’d watched her sacrifice innumerable innocents for the sake of her own personal vendettas. It’s so clear to me that Tuello got greedy and should have just whacked the cuffs on Blaine by 6 03. Blaine had already gone dark and had basically told him point blank that he couldn’t fulfil his part of the deal because a fucking demon had moved into his house. June could see that he was fraying, she knew that he was in danger when he killed those guards and yet once again she let him walk away. This really was the point at which June should have said “Come with me” and not “See you later”, because ultimately she may as well have said goodbye. Sure Tuello would have tossed him in the lock up but hey, Fred got immunity from all that juicy intel all the way in Canada so why couldn’t Blaine? Plot hole, plot hole, plot hole. As it was they let him go, so ultimately these people are pretty complicit in what went down with the Jezebels. I, and everyone else for that matter, couldn’t help but notice that Mayday and the Nighthawks hadn’t given a fuck about them before, content to see them as collateral damage. They could wax lyrical all they liked but the fact was it was merely semantics, they were less concerned about them dying, than they were about the purpose for which they’d died. Had they died in the service of killing a bunch of commanders, Mayday would have valued their deaths, but because it was Blaine they saw it as a waste and a missed opportunity.

The hypocrisy throughout this season has been absolutely rampant, and I’ve found myself scoffing in disbelief constantly, at the double standards everywhere. Over and over I was told to accept that every one of Blaine’s decisions that brought about his demise was all his own fault, whereas other characters involved were absolved of their culpability in any way. I refuse to see the decent of his character as entirely his own fault, Blaine has spent over a decade being mentally conditioned by Gilead, with it just about to sink it’s claws in for good with a newborn child. Meanwhile Tuello wanted to send him back in there for fuck knows how long, all because he let him visit his girlfriend in the hospital for 5 minutes. It was stupid and greedy and he should have taken the intel he could get, by taking Blaine into custody at the border in season 5.

The writers have tried to use him to point out the soft fascist in the room, leaving it until the very last minute and seriously it’s not good enough. You can’t cast characters under a totally different persona for 5 seasons, then suddenly come out in the last season guns blazing for them and not expect your audience to get whiplash. This sort of thing results in that season being the one that gets purposefully shelved simply for it’s lack of character consistency. His transformation has also been ridiculously swift with the change between episode 6 and 8, the equivalent of a cartoonish reveal.

There was far too little Lawrence this season, I’m at a loss as to why they didn’t just send Lawrence back for those letters, I guess because it would have made sense….but no, had to go and call the boyfriend and consequently fuck up everything. Lawrence has been given far too much leeway this season, all of a sudden he and June are pals again after viciously fighting at the end of last season. I mean I know they wanted to switch things up and insert some exciting plot twists, but it really has been at the cost of any believability whatsoever. Truth is she and Luke would have been gunning for him after that shit went down with Hannah, but nope nothing. Just, here are all our secret plans Lawrence, promise you won’t fuck it up? Urgh.

Now, can someone please tell me who wants to watch Serena blather on about fertility centres (episode 8 and still nothing happening there btw) and weddings? How she could be so dense as to marry the King of all High Commanders, and not expect to be right back where she started, I’ll never know…but there you go. This all could have been avoided if Serena had just sat on the porch in her nice peaceful little commune, shotgun in hand, and when the Wheelers or Lawrence showed up, told them to just keep driving. I suspect Serena will actually end up a handmaid herself by the end but with the leniency the writers have shown her despite her horrific past deeds, who knows. The wedding itself in episode 8 was meant to be absolutely mental, and instead we all sat around and just wondered who’d eat the cake, and if Serena and Nick would spot June at the wedding.

Luke seems to be pretty MIA for someone so motivated to get shit done this season, but we’ll probably see him pop back up in episode 9 and 10. I recently saw in a clip OT saying he was looking forward to the part that he gets to take a swing at Blaine. I predicted this would happen earlier on and it really is just so trite of the writers to have the two objects of the protagonists affection engaging in fisty cuffs like fucking children. Luke’s already shown evidence of a sensitive ego in previous seasons, and this really doesn’t help to restore an image of security in his own masculinity. I was hoping to see some personal growth but it seems that even though he wants to be more pro active in retrieving Hannah, his ego remains an issue and has resulted in some ugly confrontations with June. Regardless of the outcome, the fact is that Blaine is an experienced Military commander, so asking the audience to believe that Bankole would actually manage to beat Blaine up is just sheer fantasy. Maybe if they’d squeezed in a montage of Luke doing drills I might be able to buy it.…but they didn’t, so we’re going to have to add that to the list of things I need to suspend my disbelief for in order to accept. I’m also at a loss as to why he’d want to beat the shit out of the man who is responsible for keeping his wife alive, and then saving his life as well. Certainly he thwarted their Mayday plan, and yes they fell in love (he should understand that better than anyone after that whole thing with Annie) but seriously he’s got a LOT more to be thankful for than he has to be pissed off about. Essentially his wife wouldn’t be alive and he’d have no idea where his daughter is, so yeah seems a bit fucked.

Overall this season I’m really getting the vibe that the writers have had to work overtime to make audiences dislike Blaine. They’ve essentially back pedalled their brains out and rewritten not only his character but also the nature of his relationship with the protagonist in order to do so, which should demonstrate exactly how desperate they were. All it’s really done is make me detach from the entire storyline because of my distrust in them to convey an accurate picture, or one that they wouldn’t completely dissolve at will in the future. It was an inevitable consequence. The hypocrisy throughout the season has been crazy and it’s most evident when it comes to this character and his relationship with the protagonist. We also didn’t get nearly enough Moira and with episodes coming in at 40 minutes long, it’s not like they didn’t have ample time to fill out the full hour with a proper character arc for her. If they’d used the full hour they could have had better character arcs for Luke, Moira, Janine, Lawrence, Nick and Rita. And seriously it’s a final season, episodes should BE the full hour long. Apparently there will be a lot of character deaths this season and the only way that has real impact is if you actually give a shit about them which requires proper character development. Right now Rita doesn’t have even close to the amount of character development that Lawrence has, so as a result the audience will care a lot less if she dies….and that’s regardless of whether that character “deserves” it or not. She was in charge of the cake soooooo yeah, probably not looking good for her. Apparently episode 9 is meant to be for the fans, so I guess they’ve worked out some way to magic Nick and June back together again, Blaine to finally go underground with Mayday, Serena to die a horrible painful death, Lawrence to get a massive amount of one liners and Janine to escape with Charlotte. Anything else tells me they’ve been living in an echo chamber failing to check in with their socials.

[greenerteacups]

Midway through Lionheart, and I'm fascinated by this Butterfly effect situation you have going on. Draco is a catalyst for so many things, in canon, that I wouldn't have noticed, and it's interesting how the web weaves itself. I love that he doesn't replace any of the og trio, but instead occupies this very unique position, and that in itself changes so many things. For example: Snape, although still a jerk in his own right, feels almost like he's a bit nicer, compared to canon, and I wondered if Lucius being gone meant that he grew much closer to Draco, and that softened him, if by a bit. You mentioned in a previous comment in one of the vol. 1 chapters that canon harry feels more cautious than fic Harry, only trusting those he's closest too. It made me think, Draco was such a vocal part of the canon books for disliking harry, and I feel like that increased Slytherin hostility? Not only did anyone who wasn't close friends either hated him immediately or only wanted to get to know him because he was the "chosen one", but he also genuinely never had any semblance of a positive relationship with Slytherin, and had an overall harsher experience compared to LH harry, which had understandably molded his perspective. On the contrast, in your fic, Draco has this very unique position as this man of two world, close to harry but also the slytherins. He isn't a vocal harry-hater and there's none of that hostility harry experienced in canon because Draco isn't ferrying the boat. Theo instead takes over what would have been draco's role in canon, except Theo's personality isn't like draco's at all, and I'd even say hes more open-minded, likely from his distance with his father? Because of this, things are less hostile for harry compared to canon.

I also feel like Slytherin-gryffindor relations are much better here compared in canon because of this– Theo still likes Draco and thus is willing to tolerate Gryffindor and there's no anti-harry influence that canon Draco cultivated, while Hermione, harry and Ron, though reasonably defensive, are generally tolerant towards people who don't immediately attack them. Draco isn't outwardly pushing hostility towards harry and instead becomes a sort of bridge between the two, as both sides find it easier to see the more "human" Side of the other, for lack of a better term? And find a common ground, that is being teenagers going through puberty. The trio feel more relaxed here, too, because of it. sorry, I must be rambling- I just adore what you did here, with all the butterfly effect web and how these characters grow and interact with one another. I really liked how you write our four main characters especially– Harry and how he's less anxious, in a way? Ron, and the way he interacts with Draco. Of course, Hermione's conversations are an absolute delight to read as well. I find it so funny that Draco Malfoy's consolation is "it's okay, we're gonna sue". I also loved the PROM CHAPTER PROM CHAPTER and how they're all jealous of each other and are all sort of in their own love triangles lmao??? Teen angst!!! Hermione's jealous, ron's jealous, draco's jealous, harry's jealous– wait nvm Harry is fine actually I think? He actually feels very stable compared to the other three (which is saying something, considering he is the one in the tournament), but really I love how Cho and Harry interact. If not a couple, then they'd be fantastic as good friends too. I love how much they feel like teenagers. The bit about pansy's hair being splinched is fantastic, love that that was the thing that broke the awkwardness lmao ofc it would be that. Daphne is a dear, and I hope for the best for her. This is a wonderful fic, really, thank you for sharing it with us. I adore your writing.

thank you so much for this!! have been rereading it constantly ta xxxx!!!!

[haveihitanerve]

I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKKK! (Kinda)

Why Did You Eat That

“Why did you eat that?” Tom’s little hiccup laugh because thats a glorious starting line

Aj starting us off with silent humor- i love when they do this because they do it so well- and his side eye at luke like “are you watching? You have to see when I eat it Luke.”

“Because you made it for me.” When Luke grabbed his arm to stop him Aj was fully ready to throw hands omg this whole exchange is so perfect- also ajs slight break as he returns to his “food” while luke just contemplates how he’s going to work in a deep voiced AJ into his planned scene

“Every sunday,” Luke’s little smile and head nod of “oh do go on AJ..” and AJ’s little smile of “shit” is priceless i love them so much

“And then you write your name on them.” AJ barely concealing his laughter at his own bullshit will never not be funny to me

“Wait for me to offer the sandwich-” Ok so I made a post a while back that was complaining about how Luke and AJ somehow never managed to have very positive/non-toxic relationships together- and I’m starting to think it might be Luke’s fault…

“I’m sorry.” Aj is so good at making himself the sympathetic character omfg

“May I continue to eat the sandwich that you’ve mad-” Laughs because the audience is losing it but oh no thats not okay for luke

“What are you laughing at??” See, I feel like AJ apologized and is trying to make amends so they can have a cute little date- but Luke is just pinpointing and hyperfocusing and not letting anything go… maybe im reading too much into it

“Um, ok well-” “IM VERY ANGRY RIGHT NOW. If thats not clear.” Gotta say the communication is pretty good though

“Im sorry, Janice, Im sorry.” I love how the audience explodes with this and Luke looks away because shit Aj you made me a lesbian- happy lesbians technically except Janice left her wife and kids so…

“Ill go. Ill disembark-” Has Tom been like reading thesaurus words to AJ or why is he pulling out these vocab words lmaoo

Nope now Luke is laughing too much- “I disembarked from a very successful lesbian relationship-” oh and the audience is gone Luke has said it aloud lol

“Women respect women Alfred.” “I respect-” listen, I adore Luke’s little rant right now because its just so absolutely beautiful and wonderful- but again AJ is being very sympathetic rn and why does Luke not want a happy relationship with him😭

“You hate me and so do all the other people in this park..” MY BABBYYYYYY😭 poor baby

“I had free bites.” Aj, babes I love you but that was more than three in the beginning there

“If you want to go back to your previous relationship-” AJ im gonna cry don't do this- “Then you can go.” The audience awwing is the most relatable thing ever. 

“Im going to go into the trees” lmaoooo

Get Off The Plane

The prompt- immediate fear in Luke’s eyes when Tom takes his shoe off is brilliant

Tom please😭 his little joyous face as he realizes he can keep going and takes his socks off too because Luke hasnt said the line yet

“I don't like speaking to strangers.” So, this is gonna pose a problem. Because Luke has clearly indicated he is the pilot. Which means Tom is his co pilot. But Tom is not daft, he very well knows Luke intends to be the pilot. So he’s being stubborn too and sticking to his story. Luke will likely stick to his story too. So now we have two characters with opposite plans for the story. Lovely. I cannot wait

Draping a sock over his arm is foul and Luke is contemplating murder lmaooo

I love AJ’s intercom voice that was perfect and the way he loses it midway through

“Why are you holding the steering control now?” AJ fully folds in half and smacks the chair in his delight at Tom’s joke ahh i love them

Satisfaction as he drapes the second sock

“I think you're a bit weird.” The audacity and also AJ’s mad cackle in the background. The audience might not have appreciated the joke- but AJ sure did and I love that for them

“You like to fly barefoot and pretend your co-host is a stranger.” love how he’s flipping this onto Tom- but also co-host???

Tom’s little delightful eyebrow raise when he realizes Luke said “co-host” and wanting to correct it but Luke catching it and correcting it himself to not allow Tom the pleasure lol

“Could you not be really weird on this plane, before we take off?” Ok so Tom has decided to accept Luke’s plan because he actually kinda made sense and they want to have some semblance of control- but Aj as the chaos king has decided nahhhh fuck that and has taken Tom’s side and made Luke the bad guy and I love them so much

“Can you take your socks off me please.” he didn't even take a breath damn

“But planes don't have steering wheels do they?” Luke questioning everything he knows about planes. “Yes…? Yes they do?” firstly- they do not. Not really. Its like a toggle shift/control stick called a yoke. Secondly- you'd be easier to believe if it weren't in the form of a question luke lol (and toms being nitpicky they can be referred to as steering wheels its not that big of a deal lmao)

“Ever since your terrible divorce..” Oh no don't bring that into this XD. Luke almost breaking and Tom barely containing it 

“You remind me of my ex alfred.” “I know.” Starts undressing. Wild idea to have Tom but you could practically see the lightbulb go off in his head 

Aj cackling as Tom tries so hard to get both arms in the shirt

“OKAY! GREAT!” Tom making the choice to be named Amanda both hurts and is a stroke of genius LMAOO

Also Luke turning away from the audience to let a brief smile is everything

“We will now be landing.” Tom turns to Luke and both cant stop their laugh because what

Aj taking Tom’s side is crazy “Please make sure you have all your limbs inside your t-shirts” and also i love them and respect it

“Can you get in here?” AJ shuffling off stage because he does not want to get in there

“Shes never done this before!” Because AJ had his back earlier Tom has to defend him now but they are teaming up on poor Luke😭 who is just trying to remain sane and have some semblance of a coherent plot

“I’m sorry about the divorce.” AJ i love you

The disgruntled way Luke smacks the socks back on Tom’s leg lol

Oh Dear, This Might Be A Problem

Okay but AJ’s opening of the passAgeway was brilliant

“A secret passAgeway.” It speaks to British English that I seriously didn't question this pronunciation until he did because sometimes British people just sound like that

Luke laughing and AJ’s lips twitching- Tom even biting his lips to stop laughing and looking at AJ to see if he’ll point it out- but AJ doesn't know if he has any right to and has decided to stick with the having of Tom’s back and not pointing out his mistakes so he just moves past it 😭

“Did you notice the way i said passAgeway, before?” Now Tom is giving him the go ahead to talk about it

Aj smiling- unsure what to do 

Good gods their stagecraft is incredible i almost fully believe they're stuck in some heavy winds wow

“We’re on top of a lighthouse!” Please tell me you know what that is this time AJ

Aj genuinely caught off guard by Luke’s foghorn- which was incredible btw

“Im waiting for you to comment on the way I said passAgeway!” AJ breaking because he did not expect this to be such a point of interest (I think this is a genuine Tom concern tho- when someone messes up its highlighted by the others immediately and used against them- but AJ didn't do that for once and its throwing him off and he needs the insults and banter😭)

“And also hear when we put effort into saying things in an interesting way.” AJ fighting a smile 

AJ putting his hand over his mouth before Tom keeps talking to cover his laugh is beautiful

“After 48 cases together-” wait these guys are so cute I wanna know more lore

“Detective…” “yes lucas.” “I feel like…” Tom taking a seat and doing a cunty leg cross and finger stiple

“Is because-” “WELL WELL WELL.” Luke has impeccable comedic timing

“Sorry can you give us one moment?” No i seriously need this to be a more common trope- the villain trying to do an evil monologue while the protagonists are just focusing on something else and being like “no no, very clever good job- truly yes i loved how you killed those guys great- just give us a second” like i need it

“I did yes for you!” Tom, baby, sweety,- this isn't as a friend im so sorry to say

“I've been- i've been luring the ships onto the rocks!” Luke is exasperated

“Yes, no, we know-” “Thats good-” “We hear, we know, because, we stil-” “Very impressive.” “Yes great.” “Thats great, thats really good.” “Really good.” “Very scary.” Both turn away from him and back to each other XD

Luke trying to argue his point while they just keep nodding and consoling him and promptly just arguing why their argument is more important currently

“I-I’m shocked. Are you shcoked?” “I’m impressed!” Theyre such good friend omfg i love them give me more

“This is the second most surprising thing i would say has happened today.” AJ nodding and pointing because hes in on it now too. “After the-” “After when I said passAgeway.” 

“When I could've said passageway.” So thats how they pronounce it

LUCAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“You looooovve mee!” Yes Lucas!🤧YES! “I DOOO!!!............ as- as a friend.” DAMN. 

Also Tom keeping a hold on AJ’s head the entire time and helping him back up at the end aw

AND SCENE!!!

Its been a hot minute, I have returned. For once video (for now) and this is for one of you lovely anons!!! Hope you enjoyed my sweet :)

[kitsunesakii]

Two is Better than one

I went wild with this one :D

Chapter six

Sasha entered her apartment with the quiet click of the front door. She tossed her backpack onto the chair in the kitchen and started a cup of tea. A clatter from the adjacent room caught her attention. She frowned slightly before peeking her head into the other room.

It took her a moment to process the scene before her eyes.

Micheal was sitting on her living room floor, long fingers carefully curling through the fur of a content cat purring below him. She noted a secondary feline to the left, pawing at a strand of long spindly blonde hair. He glanced at her lazily, tipping his head to the side and humming.

There was only one thing wrong with this picture. Sasha didn't own pets.

"Micheal-what?"

His smile widened. "Hello my dear."

She gestured to the cat now rolling onto its back as Micheal petted its belly. "Where did these come from?"

He looked over at the one still playing with his hair. "They followed someone into my corridors. They followed me here."

Right. Sasha shook her head and sat down, the one on its back stretched out before moving towards her curiously, it had orange hair like a tabby. She pet it and it purred in response.

"Micheal."

"Sasha."

"I don't have the stuff for these guys. I barely have the room, you don't really expect me too-" Her words were cut short as she watched the grey one tangled in Micheal's hair sound out a small mewl as Micheal tenderly picked it up in its hands with too much bone and fingers that stretched too far across. The cat didn't seem to mind.

Micheal hummed as he watched the cat in his arms twist and curl, purring contently as if Micheal wasn't a terrifying monster. Sasha dared to smile.

"I believe, if I remember correctly, these creatures need food, water." He chimed lightly. Sasha rolled her eyes.

"Fine. There's a store down the way from here. They have pet supplies." Sasha sighed as she stood to her feet. "And they are cats, Micheal."

He didn't so much as stand to his feet, rather a blur of motion and colors that stretched out and scattered like sand before he was standing in front of her. "Cats. Yes."

She grabbed her bag and walked towards the door, stopping when she realized Micheal was following her.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you of course." He giggled, "silly question."

"Right." Sasha smiled, "This won't end badly at all."

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

The actual trip wasn't horrible.

Besides the fact that every single dog started barking at Micheal which earned them a few curious glances from the staff, they made it out with a sack of cat food, cat litter, and a box. Even more than she had expected, Micheal paid. Handing the cash to the women as Sasha looked at him with such a confused expression she partially believed he did it just to see her reaction. Laughing as they left the store with the supplies. She simply shook her head.

"I think- he had one."

Sasha looked over at him, he looked, well, human. The way his coat sat on his shoulders and down past his boots, his hands wrapped around a bag of cat food. His eyes trained on nothing before looking over at her with a sharp smile.

Sasha frowned. "Who?"

"Micheal. Before-" His words echoed and trailed off.

Sasha understood. "I'm sorry." The words felt stupid in her mouth.

"Do not be, its-" he paused. "It's a nice memory, I am not sorry to have it, amongst the fractals of everything and nothing and the not-in between, it is nice."

Sasha thought about her question a moment before asking. "What's it like?"

"What?"

"The...what you said about the fractals and the nothingness, delusion...what's it like?"

"It Is Not What It Is and it is a part of me" he said it like a broken tune from some forgotten nursery rhyme. "It is madness- throaty, hollow, the depths of doubt- madness that stirs in the mind. It is not a physicality, but, within it, there is a certain…” He paused. “Ah! Beauty. Like a fine piece of decoration in a mundane hallway." Micheal laughed long and hard as they approached her building.

"You say it's beautiful?"

He giggled and shook his head. "You tell me, my dear, what with your It Knows You, all that knowledge will never satisfy, never relief, you see all and yet-" They entered her house to the two cats scratching up her couch and seemingly content with life. “Madness floods the senses and dilutes the mind, leaving it clear. It changes perception, blinds reality. It's a song sung with all the wrong notes and the wrong tune but it is beautiful nonetheless.” He sat the bag on the kitchen table and she prepared two bowls.

“A broken melody is still broken.”

“Ah, but only you would know if it's broken.”

Sasha paused and stared at him. He was crouched down, pouring the food into the bowl she had provided. It got everywhere and he giggled. Letting out a hummed “oops.” Before moving a long finger to scatter the dropped food even further. His hair cascaded around his shoulders and swept across the floor, the grey cat already taking interest in his dubbed playtoy.

She understood what he meant. And maybe there was a relieving beauty to it. Someone’s only lost if they themselves don’t know how to get to their destination. But if someone is simply wandering, well. There could be a comfort to that. Ignorance is bliss after all. A buzz of muddled headspace that someone looks for within drugs or alcohol. A weight lifted from the mind as it's consumed by something that isn’t tangible.

“Do you understand?” He looked back at her, the pieces of food that had missed the bowl now nowhere to be seen. The two cats had taken an interest in the food and water and were quick to indulge themselves. She looked into Micheal’s eyes, the swirling spirals that seemed to impossibly dilate as he looked at her. He seemed softer, somehow. All folded up and crouched on her floor seemingly as protection to the felines happily eating away. His sweater changed and morphed in color and she half wondered where his coat went. His scarf was wound around his neck and seemed to move like a snake, continually curling over his shoulders. Twisting and bending and pulling in every direction. He was an enigma to look at. Madness. An ever shifting idea that barely took shape before it was changing again. Beautiful. She decided.

He was beautiful.

She almost forgot he was waiting for a response. “I understand.” The words didn’t feel nearly enough. Some part of her reminded herself that she was supposed to be scared of this thing that had casually dropped two cats at her feet like it was nothing. This thing that bought the supplies with money she wasn’t sure he was even supposed to have. This thing that had given her a distorted flower that she still had in the living room. This thing that followed her around with a curiosity she couldn’t explain. This thing that had kissed her cheek instead of killing her when she had been in its corridors. She ignored that voice and instead moved to fix the litter box in the washroom.

Not even an hour later she was curled up on the couch petting the tabby as Micheal played with the gray one on the floor not even a foot away.

“What are their names?” She asked him, breaking the silence that seemed to muffle Micheal’s laughter as he let the cat swipe at his long fingers, pulling them away just in time.

“Names are redundant.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll call this one Pumpkin.”

He didn’t look away from the cat, letting it catch his fingers and pull them down to bite playfully. Micheal hardly seemed bothered. “Daisies.”

“The cat? That’s a pretty name.”

“No-” He giggled. “I remembered. I was picking them up.” He drew his hand away and pointed at the mess of lines and colors that had once been a flower, sitting in a jar on the coffee table.

Sasha smiled back. “Daisy it is. Pumpkin and Daisy.”

Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

[sesamestreep]

i always try to make @firstelevens a little present in honor of our friendship anniversary, which was yesterday, so here's a few more book cover designs for her amazing sambucky fics that she's been so kind as to write for us all (and one that she co-wrote with me!) with a special appearance by @sambambucky with the pull quote of the century❣️

the bells stand still and hollow [22K words, 5/10 chapters, in progress] - Fantasy AU using the Dungeons & Dragons spells and classes as its guide to imagine Bucky suffering under a terrible curse and Steve, Natasha, and Sam (and animal familiar Redwing!) as the party of adventurers intent on helping him break it. ⚔️🐦‍🔥 summer came like cinnamon, so sweet [44K words, 5 chapters, complete, part 2 of a series] - part of the illustrious bakeoff AU, this is a prequel fic all about the romantic shenanigans that happened (or almost happened) over the course of Steve and Peggy's wedding weekend. told entirely in tweets, instagram captions, and text messages, of course! 💒💐

[yoshifawful64]

🏳️‍🌈🧐❓

[solalunar-eclipse]

Ball & Chain of My Own Making

Written as part of the Sonic the Hedgehog Big Bang 2024, hosted by @sthbigbang!

Summary: Set in the Sonic the Comic (Fleetway Publications) universe. Now that Robotnik's grasp on the planet has finally been removed, the world is beginning to recover. During this process, Sonic goes to meet up with his old friend, Porker Lewis, on the Floating Island. Unfortunately, they're long overdue for a conversation…and it's going to happen whether he wants it to or not.

Wonderful art (may contain spoilers!) by:

@eosomit (GORGEOUS ART BY EOSOMIT HERE) @pikafleetsyolo (FANTASTIC ART BY PIKAFLEETS HERE)

AO3 Link

Wooden scaffolding arched towards the bright blue sky, free of smog for the first time in years. The foundations of future homes spread out across the land of the Emerald Hill Zone, built atop the rubble and ashes of the original village, proving that soon, the people who once lived here would be back and better than ever before.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the scaffolds, making them shake but not crumble under its force—because after all, this was no ordinary wind. This was the controlled tailwind created by the high-octane racing of one Sonic the Hedgehog, Hero of Mobius, reaching speeds even faster than his namesake.

He skidded to a stop in the midst of the construction, admiring the view around him. It was good to finally see the world rebuilding now that Robotnik had fallen…this had been just a dream for far too long, so to have it become tangible reality, something he could reach out and touch, was downright awesome.

After a few moments, he spotted one of his closest friends, Miles “Tails” Prower—to him just Tails—helping to push a high-up beam into a slightly better position with the assistance of his namesake tails, which spun like the blades of a helicopter.

“Hey, pal, you got anything ya need taking care of ‘round here?” Sonic yelled up to him. “Because you know if you do, it’ll be done before you’re finished saying so!” he finished, winking up at the fox.

Tails flew down from his place atop the framework, landing neatly in front of Sonic. “I’m afraid that was actually the last piece of work I had on my list for now! I think I’m going to go help out Johnny with his staff—he says it’s been on the blink lately, and I thought it surely couldn’t be much harder than that time I helped you repair your plane!” He beckoned happily for Sonic to walk alongside him as the two headed back to their current base of operations, and the hedgehog did so without protest.

“Hmh.” Sonic replied eloquently, folding his arms and frowning slightly. “Amy and Tekno are still out too, yeah?”

“They are…” Tails looked up at his friend for a moment, before his eyes widened with an idea. “Hey, there has to be a couple of malfunctioning badniks left to take out somewhere, right?”

Sonic sighed. “Not for a hundred miles—and believe me, I’ve looked.”

The fox’s twin tails flicked nervously. “I mean, the only work we have going on right now is this whole relocation project…the thing is, I don’t think any other baddies are quite ready to crawl out of the shadows so soon after Robotnik vanished.” he explained.

Sonic abruptly snapped his fingers. “Hey, there’s an idea! I’m gonna take the Tornado up to the Floating Island, see how that end of the relocation’s shaking out up there! Seeya, gotta scram!”

And with that, he was gone, Tails’s call of “bye!” (accompanied by an understanding smile he didn’t see) just barely reaching him.

Within moments, Sonic was already in the cockpit of his trusty biplane, flipping switches with the muscle memory of someone who had piloted it a hundred times before. His eyes roamed over the controls, then shifted to the shining red paint that adorned it—

…oh no…what have I done?

The Hero of Mobius abruptly froze, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as he remembered an earlier version of this very plane, crumbling and burning before his eyes—the fire had burned all around him, smoke choking the air, but this time not from one of Robotnik’s factories, instead it—

Sonic shook his head, gritting his teeth and forcing his quills to relax. “Everything worked out just fine,” he muttered. “He’s gone now. Amy and Tekno said so.”

With a few sharp movements, the plane’s engine was running smoothly, and Sonic taxied it down the runway and took off with ease. He only needed a moment to remember the controls, and then his memory of flying between islands on his adventures took over at last. 

As he climbed in altitude, he banked the plane around so it was pointing straight towards the Floating Island. While Tails had added a map to the Tornado, making it easier than ever to navigate, Sonic didn’t need any of that. He might not have…one particular effect from the Chaos Emeralds any longer, but that didn’t mean their energy would ever stop being intertwined with his being in a way he neither could nor cared to explain. 

He glanced briefly over the side of the biplane, enjoying the sight of Emerald Hill’s in-progress town below, now resembling a child’s plaything more than the towering structures he’d seen Tails working on earlier. 

As Sonic flew further, he passed over rivers that were running cleaner than before (though their banks still bore remnants of sludge) and the half-destroyed ruins of several of Robotnik’s factories. He smirked with a grim sort of satisfaction as he spotted a particularly torn-up building, stamped with that grinning logo all mangled and broken, unable to churn out even one more ounce of material to support the now-toppled Empire.

Thankfully for his notoriously short patience, it didn’t take Sonic long at all to reach the Floating Island. Avoiding the populated Mushroom Hill Zone for the time being, he instead circled the plane around over a large grassy clearing just outside the Hidden Palace, coming in for an (in his opinion) impressively smooth landing.

Sonic hopped out of the biplane after cutting its motor, grinning broadly. Any second now…

“SONIC!” a voice bellowed from within, accompanied by the sound of heavy footfalls. “What on Mobius are you doing here?”

Knuckles the Echidna stepped out of the shadows of the Hidden Palace, his arms folded over his chest and his ever-present glower meeting Sonic’s expectations perfectly. “You’d better not have shown up just to cause trouble. The Emerald Hill folk are in the middle of packing up their entire lives, and I am already at my limit with all the chaos around here.”

Sonic swiped under his nose, his smirk growing wider. “You’ve gotta be having some real trouble guarding all those Chaos Emeralds then, huh? I can always take care of them if you’re not up to it!”

Knuckles’s jaw tightened. “Sonic, I swear—“

“Relax, knucklehead!” he interrupted, cutting Knuckles off before he could get truly enraged. (Unfortunately, the continued presence of his smug smile may not have particularly helped, but he was more than fine with that.) “You should know I’m not here to mess anything up! Just popped up here to check out how things are going on your end. I don’t expect them to be moving quite as fast as my folks, obviously, but I figured if anyone could help speed the process up a little, it’d be yours truly.”

The echidna appeared momentarily torn between the promise of getting complete peace and quiet on his island sooner, or getting marginally more peace and quiet right now by hurling Sonic bodily off the island. Eventually, he just fixed the hero with his most stern glare, before pointing wordlessly to the door of the Hidden Palace.

Sonic snickered, strolling casually into the building and enjoying the irate grumbling behind him. Knuckles was just too easy to rile up, and his reactions were always fantastic.

“Oh, Knuckles, did you find out who it wa—Sonic!”

The hedgehog in question nearly jumped in surprise, but managed to conceal it beneath a smooth pivot to face the speaker…only to smile broadly once he registered just who it was. 

Sitting at one of the consoles around the massive room was none other than Porker Lewis, his old friend and former fellow Freedom Fighter. Porker practically leapt out of his chair, dashing over to greet Sonic more properly. “It’s just wonderful to see you! How’s everything going?”

Sonic flashed his trademark grin, not-so-subtly preening in response to Porker’s unfiltered enthusiasm. “You know me, always chillin’. Howzabout yourself, Lewis? Enjoying that island life?” he added, winking.

Porker smiled wryly, shaking his head. “I’m liking it a lot more now that Robotnik’s gone. Getting to help repair the technology Knuckles’s ancestors left behind is important work, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not nearly as intense as trying to topple a dictatorship.”

The hero’s face didn’t move a millimeter, but somehow, his smile felt so much more strained. “Yeah. It’s…good that’cha can just work on that now instead of having to put up with badniks all day, every day.”

Porker’s own expression faltered briefly, before he brightened up again, albeit more mellow than before. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t just come here to stand around and talk! I’m supposed to be repairing some of the zoom tubes in the Hydrocity Zone today, but I can leave that for later if you want to have a look around Mushroom Hill together.”

“Psh, no way! It’s been ages since I got to give Hydrocity the old run-around, I’ve gotta see if I can beat my fastest time down there! You wouldn’t deprive your old buddy Sonic a chance to do that, wouldja?” The blue hedgehog bounced into a more dynamic stance, one fist held in front of himself and his other hand thrown back as though he were about to spindash right this very second.

“If you tear up this chamber, I will throw you into the ocean.” Knuckles huffed, making Sonic scoff and straighten back up to face the serious guardian. At that very moment, Sonic’s eyes caught on exactly what Knuckles was leaning against—specifically, one of the switchboards in front of the Emeralds’ storage column. 

“Forget it, Porker…you’ve already done more than your share.”

“Don’t mention her, buddy. Lately she’s been driving me up the wall!”

“Whaaaa—!”

(The rock Sonic had been leaning against crumbled beneath him without warning, and he was sent pitching backwards into the column of pure Chaos energy. It surged through him, bright and powerful…and…violent…)

“Whoa, hey, Sonic? Sonic? You with me?”

“Agh!” He jumped backwards, immediately dropping into a fighting stance…before seeing that it was just Knuckles in front of him, one gloved hand raised as though he’d just been waving it in Sonic’s field of view. “Geez, Knucklehead, warn a guy next time you decide to stick your hand in his face, huh?”

“…you didn’t even react after I said I was gonna…chuck you off the island and all that. I didn’t actually mean it, you know. You might be annoying, but I’m not just going to let you drown.” the echidna muttered, still watching Sonic warily, as though he were about to space out again at any minute.

And Sonic wasn’t having any of that.

“Tch, I was just daydreaming about new ways to spindash that smug look ‘a yours right off your face.” he retorted, folding his arms defiantly. “I don’t hafta dignify every smart-aleck thing you say with a comeback, do I?”

Knuckles rubbed his brow, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Whatever. Porker, can you please take him anywhere that isn’t here? Mushroom Hill, Hydrocity, either way, just…ugh.”

Porker laughed sympathetically, walking up to stand next to Sonic, now with some papers in his arms and some tools on a belt. “I certainly can. So, Hydrocity, is it, then?” he asked the blue hero lightly.

“You know it!” Sonic gave him a thumbs up, before following his old friend to one of the doorways leading out of the Emerald Chamber. 

The two friends traveled down a short hallway, which led to a shaft so deep Sonic couldn’t even begin to see the bottom. Stairs spiraled around its outside, while a pole speared down the center, attached to the ceiling at one end and presumably the floor at the other.

Porker looked over at Sonic. “How about a race? You on the stairs, and me on the pole?” he asked. 

Sonic’s expression split into what had to be the biggest grin he’d worn yet. “You do realize you’re gonna lose embarrassingly, right?”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I can’t at least try, does it?” Porker insisted, his hands in his pockets and the set of his shoulders easy. Internally, Sonic appreciated the sight of his friend relaxed and happy. It had been far too long since he’d last seen Porker like this, after all.

The Hero of Mobius dashed over to the top of the stairs, settling into a sprinter’s starting position. “You sure you’re ready for this, Sonic?” the engineer sked, smiling cheekily as he grabbed onto the pole with both gloved hands.

“Ha! I’ve been ready, Lewis, you oughta know that by now!”

“Alright then!” Porker announced, to the otherwise empty room. “Three! Two! One! Go!”

Immediately, the former Freedom Fighter pushed off the platform and began to slide down the pole—but that could never compare to the power of pure Sonic speed. The instant the sound “go” hit his ears, Sonic tore off down the stairs so fast that anyone watching wouldn’t have been able to make out his features, only seeing the blue blur that had earned him yet another of his many monikers.

Sonic couldn’t help but beam as the wind whistled through his quills and his sneakers pounded on the staircase, loving the thrill of adrenaline that came from riding the line between landing each step as quickly as possible and tumbling into an uncontrolled fall. His agility had to be perfect to pull this off…and of course, it was. He was Sonic the Hedgehog, after all.

Once he hit the bottom, he looked up, waiting for Porker to appear. Thankfully, he’d only just started tapping his foot by the time the engineer came into view.

“Took you long enough!” Sonic smirked up at him, his arms folded and one eyebrow raised.

Porker smiled back. “Well, pardon me for not wanting to free-fall out of control! Not all of us are invincible Heroes of Mobius—that’s your job, after all!”

Sonic hesitated briefly, something about the title resonating oddly in his chest. “Say, speaking of which…it was…a little heroic, kinda, to be the one to clap Robotnik in cuffs like that. How’d you manage it?”

“Oh! Well, it wasn’t much, really. I was just trying to help some of the Emerald Hill folk evacuate out of the Mushroom Hill Zone, when I saw Robotnik trying to escape that massive fight you and Knuckles had with Dr. Zachary! I managed to rally a few of the braver people, and together we got the drop on him and cuffed him before he knew what happened,” Porker explained, beginning to walk into the zone as he spoke. “We were only able to get him because he was so thrown off guard by actually losing his grip on power for once—it was an opportunity we wouldn’t have gotten again! I may have left the Freedom Fighters, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night if I’d let him get away, you know?”

Sonic could feel his confusion showing on his face, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to stop it. “You…I guess, but…”

“Is everything alright?” Porker was frowning in concern, and that was enough to convince Sonic that this conversation wasn’t worth pursuing any longer. 

He laced his hands behind his head casually. “Yeah, sure! You know me, since when am I not?”

“…” When Sonic snuck a peek at his friend out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Porker still looked uneasy. 

Luckily for him, a Bugernaut suddenly swooped down at Porker, forcing him to duck out of the way. Within seconds, Sonic had curled into a ball, smashing the badnik and landing with ease. He quickly scanned the area for any more, spotting a few patrolling in a line farther ahead. While Robotnik was gone, his influence clearly still lingered, even up here on the Floating Island.

Briefly, he glanced back at his friend, who shot him a quick smile and a thumbs-up—which was all he needed to tear off in pursuit. It was a matter of a single jump to reach the nearest platform, and then only one more leap to bounce from badnik to badnik in a line, freeing the various little critters inside.

Sonic landed on an even higher platform, crouching by the edge to scan the ground below for Porker. He could jump down easily…but that would mean more awkward conversation. And when his alternative was scouting ahead and taking out any leftover badniks so Porker wouldn’t have to deal with them? It was hardly a choice at all.

He waved to get Porker’s attention, before jerking a thumb over his shoulder and holding up his fists like he was about to get into a cartoonish fight. The former Freedom Fighter gave him a friendly salute back, before turning back to his path towards the busted zoom tube. Sonic let out a breath that, had anyone else heard, he would have denied having been a sigh. Then, in a blink, he wasn’t there at all, only a blue streak of light marking the path he’d taken. 

Thankfully, he did turn out to have a genuine excuse to rush on ahead, as he found several more clusters of badniks after that initial line of Bugernauts. While Porker followed the lower paths, Sonic took every shortcut he could find in an effort to cover as much ground as possible. However, being thorough did mean he had to make some…unfortunate choices, as well. Hanging from a slow rope pulley above water wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, and neither was the promise of dropping into the water to clear out some aquatic badniks, but let nobody ever say that the Hero of Mobius and leader of the Freedom Fighters wasn’t committed to what he did.

With a gulp of air, Sonic opened his hands and let himself drop, curling into a ball and crashing directly into the water. Thankfully, this particular area seemed to have a fast current to it, meaning that he merely had to keep himself curled up and let the water turn him into a badnik-busting buzzsaw. 

Not really loving the lack of air down here, Sonic thought to himself impatiently, finally uncurling in search of an air bubble once he was reasonably sure the room was clear. Now where would…

There!

A small imperfection in the floor of the area had allowed a tiny crack to form in the material. At that exact point, the liquid could freely drip out—but more importantly, air could flow in. Happily, it didn’t take long at all for an air bubble to appear that was big enough for Sonic to use, and he inhaled the oxygen inside eagerly.

His energy restored, the hedgehog made his way over to a slightly narrower section of pipe, letting the current sweep him along once more. Annoyingly, the water turbines were still active, but it was a small price to pay for his otherwise quick progress, and he could easily avoid them with the help of the support struts used to help the pipe hold its shape. Besides, before long, he was spindashing up a ramp and out of the water, soaring high into the air before landing with perfect ease. 

After a bit of casual platform-hopping, Sonic spied Porker a little ways away, kneeling by a strange mechanism and seemingly inspecting it. This must’ve been the fix-it job he had to do, Sonic mused, before leaping down to join his friend alongside the ancient travel system. 

“So, how’s it going?” he asked, making poor Porker yelp and drop his screwdriver with a clatter, startled.

“Sonic!” he scolded, but his smile severely diminished any attempt at properly convincing the hedgehog to regret his actions. “You startled me!”

“I have eyes, I noticed,” Sonic quipped, shifting to lean casually against the wall. “You didn’t answer my question though, you really gonna leave a guy hanging like that? And here I thought we were friends.” he complained, wearing a faux-devastated expression.

Porker stared at him blankly for a moment, before recognition lit up his eyes. “Oh, yes, of course! It really is on you for making me forget, though.” Sonic scoffed lightly, but otherwise didn’t speak, leaving room for Porker to continue.

“It’s frankly quite a simple fix,” the engineer began. “While the tubes themselves are largely made of stone, the mechanical parts that create the vacuum necessary to enable this kind of rapid travel are much more delicate and therefore prone to failure. That’s why the tubes here aren’t working anymore—there must have been a malfunction in this area. Now all I need to do is open it up—” and just as he said this, he heaved a panel off the side of the structure in front of him, revealing an incomprehensible mess of pistons, cogs, and other unidentifiable bits and bobs. “—and figure out what's going on in here.”

“Huh. Why’d the echidnas decide to stick this thing all the way down here instead of up with everything else in the Emerald chamber? Somehow I don’t get the sense they were particularly in it for the sightseeing opportunity.” Sonic remarked, moving to lean against a different piece of the machine’s casing.

Porker’s laugh rang out from the metal walls of the structure, having already slid mostly inside to take a closer look. “Beats me! Knuckles and I are still having quite a time working on translating the ancient language used on most of the schematics for this place. We just got the blueprints for this all sorted out yesterday—it only became a major priority when the tubes stopped functioning. I haven’t even had a chance to dig through more of what we think are records, since most of our focus has been on the way the Floating Island works anyhow.”

Sonic smirked at the sound of Porker’s evident good mood. “Ol’ Knucklehead better have those blueprints all translated correctly, or else he’s gonna wind up going backwards instead of forwards next time he hops in one a’ these!”

“Oh goodness, I certainly hope it doesn’t come to that!” Porker still sounded amused, but also a little concerned. Not ideal. “At least they’d be working again, I suppose!”

“Well, pal, tell ya what. ‘Cause I’m such a kind and generous soul, I’ll give the tubes a spin once you’ve got them all set up! Just make sure to double-check your screws first—I’m not about to have Knuckles laughing at me if I get closely acquainted with the nearest rock, alright?”

“I’ll certainly do my best!” the engineer replied brightly. “Wait—oh, Sonic, I think I’ve found the problem!” he added, shifting around some more inside the machine.

“Forreal? Huh, I guess all that studying must’ve been worth it if you can find the problem that fast!” Sonic remarked, pushing off from the metal plating and strolling around to where Porker was.

“It’s a relatively simple issue too, thank goodness,” his friend continued, “there’s a hole in the main conduit for the pressurized air. In the long term, this pipe should really be replaced, but for now, I think a simple patch job will suffice.”

“What, and you just happen to have ‘pipe patcher’ on ya at all times?” Sonic asked, snickering slightly. “You go to dinner at someone’s house and think ‘oh no, better not leave my pipe patches at home’?”

Porker’s sigh echoed in the machine’s chamber. “It’s really not all that special, all I’m using is duct tape. So long as it makes a proper seal—which I’m being careful to do now—it should hold well enough for us to go back and get a proper replacement. And duct tape is an essential part of any engineer’s toolkit, especially when they’re going to do some engineering work. Which is exactly what we came down here to do.”

“We?” the hedgehog asked. “S’far as I can see, you’re the one doing all the fix-it jobs around here, I’m just tagging along to clear out badniks and have a good time. Wouldn’t wanna be inside that thingamajig anyway, you can barely even move in there!”

Porker made a movement that seemed to suggest a shrug. “It’s really not that bad,” he said, beginning to extricate himself from the mess of machinery. “I honestly find it quite comfortable—though I must admit there have been a couple of times when the sentries didn’t think to warn me politely before tapping me…I earned myself quite a few bruises before they learned not to do that.” Now fully outside, he shook his head with a slightly tired smile. “At least they apologized afterwards, I suppose.”

“Aw, man, I wish I’d been there! I would’ve paid good money to see that!” Sonic clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, grinning good-naturedly. “So, we gotta head back and grab that piece, yeah?”

Porker nodded in agreement. “Yes, we do, but first—”

But by the time the word “yes” had left his mouth, Sonic was already in the tube.

“Aw yeah!” he whooped to himself, rocketing upwards at a breathtaking speed. “This is the good stuff!”

Suddenly, however, he noticed that his speed was…beginning to slow down. He frowned. The zoom tubes normally didn’t do that at all, instead letting him blast out at full speed. This wasn’t a new problem Porker would have to fix, was it?

Sonic felt his quills begin to raise as he continued to decelerate, scraping uselessly against the near-frictionless surfaces of the inside of the tubes. The air grew weaker and weaker, struggling to push him up a vertical passage, and the Hero of Mobius felt a cold chill settle in his stomach. 

He curled up just a little tighter, trying to use the movement to regain even a fraction of forward momentum, and that was enough to get him through the bend onto a horizontal plane, but then—

—he stopped moving.

Entirely.

Sonic the Hedgehog, the fastest thing on Mobius, could no longer move.

~~~

Porker Lewis, on the other hand, was running as quickly as he possibly could.

He’d wanted to warn Sonic that he needed to check the air pressure first, make sure everything was at least moderately in working order before he let his friend give the zoom tubes a test run, but while Sonic’s thoughts moved much faster than his own, that didn’t necessarily mean he had a greater amount of caution. Now, Porker had no idea where Sonic was, nor whether he’d even made it out of the tubes at all.

Still, the engineer pushed himself to follow the path upwards, in spite of the increasing difficulty he met with as he climbed. More precarious platforms, more obstacles, and wider gaps had to be dealt with, slowing Porker down as he struggled to navigate, but he refused to let the tube out of his sight. He had to be coming to a bend or junction soon at this rate…

And then, he saw it. The tube made a right angle, running along the ceiling of the Hydrocity Zone, and within it, just visible through the glass paneling, was a ball of blue.

Quickly, Porker scanned the area. The panel was held in place by a frame, which could be easily removed with his screwdriver, but getting to the tube in the first place would be rather more difficult. Further examination revealed that there were small crevices and ledges on the wall adjacent to it that he could use to climb up, but staying in position without falling and injuring himself would be complicated, especially since he would essentially need to turn around while on the wall to properly remove the paneling. 

Still, it was the best he could do, given the situation. Removing the screwdriver from his tool belt and holding it in his mouth, Porker began to clamber up the side of the rock wall, moving as quickly as he could without putting himself in danger. He would be no use at all to Sonic with a broken leg, of course.

Speaking of him—“Sonic! I’m going to unscrew the paneling! You’ll be out shortly!” Porker shouted, forcing his voice as loud as it could possibly go.

If his friend replied, the engineer couldn't hear it. Nerves gripped his heart as he forced himself to climb faster, reaching the top soon after. Now came the difficult part; he braced himself with a hand against the pipe, before carefully shuffling his feet in a manner that would allow him to turn around and press his back against the rock wall.

The only thing keeping him from falling now was the strength of his arm as he pushed against the tube.

Carefully, Porker began to unscrew the frame bit by bit, wiggling the screws out of their housing one by one and letting them drop to the floor. After the third screw, his supporting arm began to tremble, but he refused to let it falter. Not when Sonic was counting on him.

The fourth screw dropped. At first, the frame refused to move, but a good whack with the screwdriver fixed that—followed by a sudden flinch from Porker as the glass panel dropped and shattered on the ground below.

“Good heavens, that’ll be quite the repair job…” he muttered to himself, before recalling exactly what the situation was at the moment.

“Sonic? Sonic, can you hear me?” he called, craning his neck in an effort to get a better look at the insides of the tube. He could see the ball of blue spines pretty well, actually, but something wasn’t quite right.

“…oh.” Porker murmured quietly.

Sonic was shaking.

He would have to get the hedgehog out all by himself, but how? He certainly couldn’t reach into the tube, not from this angle, and Sonic was clearly unable to move. The only thing he did seem capable of, as a matter of fact, was bristling his spines.

Wait. If Sonic had his spines raised, then that meant they could catch on something, yes? Porker began to hurriedly shrug off his jacket, only pausing to swap hands on the pipe once his screwdriver was back in his belt. Frowning in an effort to better gauge the distance, he swung the jacket back and forth once, twice, and then up into the tube—and thank goodness, at least one thing had gone right in this whole mess, when the cloth caught securely on Sonic’s spines.

Porker pulled as hard as he could, and for once the near-frictionless surface of the zoom tubes proved useful when his friend moved along with little resistance. Uncomfortably slowly, given the awkward angle, Sonic’s curled-up form slid further and further forward until finally, he slipped out of the opening.

What Porker had forgotten, however, was that Sonic had weight, and weight affected both balance and gravity.

What this meant, in practice, was that Porker very nearly wrenched his arm out of its socket fighting to keep them both from falling.

Even then, he didn’t succeed for very long, pitching forward and off the face of the wall soon afterwards. At the very least, his fall was more controlled, so that when he landed, he merely sprained his ankle instead of breaking it. (Happily, he was also able to avoid the shattered glass on the ground. Things would have gotten much more complicated if he hadn’t, and he was already about at his limit for complications.)

He ought to be thankful for small mercies, he supposed, because that at least meant the pain wasn’t so excruciating that he couldn’t check on his friend. 

“Sonic? Sonic, are you al—are you hurt?” he asked quickly, pulling himself along the ground towards the hero, who had uncurled and was now on his hands and knees, with his head hanging between his arms.

For a moment, Sonic didn’t respond at all, and Porker felt a pang shoot through him. Just a second later, though, the hedgehog sat up, raising an eyebrow at him cockily. “Am I hurt? You’re the one who can’t curl up into a ball here, I’m not the one you should be checking on.” 

“I wasn’t just talking about the fall. I meant before that, too.” Porker insisted, unwilling to let it go quite so easily.

“Tch, what, me getting stuck in the tube? Just don’t tell Knucklehead, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Porker felt his stomach turn uncomfortably. He really, really didn’t want to push this, but the thought of Sonic pretending that nothing had happened sat even worse with him. Shakily, he inhaled once, then sighed, and felt his shoulders tense up as he prepared to speak again.

“Sonic.” Porker insisted. “I saw you shaking with my own two eyes. I can’t just let that go.”

“What, me? Shaking?” Sonic scoffed. “You of all people should know that the Hero of Mobius doesn’t shake, pal.”

The engineer frowned…and then abruptly his expression softened, as something that Sonic had just said caught his attention. “No, I get it. The Hero of Mobius doesn’t shake, you’re right. But, well, my old friend Sonic, from way back in Green Hill…he’s allowed to get scared in front of me, I think. Whether or not he thinks he should.”

“Uh, you sure you didn’t hit your head in that fall, Lewis?” Sonic asked, now the one to squint over at his friend in confusion. “In case you forgot, this speedy blue hedgehog—y’know, the one called Sonic—is the Hero of Mobius.” He jabbed a thumb at his chest for emphasis.

Porker took another deep breath subtly, trying his best to keep from getting exasperated. “That’s true. But being the Hero of Mobius is a job, and being Sonic just…is. You’re Sonic all the time, but you’re only the Hero of Mobius when you want to be. And you don’t have to be in front of me.”

“You sure about that one? ‘Cause last I checked, only one of us was up to being a hero.” Sonic shot back.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze, his eyes widening slightly and his teeth snapping together so hard they clicked in the suddenly heavy silence.

“Porker—we can—just forget that happened, ‘kay? Apparently my mouth moves as fast as the rest of me sometimes, heh.” 

Porker gave Sonic a surprisingly flat look, making the hedgehog’s poor attempt at humor fizzle out into nothingness. His grin twisted into a grimace, and his hands balled into fists on the floor as he avoided Porker’s eyes.

Well, at least now he’s hiding his emotions less, the former Freedom Fighter thought to himself, internally sighing.

“Sonic.” he said softly, and while his friend didn’t flinch, his fingers did tighten noticeably.

“I’m not upset. Or—well—I am, but not at you. I just don’t like that you feel you have to be a hero around me all the time. I know we were fighting Robotnik for so long, it’s kind of hard to be anything else…but before that, we were just friends, stumbling our way through life together.”

Porker sighed, allowing himself a bittersweet smile. “I’d like to go back to being that way, at least to some extent, now that the war is over.” He hesitated briefly, before continuing, “If you don’t want to though, for whatever reason, I’ll understand.”

Sonic laughed, but his eyes were too wide for it to seem genuine. “Hey, what? Of course we’re friends, there’s no way I’d wanna change that! Why on Mobius would you ever think I would?”

“It’s…difficult to explain.” Porker began, picking up a chunk of debris and worrying circles into it with his thumb. “Sometimes it feels like when you look at me, you’re seeing just another civilian to protect, instead of, well, me.”

“Well, that’s not it at all!” Sonic straightened up boldly. “It’s totally different—I’m just making sure you don’t have to deal with the difficult stuff anymore after we—after you, y’know, got stuck on, uh, Little Planet.”

“Sonic, just because I was too stressed out to continue fighting in a war doesn’t mean I’m too distraught to live my life, or to help my friends when they could use a hand!” the engineer explained. “Besides, living here on the Floating Island has done wonders for me, I’d say.”

Sonic had sported a strangely skeptical expression for the first part, but when he finally spoke up, it wasn’t in response to that at all. “Was it really good enough for you that you were able to handle Robotnik?” he asked, frowning genuinely.

Porker stared blankly at his friend for a few moments as several things suddenly slotted into place. “Is that what you meant when you asked me how I was able to cuff him earlier?”

Sonic’s sudden eagerness to look away and shift positions, combined with a short “Eh, it’s whatever. Never mind.” told him all he needed to know.

He bit back his first instinct, which was to get upset that Sonic essentially seemed to view him as an invalid, no longer capable of functioning in the face of difficult situations. Getting upset wouldn’t help here—he’d known Sonic long enough to be certain that if he got angry, Sonic’s temper would flare up to match. Instead, he struggled to work out how best to explain his current situation to his friend. 

Porker knew that Sonic had gone through a difficult process when he’d decided to leave the Freedom Fighters, and had taken some time to come around to the fact that not everybody had his level of fortitude and resilience when it came to coping with difficult situations. However, it seemed like Sonic had understood Porker’s choice to leave as a permanent “off” switch on his abilities, instead of the truth, which was that the scales of “desire for freedom” and “fear of lasting damage” had simply tipped in the other direction, without any weight being removed from the former.

Suddenly, he was jolted from his musings by the voice of the hedgehog in question. “Listen, how about we head back to Hidden Palace and grab whatever parts you need? That way you can show me around some more, yeah?”

Slowly but surely, Porker got to his feet, sighing tiredly and trying not to wince at a twinge from his ankle. “Hang on, I just wanted to explain one thing first. You mind if I talk your ear off for just a moment?” He shot Sonic a half-smile, and that seemed to do the trick.

“Sure thing, pal. Hit me.” he replied carefully, moving to lean against the wall.

“I may have assumed this was more obvious than it actually was, but…I was always scared. Even when you first asked me to join the Freedom Fighters, I was frightened as anything.” Porker began, cringing internally as Sonic tensed up once again. “But the thing was,” he hurried to add, “I believed in the better future you talked about more than I felt afraid. So I pushed myself to join because I wanted to help make a world where people like me didn’t have to be so scared all the time, and that was enough to keep me going.

“But then…when I was held on Little Planet for so long…” Porker trailed off, memories of wire biting into his arms and endless examinations flashing before his eyes briefly. He blinked rapidly and squeezed the rock in his hand tighter in an effort to dispel the images—only to look up into an expression on Sonic that was emptier than any he’d ever seen before.

The engineer sighed and shook his head, smiling ruefully. “After that, I was so worried about it happening again that I couldn’t contribute to the team like I wanted, and, well, you know the rest.” He paused for a moment, composing his next sentence in his head. “I think there was one thing I should’ve said to you back then, but didn’t, because I thought it was obvious.”

“Yeah?” Sonic’s voice was perfectly measured, perfectly even.

“I don’t blame you for what happened. I don’t even see how I could—I knew the risks, I knew Mobius had to be kept safe, and I made my choice. I mean, in the end, it all worked out too. If that was really what had to happen to start the chain of events that led to the Empire of Metallix being defeated, then I can’t even say I regret it.”

“Porker.” Sonic marched over, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Now I know for a fact you hit your head in that fall. Either that or I need to get my ears checked, because I know I didn’t just hear you say you’re okay with the fact that we all left you there.”

“What else am I supposed to say?” he asked, genuinely. “We were in a difficult situation, not to mention a dangerous profession. Awkward choices and bad experiences were bound to happen eventually. All things considered, I escaped without any serious physical damage and got the space I needed to work on healing mentally. Things could have gone a whole lot worse—”

“But they also could’ve gone better!” Sonic barked. “We left you there! We all could’ve gone back with you, fought off the Metallix together!”

“And left the planet defenseless against Robotnik? That would’ve been terribly dangerous.” Porker forced himself to keep his posture open, hoping that having something else to focus on would help him feel less stunned that his friend was on the verge of yelling at him. “Besides, it’s equally possible that the Metallix would have overpowered us all, seeing as we’d be stuck there for a month, and then who would have saved us from them?”

“What, so are you telling me you’re fine with the way things turned out?” the hedgehog snapped.

“Yes and no,” Porker replied, hating how stiff his voice had become, but unable to search for any better words, “I certainly would have preferred to not be trapped on Little Planet for a month, but since I was, and we were able to destroy the empire that I was stuck with, I don’t really have anything left to be angry about. I may be upset that it happened to me, but I’ve decided that I don’t resent anyone for the way it happened.”

“Yeah? Well, good for you, but not all of us feel that way, y’know.” Sonic spat.

Porker hesitated for a moment. He had a feeling that he knew exactly what his friend meant, but he wanted to check something first.

“Are you upset with me for going back?”

“Wh—f—why would I be mad at you?” Sonic looked like he was about to explode, face twisted into a snarl. “It’s the Metallix’s fault, for being scummy enough to treat you like they did! It’s Robotnik’s fault, for making those machines in the first place, and for making a Mobius where there needed to be Freedom Fighters at all! And—and it’s on me for asking you to join the Freedom Fighters, because then this’d never have happened!”

The walls of Hydrocity Zone rang with the echo of Sonic’s outburst.

“…we’re done here.” the hedgehog muttered, turning away.

“N-n-no, we’re not.” Porker insisted, still gripping the rock, now so tightly that his hands shook. Sonic whipped around, his eyes hard, but Porker pushed onwards as quickly as he could. “S-Sonic, you couldn’t have possibly known this would happen. You may be a hero, but you’re not the Omni-Viewer—you can’t kn-know or do everything. And that’s fine!” he added, quickly, seeing Sonic’s quills begin to rise. “I don’t, I don’t expect you to, and anyone who does is being absurd, frankly. All you knew when you asked me to join was that Robotnik needed to be s-stopped, and that I was smart enough to help. And all you could—could do when I went back to Little Planet was make an impossible choice, and if you’re sorry that I got hurt, then I’m sorry I put you in a position to choose between me and everyone else.

“I don’t know if you really do r-regret asking me to join the Freedom Fighters—and if you do, I can try to understand why, but I have to inform you that I disagree whole-heartedly. You would n-not have survived fighting Robotnik on your own, you needed others by your side, and you were a big enough person to a-admit that in spite of the fact that I’m sure you would have preferred otherwise. If you regret asking me, then do you regret asking Johnny, or Tails? Do you regret bringing all of us into this? Because let me tell you, if I have to choose between a future where I am traumatized but alive, or a future where I never met the Metallix and you are gone, I would choose the former every time!”

Porker’s legs wobbled beneath him, and he lowered himself to the ground quickly, breathing hard and fast. “S-sorry, sorry for my harsh tone at the end there.” he apologized. “I didn’t m-mean to get so worked up.”

“…Porker.” Sonic said, no longer facing him, his voice strangely quiet in a way the engineer had never heard before. “You’re—right. About all of it. I’m glad you said yes when I asked you to join. Without you, we’d never have saved Kintobor, or gotten all the gadgets we needed to fight. It just, you know. Like you said. We were friends, but I was also the leader. That made your safety my responsibility. And you know me, I don’t like to, well. Lose. Heh.” He laughed humorlessly, even as his hands twitched and shifted with surprising intensity. “When you’re the Hero of Mobius, and you don’t save someone. Anyone. But especially a friend. It makes a guy wonder if he still gets to call himself a hero. If he still…has that friend. After he couldn’t keep him from getting permanently hurt. You know.”

“I think I do know.” Porker replied, almost instantly, needing to make sure Sonic knew that this opening up, no matter how stilted, was the right thing to do. “And I know that his friend has been with him for a while. His friend has seen him save people so many times, over and over again, even without a reward. So, quite frankly, if there was ever a time when he didn’t save someone, that friend would not doubt for a second that he didn’t wish things had gone differently. But,” he added, “this friend would also care about him a lot. And his friend would feel terrible if it seemed, for even a second, that a choice that the friend made was something he was using to make himself feel worse, whether he thought he deserved it or not. Because his friend is, well, his friend, right? So of course that friend wouldn’t want him to torture himself using the thought of what happened. 

“After all, he may be a hero—an incredible hero, even—but he can’t do everything, and like I said earlier, that's okay. That’s why the rest of us were there, to help him be able to do everything with our help. And sometimes that meant we were in danger, just like him. But that was okay, because there was no place we’d rather be than by his side, helping to make the world a better place.”

A single drop of water wet the stone by Sonic’s feet.

“There’s—” he croaked, before cutting himself off and abruptly clearing his throat. “There’s nobody I would rather have had with me.”

“I’m glad.” Porker smiled gently, and hoped it carried through in his voice.

“Ugh, first Super, now this—what is it with me and coming to visit you that makes bad things happen?” Sonic groaned, finally turning around once again (and the engineer elected not to notice how he was still working to compose himself).

“Well, in the very, very long run, that was a good thing too, considering that Super’s EMP blast was what enabled us to defeat Robotnik.” Porker said.

“Oh, so you’re not upset about that either?” Sonic asked, voice caught halfway between sarcastic and hesitant.

“Sonic!” the engineer huffed. “Super’s transformation process is completely involuntary! It may be frightening in the moment, but I would never, ever blame you for his actions!”

“…good to know.” Sonic said simply. “Speakin’ of which, I saw you two put up some better walls around the Emerald chamber, good to see we won’t have any more falling accidents.” He finally turned around, his arms folded and smirk back in place. “Don’t wanna find out what Super Porker is like or anything.”

“I hope seeing the Emerald chamber again wasn’t what bothered you earlier.” Porker’s brow furrowed in concern. “I didn’t even consider how it might be an unpleasant place to be…”

Sonic’s smirk lessened just a fraction. 

“You know, you’re always free to talk about it if you’d like.” Porker said, but when Sonic scoffed, he already knew it was a lost cause.

“Listen, I’ve had more than enough ‘talking about it’ for one visit.” Sonic rolled his eyes and did exaggerated air quotes, but…

…‘for one visit’ wasn’t ’for a lifetime’. Maybe it wasn’t such a lost cause after all.

Porker decided to take pity on his friend at last. “Would you like to head back to Hidden Palace now? You can bother Knuckles some more while I find the part I need to repair the zoom tubes.” 

“Finally!” Sonic exclaimed. “As much as I appreciate a good cave adventure every now and then, I’d rather be somewhere I can actually see the sun. Come on, let’s get moving.” He began to walk back towards the entrance, making Porker hesitate and frown over at him.

“…you’re not going to scout on ahead again?”

Sonic looked over at him, surprise registering for the briefest of seconds before he relaxed, his usual smirk returning—albeit somewhat crookedly. “Nah. If any badniks haven’t learned their lesson by now, we can handle ‘em.”

Porker could feel himself smiling wider than he had all day, enough so that Sonic seemed to notice. “Shut your trap, pixel-brain.” he grumbled, folding his arms. “Haven’t we had enough sappy nonsense already?”

“Fair enough,” Porker admitted. “So, how’s the rebuilding process going back in Emerald Hill?”

“The new town’s looking better every day!” Sonic’s grin returned in full force. “It’s gonna be much more defensible, but it’s also just way better quality and more sturdy than before.”

“That’s fantastic.” Porker said, suddenly feeling as though a weight he hadn’t even noticed had been lifted off his chest. “As much as the hillfolk have appreciated Knuckles’s hospitality, they seem eager to get home.”

“It’ll be good to have them back.” Sonic sighed. “Seeing the world start to live a post-Robotnik life sure is something, huh?”

“It really is. Sometimes I wondered if we’d be fighting for the rest of our lives,” Porker smiled ruefully. “But I’m so happy that isn’t the case.”

They walked together in silence for about half a minute, giving them both time to admire the water flowing through the caverns and the massive pillars helping to keep it all stable. The fact that the colors on the pillars hadn’t faded after all this time was fascinating to Porker, and he was beginning to think back on the papers Knuckles had gotten from that pirate fellow—

Sonic abruptly dragged his hands down his face and groaned. “Now you’ve gone and done it! Why’d you have to bring up Super in the first place, now I can’t stop thinking about him!”

“Technically, you brought him up.” Porker corrected him, before smiling sheepishly when Sonic shot him a glower (without any heat behind it, of course).

“Listen, it’s just—something about falling into the Emerald chamber made him way worse than usual. I don’t know all of it, but lemme tell ya…” He trailed off, staring into the middle distance.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Porker said softly, wishing he could give his friend a hand on his shoulder or a hug, but that wouldn’t help someone like Sonic. Instead, he jammed his hands in his pockets, kept walking, and waited.

“Ugh…waking up in the wreckage of our plane with the others nowhere in sight…fire everywhere…feeling myself laughing without knowing why…it’s good he’s gone, ‘cause I’m never about to see something like that again.” Sonic spat, forcing the tremor from his voice.

Porker felt his stomach turn. “Nobody told me about that! I can’t imagine how that must have felt, being amongst all that devastation without knowing what had happened!”

“They didn’t even tell me they were alive for days.” Sonic muttered, his shoulders hunched. “Super was still an issue, I know why they didn’t, but they left me thinkin’ I’d—! For days!” Suddenly, he kicked a rock with such speed and violence it shattered on impact.

Sonic clenched his fists, stopping in his tracks in an attempt to catch his breath. Porker shifted a little closer to him, worrying the fabric of his gloves with his fingers. “I’m sorry that happened. I’m guessing you haven’t mentioned this to any of them?”

“Why would I?” Sonic scoffed. “It worked, didn’t it? They fixed the problem.”

Porker opened his mouth—then hesitated—then sighed gently. “Well. I can see why they might have done that, but I don’t necessarily think it was the perfect solution. And if you ever want to talk about it more…I’m here. As your friend.”

“…you meant what you said earlier, right?”

“Hmm?” Porker blinked. “I said a lot of things earlier, I’m afraid you’ll have to remind me.”

“About…not blamin’ me for the stuff he does.” Sonic muttered, clearly embarrassed.

“Of course I did!” he insisted. “And I’ll say it as many times as you need! I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you. I don’t—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Sonic snickered, shoving Porker lightly. “Save your breath for all these stairs, we gotta climb them to get back up to that knucklehead.”

“Oh, good heavens.” Porker sighed, eyeing up the spiral staircase warily.

Sonic rolled his eyes, his trademark smirk softening just a fraction. “Forget it, Porker, just grab on tight.”

Seconds later, they were back in the main room of the Hidden Palace.

The engineer pulled his wrist from Sonic’s grip, stumbling over to the nearest control panel and slumping into a seat. “I will never be used to that,” he wheezed, chuckling lightly.

“Sonic, you’d better not have broken my best engineer!” Knuckles barked, stomping over to the two of them.

“Isn’t he also your only engineer?” Sonic shot back.

“All the more reason not to drag him along when you decide to have a run around!” the echidna insisted.

“Knuckles?” Porker called, interrupting the two’s bickering. He had removed one of his shoes—but not his sock, obviously—and was bandaging up his sore ankle. Both of the others seemed concerned, but when he smiled reassuringly, they both trusted him enough to back off. “Oh yeah, just turned my ankle, nothing major. Anyhow, do you know where the replacement air conduits are? We found the break, but my temporary fix wasn’t much of a fix at all.”

“Drawer 14B.” he replied, already heading off in that direction. “I’ll get it for you if you keep this prickly tank of hot air out of my face some more. Take him to Mushroom Hill or something, have him play with the toddlers a bit to burn off that energy.”

Sonic huffed, tapping his foot rapidly. “Hot air?! You come back here and say that to my face! C’mon, Porker, let’s leave the guardian to his sulking.”

The engineer laughed under his breath as he joined his friend once again. “You two could have a whole comedy show with that kind of banter.” he said warmly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Sonic rolled his eyes. “Now who needs help packing up?”

Porker did indeed proceed to show Sonic all around the Mushroom Hill Zone, and the two helped out where their skills were needed as the citizens of Emerald Hill prepared to return to their long-evacuated home. (As a matter of fact, Sonic sped up the process by at least half a day, which went greatly appreciated amongst everyone present.)

Once they had finished with that, Sonic admitted that he should probably head back soon, to make sure that the rebuilding process was still going well and that his other friends didn’t need him for anything urgent. Porker walked him back to the plane, the two chatting about memories new and old along the way. And just before Sonic hopped into the cockpit, he placed a hand on Porker’s shoulder—the only differences from last time being that Sonic was the one to leave via plane instead…and that Porker put his hand over Sonic’s for just the briefest of moments.

As the Hero of Mobius took off, he looked back for a second to see his old friend waving him off with a smile on his face, and he couldn’t help but feel pleased to know that he was welcome back whenever he felt like it. To his surprise, however, there was one other thing he noticed—or rather, the absence of something.

This time, when he had settled into his plane and prepared for takeoff, the memories of Super hadn’t been there. Even now that he noticed it, even though he could still remember the fire, now, there was also…

“I don’t blame you.”

And wasn’t that just something else?

[dustylovelyrun]

hi, how've you been! How's been creating and writing going?

The temptation for dramatics. I really, truly wanted to be dramatic. To state something along the lines of how utterly awful writing has been, in how words have become the delusions of a mind newly rendered half mad and trapped within the gnarling, twisted vestiges of a very bittersweet history, but. It never does seem to translate well online, does it? Being dramatic without warning. But it does significantly take away from the joys of dramatics to provide warning, doesn't it? Sad thing, that is.

Without dramatics, I can say that the reason my presence initially is / was so sparse around 2022-onwards is because of the aftermath of long-covid. You know. The brain damage thing. It directly impacted any pre-existing ability that I had to think or say two sentences and to successfully follow the train of thought that was connecting them, let alone to formulate an idea, write it, or have any tolerance as to the feeble shadowed results of what I wanted and previously could have put on a page. It elicited some very helpless and sad feelings, so, as I do, I ran. Nowadays, it has somewhat improved, but I'm still mostly at a point where I can only formulate messy outlines and get a very rare piece that seems to turn out alright. I'm also in a belated educational attempt to reattain, as an adult, everything I missed out when I went and dropped out at fourteen; the writing exercises natural to that and the NZ curriculum have oddly aided in reclaiming some of that, in my paralysing terror of attaining a bad grade, but. It eats up time. I'm still very much warring with what's occurred mentally, and am uncertain if my time as a contributor here just. Ended, frankly, far sooner than I had ever thought to suspect, or if I'll eventually manage to adapt and relearn in an extraordinarily painful length of time.

But frankly, being able to witness the enthralling, indescribable and so utterly memorising shift and development of your own writing has been one of the factors to keeping me here, really. Every second of it has been worth it. You, and a select handful of once-mutuals that I still remember quite fondly from the 2020 and early 2022 era. It has been a truly wonderful experience to watch you grow more confident in your capabilities, honing both your cadence and innate talents into a true passion and skill rendering you destined to become ingrained into the long-term memories, the core, of your audience's mind. You have truly flourished and blossomed as the years have passed, and it carries very well in those pieces which are so hauntingly beautiful, echoing and resounding deeply as they are read.

[sheepsdreamworld]

@wiltedmysmes Are you ready to see what awaits?

[xxgotthedevilinsidexx-archived]

🌺 send this to blogs you think are wonderful 🌺 - right back at you!

Look at that, you ALMOST got a smile out of that grumpy ole man !

[overnighttosunflowers]

Heyyy last anon here again.. all of that tracks honestly I really just hadn’t thought about that locket in forever and it being mentioned again took me out… really I fluctuate back and forth between which of them I think will propose pretty much every time I think about it…

My most favorite pet theory on a Laudna-initiated engagement is a potential resurrection/Delilah banishment.. she’s alive and not tied to Delilah anymore and euphoric in that and she gets Imogen alone and blurts it out (I do feel like maybe you wrote something similar to that too actually ?? Maybe.) Because I feel like of all the canon couples, Imodna ending the campaign with a proposal is the one instance that wouldn’t be forced or out of the blue at all.

YEAH no you get it!!!! honestly my two big hopes for BH post-campaign one shots are: 1) egg hunt extraordinaire, obviously, and 2) imodna wedding one shot BUT specifically with the framing of: they're getting married! but laudna wants to do one last thing first! she's decided that after some time in the puppetmaster seat, what she wants isn't to be in control of delilah anymore. she's ready to be rid of her. so they go perma-yeet delilah. and then get married :)

[wbellab]

Busy Woman | J. Bucky Barnes

summary: You’ve always had a soft spot for Bucky Barnes. Shamelessly flirted just to see that annoyed look that made him look so good. He never gave you more than those quiet stares, jaw tight like he was holding something back. Fine by you. You had better things to do than wait around for a man stuck in the 40s. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

pairing: tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

cw: angst (i love writing that lol), red room widow reader, post endgame, mentally unstable reader, grumpy bucky, flirting, cocky reader, reader has no filter, sexual jokes, implied canon deaths, implied canon violence, several times, no use of y/n

3k words

inspo: busy woman by sabrina carpenter

It started of with occasional flirting. You’ve been told that James—Bucky as people called him—Barnes was an ex assassin, a super soldier with a body count larger than you would’ve suspected, a guy that had the power to literally crush you if you annoyed him too much. But you didn’t care.

You’ve always been too bold and shameless for your own being. Life is too short to worry about details as insignificant as his body count (his death toll—you didn’t care about his past experience with women, or men ?—the more the better…).

This being said, you did not ignore who he was. You obviously acknowledge what he had done before. But hey, you could still appreciate beauty for what it was. Because James Buchanan Barnes was truly a sight for sore eyes. You didn’t know where all this playful flirting started getting more real.

"You look good in black." You mentioned one day gesturing to his gear. You both were paired in a small check up mission, much to your delight and Bucky’s annoyance.

"I always wear black clothes." He huffed.

"Yeah, my point." You smiled.

Men look hot in black, that’s a universal law, so you didn’t think much when you gave that comment. You’ve always been like that, subtly flirting with anyone, giving genuine compliments, sometimes out of the blue. It came naturally, especially with Bucky. What you truly did not expect was seeing his face flushing. It was subtle, but your eyes noticed. And that’s how your one sided flirting with him truly began.

"Something’s off." Bucky muttered, looking at the tracking device in his hands.

"Probably my clothes." It took him a moment to grasp it. But when he did his eyes just widened, and he sighed, used to it already. "You have no sense of humour whatsoever it is alarming." You continued after observing his reaction.

"No because that is straight off the worst pick up line you could come up with. Is this what you call flirting ?"

"You’re so confident that Im flirting with you. That is also alarming."

You were in fact flirting with him, though subtly. But you still kept the upper hand, folding your arms across your chest in a way that was almost childish.

He matched your gesture, folding his arms against his chest, a playful smirk on his face. "Well I hope you’re not because rejecting you now would probably mess with our assignment discharge." It was subtle too. But it was his way of rejecting you, kind of. You didn’t flinch. You wouldn’t take it seriously until he said the words straight to your face.

"Oh…" you pouted, mock-hurt. "I didn’t want your old cranky ass anyway." The lie rolled off your tongue effortlessly. It wasn’t awkward—your smile stayed sharp, teasing, and his matched it. He probably thought you were joking. Maybe you were. "But hey although i’m busy, clothes are always optional if you ever need a favor."

He groaned. Yep, you absolutely loved teasing him.

Something resonated through him one day. It was right after Thanos erased half of the world population. To him the blip felt like just a second but to you, you aged five years. You were apart of the Time Heist mission. You saw your sister sacrifice herself, to save you and the world. And you felt awfully guilty.

Things had drastically changed, when people reappeared. Bucky found himself in a world that was once again moving on while he was freezing with time. But still he got pardoned for his former actions, he started seeing a therapist and right when he thought he would be able to get his life together, Steve left. But you, you were the same old person. Talking to him as if nothing changed, as if you didn’t age five years older while he still looked the same.

You were in his apartment on a random evening—the very same night he returned from a "date" with the girl from the sushi place. Not that he knew you’d stalked him. When Bucky noticed his door was unlocked, a sinking feeling settled in his chest. He was sure he’d locked it. The key turned too easily. Then he saw you. A sigh left his lips, probably exasperation or relief. Maybe a bit of both. Still he didn’t have the energy to make you leave at that moment. Great mistake.

"I mean a win is a win, it shrunk our age gap with five years." You shrugged to him when the subject of the blip came into the conversation. It was more you talking and him huffing and listening. Barely listening. "You know I missed you. It was kind of boring without you."

"I bet it was." He huffed. "Look why don’t you just–" he gestured to your figure laying on his couch a bag of crisps, that you stole from his pantry, in your hands. "Stop putting crumbs all around the apartment and just get out now."

"Woah, I see you’re still rude." You mumbled. "I just missed you during those five years you know ? And since all of my friends are either gone or dead I just feel… super, super lonely." You sighed, dramatically. Although it sounded like a joke, you meant everything you said.

Your life truly fell apart when half of the population disappeared, it was already crumbling before but now, it was much more worse. Things were different. If it wasn’t for Nat being with you before, you would’ve probably not made it past your twenties. But now that she died, sacrificing herself, you just felt like you were dying all over again.

"Don’t you feel lonely ?" You asked cutting the silence. He turned to you, a bit surprised by what you asked him. You were staring straight ahead without blinking and that’s when he noticed the flask in your hand.

"You’ve got to be kidding me…" He muttered under his breath, taking the flask away from you. "Have you seriously brought alcohol here ?"

"I told you I felt lonely." You tried to defend yourself, as if it was enough to justify your need to drink alcohol. "But you did not answer me."

He sighed slumping in the couch next to you. He stared at the bottle that he stole from you just seconds ago, and he brought it to his mouth before wincing.

"This thing is disgusting."

"Its just some cheap vodka. I don’t have money." You answered sadly, your eyes not leaving the point you were fixing on the ceiling. You were absolutely wasted, after just one sip. To be fair it was your first time drinking, your system was definitely not used to it, even with all the serum injected in your veins.

"Once you’re sober, you’re getting out of here."

"Why do you badly want me to go mmh ?" You asked turning your head towards him, a frown on your face. You were not about to cry. Yes definitely not in front of him. "I would’ve rather gone to Sam." You say bluntly, the alcohol loosening your thoughts. "But he’s visiting his family and I thought you would maybe appreciate some company."

"Well I clearly don’t so you have your answer now." He said more firmly. "I don’t want your company."

"You don’t want me ?" You pouted, although your face showed a hint of amusement. Your fingers lightly grazed his flesh arm, and Bucky flinched at the contact—until he noticed your gaze shift toward the flask in his left hand. With a reluctant sigh, he offered it to you. But you did not take it. Instead you reached for his metal wrist,guiding him until the rim of the flask touched your lips, forcing him to pour de drink in your mouth. He was too stunned to resist, his eyes widening as he let you. "What ?" You hiccuped, probably from the drinking. "It’s technically you making me drunk now so it gives me a reason to stay longer." You giggled. You genuinely though at that moment that it was the smartest thing you’ve ever done. And that’s something to say because you were an ex spy.

"Fine." He said standing up and pouring the rest of the alcohol in the sink. You quickly got up, trying to follow him. Your walk was wobbly.

"Do you even know how much this cost me ?" You rolled your eyes, trying your hardest to not completely crumble on the ground.

"Have you seen yourself right now ?"

"Do you care for me ?"

"Not even close."

"Okay fine if you don’t want me…" You feigned walking towards the door but before you reached the handle you turned toward him. "I’ll just deem you gay." You giggled so hard you lost your balance.

The sexual undertones were not unnoticed by Bucky and he simply decided to blame the alcohol for your behaviour– although you always acted this way, sober or not. He was empathetic enough to help you off the ground and lead you back to the couch. You arms were around his shoulders as he grabbed you from your waist. When he tried to pull away, you were still gripping him hard.

"I am so lonely James." you murmured, your voice barely audible against his chest. You felt the rapid thrum of his heart beneath your cheek. He must have great stamina, you thought unaware it was racing for an entirely different reason.

"I know me too." He admitted too. Knowing that you wouldn’t remember it the next day.

He left you sleeping on his couch, you were definitely not going back to your house in this state and he should do with it.

Bucky woke up the next morning to an unexpected sound: silence. No burning kitchen, no flooded bathroom. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. For a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined you being there at all—some kind of strange dream brought on by exhaustion and memory.

But then he saw the neatly folded plaid blanket on the couch. You’d been there. You just left before he woke up. No note, no text—just gone. And it was barely 7 a.m.

It’s fine, he told himself. Nothing happened. I asked her to leave.

Still, a faint, unwelcome flicker of disappointment crept in. You could’ve at least thanked him, right?

He did not have time to dwell on it anyway. He had a more important business to attend to.

…

Sam was glaring at Bucky from across the jet. The hum of the engines was the only sound between them, heavy silence stretching thin like thread ready to snap. After deciding to confront Sam about the shield this morning, Bucky found him heading to Munich for an operation and he decided to tag along. That is pretty much how they found themselves in this situation.

"So…who are we fighting ?" Your voice cut through the quinjet, and you appeared from the steering cabin. You wore a headset and a black gear, the one you usually wore when you went on missions.

Bucky’s head snapped toward you, his expression tightening the second his eyes landed on your face. He grumbled something under his breath—he was definitely cursing you. The corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself. You always did have that effect on him.

"Did you plan this ?" His question was raised towards Sam.

"Why would I plan this ? You were the one who forced yourself into this plane" Sam retorted, he then turned to you a bit surprised. "What are you doing here ?"

"I happen to be training to become a pilot here and well it also happens to be the exact plane you guys are in so…" you lingered a bit. "I guess we’re working together." You flashed a wide smile.

"We’re absolutely not." Bucky said.

"I did not ask." You shrugged going to sit right next to Sam, which gave you a great sight of Bucky in front of you. This man looks so good when he’s annoyed. "I think Sam would rather work with me than with your little bitch ass anyway."

"Couldn’t have said it better." Sam muttered, and you extended your hand high-fiving him.

"Do you have something with my ass ? ‘Cause you’ve been talking a lot about it lately ."

"Wouldn’t you want to know." You winked at him. You hunched forward, elbows on your knees and hands supporting your face. Without breaking the eye contact. You stayed like this for a full minute.

Bucky felt… off. Unsettled. You were talking to him like nothing had happened—as if just the night before, you hadn’t shown up at his apartment, drunk and messy and vulnerable. As if you hadn’t buried your face in his chest and confessed that you were lonely. As if you hadn’t fallen asleep right there against him.

And now? You were smirking, teasing him like it meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.

Maybe you didn’t remember. Maybe it had been one of those hazy, half-lost nights for you. Or maybe—maybe that kind of moment was just something you could toss aside without blinking.

But for Bucky, it lingered. It was etched into the quiet corners of his mind.

And now you were laughing at him. Flirting like the night hadn’t happened.

He clenched his jaw and broke the eye contact, not trusting himself to speak. Because the truth—the one he hadn’t said out loud���was that it hadn’t been nothing for him.

"Haha you lost !" You cheered, turning to Sam. "See that, I just fixed his staring problem."

Sam caught the brief exchange and couldn’t help the amused grin that spread across his face. This mission wouldn’t be that bad now with you joining them.

"I don’t think you fixed anything. You just made freeky magoo over there very flustered."

Bucky rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Before he could answer anything, Torres appeared from the cockpit.

"One minute till drop off, Sam."

"Y’all did not answer me." You huffed standing up and grabbing an earpiece of you own.

"Flag smashers." Sam briefly answered. "You probably heard of them."

"Thirty seconds !" You heard Torres yell.

"Enjoy your ride Buck." Sam

"Oh no you can’t call me that."

"Why not ? That’s what Steve called you."

"Steve knew me longer and Steve had a plan."

"I have a plan." Sam turned to you. "You coming ?"

"Yep." You got up and Sam extended his hand for you to take. The plane was extremely low so you couldn’t use a chute.

"Fifteen seconds."

Sam gripped your waist.

"Oh yeah, what’s your plan ? Her ?" Bucky called, but Sam ignored him and jumped out of the plane with you in his arms.

"How’s he coming down ?" You asked Sam once you both were in the air flying towards the the outbuilding where your targets were located.

"He’ll manage."

"I had all of that on camera you know that." Sam said from beside you. You were watching Bucky from Redwing’s camera. He was lying on the ground where he fell a few seconds earlier from the plane.

"The whining looks good on you Barnes."

"Get out of my face or you’ll experience what real whining sounds like."

"Kinky." You muttered

"That’s a fucking threat."

The mission had gone sideways—again.

Smoke still lingered in the air, the convoy you were meant to intercept now far gone in the horizon. The intel had been wrong. Again. Too many hostiles, too many surprises, and no backup. Well except for Captain American wannabe and his acolyte.

And somewhere in the brutal fight, Bucky had done what he thought was best.

He had tossed you out of the moving truck.

Literally.

You were still brushing gravel off your jacket as you stormed down the dirt path beside him, your hair wild, your boots stomping with each step. You were limping, pretty sure you had twisted your ankle.

"You threw me off of a fucking truck, Barnes!"

"I saved your life." Bucky snapped, not even looking at you.

Sam trailed just a few steps behind, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Or interfere. Or get involved in the very obvious mess brewing between you two.

You turned on Bucky, not even acknowledging your hobbling stride, walking backward just to glare at him properly. "You couldn’t have just said ‘jump’? But no? You had to manhandle me and yeet me into a ditch like a rag doll?"

"You weren’t listening!" Bucky growled. "You were about to get blown up, and I didn’t have time to argue!"

"So your solution was throwing me out of a moving vehicle?!"

"You’re fine, aren’t you?" he snapped back, finally meeting your glare. "Little bruised ego, that’s all."

Sam finally sighed, raising his hands. "Alright, alright. Can we not kill each other while we’re in the middle of nowhere? I don’t feel like dying because you two decided now was the time to have a full-blown breakup fight—without even dating."

You both turned to glare at him in perfect unison.

Sam just shrugged. "I’m just saying what we’re all thinking."

"She shouldn’t have come." He deadpanned, he wasn’t even addressing to you and this made your blood boil.

Your eyes narrowed dangerously. "You don’t get to decide what I can handle. I’m not some helpless bitch."

"Oh really ?" He let out a dry laugh. "Could’ve fooled me." he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

When Bucky stared at your eyes, there was no longer that usual warmth that you always had when you talked to him. Gone was the usual glint of mischief, that effortless warmth you always carried when you tossed a smirk his way or teased him like he didn’t terrify most people. Your gaze now was colder—steeled, unreadable. You weren’t joking anymore.

"Nothing," Bucky gritted out, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I’m just done cleaning up after someone who treats everything like a joke and never thinks about anyone but herself."

The words hung in the air like a slap. You froze mid-step.

He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. You knew it.

You stared at him, stunned for a second, before your voice dropped, sharp and cold. “Say what you really want to say, Barnes. Stop dancing around it.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at you.

That silence? It cut deeper than his words.

You shook your head with a bitter smile. “Right. That’s what I thought.” You turned and kept walking.

And maybe for the first time, he realized you were genuinely hurt.

part 2

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for sooo long. There will be a part 2 I just need to edit it, although i’m highly contemplating turning this into a fanfic

[fairyhaos]

◇ the way you make me feel // choi seungcheol

seungcheol x gn!reader, 2.6k+ words

tags: requested by anon, established relationship, fluff, mild angst, seungcheol is sooo down bad oh lawwd

warnings: pet names, 1 vvv mild curse word ig?? (ass)

notes: any fic where i get to write besotted cheol is a great fic! might be slightly ooc but oh well. who cares. ty anon for this request <3

“I'm going to be very honest, honey… this feels like a sleeping arrangement for a couple that's just had an argument.”

You laugh a little at the mild pout on your boyfriend's face as he stares contemplatively at the bed after you've suggested a rather… interesting sleep method that he's never really heard of before. 

“It's really not,” you assure him. “Other couples do this all the time! And I thought it would be fun to try out too.”

Your boyfriend, Seungcheol, blinks at the bed before looking over at you, mystified. 

“Really? People want to do this?”

“Yes, Cheol.”

“Hm.” Seungcheol frowns. “What did you say this was called again?”

“The Scandinavian Sleep Method,” you say cheerfully, hopping over to the drawers with all the different duvets and duvet covers that you and your boyfriend have collected over the years you've been living together. “Isn't it such a great idea? We sleep in the same bed, but we each have a different duvet so we get better sleep but still get to be next to each other.”

You begin pulling out different duvets, inspecting them and continuing to chatter as you do so. 

“I know how much you love weighted blankets, but you know they're not something I'm a big fan of,” you say. “And you really hate my fluffy covers, for some reason. But if we sleep this way, then both of us can sleep happily without causing disturbance to the other's sleep quality!”

With a flourish, you turn back round to Seungcheol, the offending weighted blanket and fluffy cover in your hands, as if emphasising your point. There's a bright beam on your face, evidently eager to try out this new idea, but Seungcheol? 

He's still looking a bit hesitant. 

Which, understandable. You're introducing a new sleeping arrangement three years after you've been quite happily living together. Anyone would find that weird. 

“If we don't like it, we can switch back,” you assure him. You shrug. “It's just a trend I saw online, Cheol. I thought it would be cool.”

Seungcheol pauses, and then smiles, nodding once. “Fine, fine. Let's try out, then. We'll see if the Scandinavians actually sleep well.”

You cheer, dropping the bedding and skipping across the room to launch yourself into Seungcheol’s arms. He catches you easily, laughing as he does so, amused at how delighted you are by his acceptance. 

“Yes! I love you. Now I get to make the bed all aesthetic with different layered sheets!”

Seungcheol laughs again. “All right, sweetheart. Tell me if you need more sheets to fit in with your vision, okay? I'll buy you whatever you need.”

“Oh my god, suddenly I love you even more.”

───────────── 🗝

Admittedly, Seungcheol does love hearing you say that you, the absolute love of his life, love him (and any self-respecting boyfriend would feel the same), but he's wondering if this entire thing is really, really all that worth it. 

Because, well. 

Seungcheol hates the Scandinavian Sleep Method. 

He harbours no hatred towards the Scandinavians themselves, of course, but their sleep method, for him, well and truly sucks. 

Of course, he can understand why people like it. There are aspects he doesn't mind, too: such as how it's currently way less likely for him to wake up at 4am with a cold ass because you've stolen half the covers from him again. Or how he doesn't have to worry about the fluffy, fuzzy feeling of your sheets pressing creepily soft kisses against his ankles. Or how he can now actually sleep peacefully without finding that he's been suffocated by your weight on his chest because now, you actually sleep on your side of the bed. 

Nevertheless, he hates this. 

Unfortunately, he can't bring himself to say anything about this, because—

“I seriously think my quality of sleep has improved so much,” you say to Seungcheol one Sunday morning, beaming over your cup of coffee as he makes breakfast waffles for you. “The Scandinavians really know what they're talking about, huh?”

And your eyes are bright, sparkling as you say this, so full of life even though it's nine in the morning on a Sunday. 

So Seungcheol smiles back, happy purely because you're happy, even though if you really pressed him, he'd admit that he's not really happy at all. 

“I guess they do,” he says, turning back to the waffles. “Do you want honey with the waffles? Or the new maple syrup I bought you?”

“Ooh, maple syrup, please!”

And then Seungcheol had done all sorts of fancy tricks with the bottle of maple syrup, and you had clapped your hands and laughed, delighted, and Seungcheol felt a little better, the weight of his guilt that he didn't share your opinion beginning to lighten. 

There's no real big reason why he hates this sleeping arrangement. Sure, it stops all your bad sleeping habits, but, truthfully, he… misses all those things. 

He misses waking up to you all huddled up in the blankets, looking all small and adorable whilst swathed in the thick fabric. He misses cuddling you close and entangling his legs with yours in order to escape from the weird fluffy texture of your sheets. He misses feeling the comforting weight of you asleep against his chest, warm and secure like the physical manifestation of his soul, safely tucked against his side. 

Now, you simply smile at him, face shiny and soft from your skincare routine, and give him a peck on the cheek goodnight before snuggling under your duvet, away from him, in your own little bubble of comfort. 

Without him. 

It makes him feel like an abandoned dog left in the rain outside of his owner's home. 

Excuse him for being dramatic, but he's literally slept with you curled up in his arms for a very, very long time now. And these days, now that you're no longer with him and are miles away on the other half of the bed, he can't fall asleep by himself. 

Withdrawal symptoms from cuddling must be a thing, because he's going through them right now. 

“Just talk about how you feel, then,” is what any sane person would say about this matter, which is very good, very sound, advice. 

However, it's also what Joshua says to Seungcheol when he complains to him about the new sleeping arrangement, and everyone knows Joshua is the least sane person in existence, so Seungcheol decides to ignore his advice. 

Joshua rolls his eyes, used to but not pleased by Seungcheol's stubbornness. 

“You're being silly,” he says, when Seungcheol vetoes his suggestion. “This is obviously impacting your sleep quality in a negative way, which is the exact opposite of what Y/N was hoping for.”

“But Y/N seems to be sleeping better,” Seungcheol argues. He rubs his eyes, and the world spins a little as he does so. “So I probably shouldn't say anything, right?”

“No, you should say something,” Joshua says firmly. “What do you think Y/N will do when it becomes obvious that this new arrangement is actively harming you, and yet you didn't say anything? Hell, if I found out my boyfriend wasn't telling me that kind of stuff, I'd get really mad.”

Seungcheol frowns. “What? Why?”

“Because you're my boyfriend?” Joshua says. “Uh—not actually mine, obviously. But that's how Y/N would feel. You need to communicate your feelings. That's what couples do.”

Joshua takes a sip of his tea, spinning around in Seungcheol's desk chair in his study whilst Seungcheol, the owner of the chair, is currently exiled to the small wooden stool beside it. 

“Just think about how you'd feel if you were in Y/N's shoes. How would you feel if your partner wasn't telling you that they're sleeping badly and feeling increasingly more terrible throughout the weeks because of something that could be easily fixed by them talking it out with you?”

And oh, now Seungcheol understands. Now it makes more sense. He'd want you to communicate your feelings immediately. 

Joshua must see the revelation on Seungcheol's face, because he snorts smugly. “I knew you'd get there in the end.”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol grumbles, and Joshua mocks him for how ridiculously macho-man he was being before. “I'll talk to Y/N about this tonight.”

“Well done,” Joshua says amusedly, spinning around in Seungcheol's chair so fast that its joints, even as expensive and well-oiled as they are, begin to groan in surprise. “I'm so proud of you.” 

 “Shut up,” Seungcheol says again, and Joshua laughs. “And get off my chair.”

“Hmph! You're so mean. I bought this chair for you, you know.”

“No, you didn't.”

“No, I didn't. But you believed me for a second, didn't you?”

“Definitely not. Now get out of my house before Y/N gets home.”

───────────── 🗝

It's one of those very, very rare days where you finish work later than Seungcheol, and so when you unlock the front door and finally make it inside, you're more than ready to just fall into your boyfriend's arms. 

Except, the entire ground floor of your house is dark when you get home.

“Where is he?” you say to yourself, mystified. “Cheol? Where are you?”

“In our room!” he calls back from upstairs, and you take off your coat and shoes, dumping your bag by the doorway and bounding up the stairs two at a time to get to your boyfriend. 

��Seungcheol! Why were the hallway lights off? Have you eaten dinner yet? What's— wait, what are you doing?”

In the middle of your bed, right over where the two halves of your bedding meet, Seungcheol is sprawled out in an upside down starfish shape, staring up at you balefully as you walk into the room, and you laugh a little at the state your boyfriend is in. 

“Hello,” you say amusedly. “You look like you're sulking.”

Seungcheol just continues to blink up at you like a displeased cat. 

You laugh again, bending down and kissing him on the forehead. “Definitely sulking, I see. What's wrong, baby? What happened?”

There's a long moment where Seungcheol doesn't say anything, and you continue to smile down at him, petting his hair fondly. And then, he frowns, and speaks. 

“What do you think of our bed?”

You look over at the head of the bed, scanning it briefly. “I think it looks fine.”

It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because Seungcheol frowns harder. 

“Why? Do you not like it?”

“I don't like it,” Seungcheol says, and sits up, turning around to face you. “I don't like this sleeping arrangement.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? I thought you didn't mind the Scandinavian Sleep Method.”

Seungcheol sighs. “I lied,” he admits. “I actually hate it so much. It's the worst thing in the entire world.”

Your face softens in worry, feeling something thick and bitter rising to your throat at the idea that you've been forcing Seungcheol to go through with something he hates. 

“I'm sorry,” you say sincerely, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I didn't realise. You should've said something, Cheol. I would've changed back in an instant.”

Seungcheol, for how big and manly and good at acting as your guard dog he is, still always melts under your touch, and the moment you wrap your arms around his neck, he softens into your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“Would you really?” he asks, muffled into your blazer, and you belatedly realise that you're still in your work clothes. You haven't even washed your hands. 

“Of course I would,” you say in your best don't be silly voice. “I don't want you to be feeling bad.”

His hands wrap around your waist, warm and comforting and he pulls you in closer, hugging you even tighter. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I feel like I'm being stupid. This isn't even anything big. It just… makes me feel really terrible, and I don't know why.”

“Hey, that's totally okay,” you say placatingly, threading your fingers through his hair and patting him consolingly on the back. “I told you we didn't have to carry on with this, baby. I said we could switch back whenever we wanted to.”

He squeezes you tighter, arms wrapping more securely around you. “I still feel bad. You liked this sleeping method.”

You laugh softly, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Yes, but not as much as I like you.”

If possible, he seems to melt even further into you at those words, and you smile, adoring how clearly he adores you. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” you say affectionately, kissing Seungcheol's ear before untangling yourself from his embrace. “Let's start remaking the bed then, hm?”

You pull away from his arms, and Seungcheol is staring at you with big eyes, irises all melty soft. And then he nods, smiling slightly, looking like a pleased puppy as he gets off the bed and begins helping you take the covers off the duvets. 

───────────── 🗝

It's unusual for Seungcheol to be so shy like this—normally, he's the one telling you to be more outspoken, more confident, so it's a nice change. You quite like being able to reassure him, gently tell him what to do, praise him and shower him with love in the way that he always does with you. 

“So why did you hate the Scandinavian Sleep Method?” you ask him a bit later as the two of you sit in front of the washing machine, watching it spin your bedding round and round. Seungcheol had insisted that you wash all of it right away, because otherwise the two of you were bound to put it off for a whole month. 

Your boyfriend shrugs. He watches the bedding get spun in circles again and again and again. 

And then, he finally looks at you, clad in your classic two-piece cotton pyjamas, hair all a mess, your face softened and natural now that you've washed up for the night, all ready to go to bed. 

You look so pretty like this, so open and comforting and god, Seungcheol had missed you. 

Even though he sees you every day. But that's whatever. He's missed being this close with you at night, in this kind of domestic setting, where it's just the two of you pressed close together in your house as the rest of the world sleeps. 

“That sleeping arrangement…” he begins quietly, and you look up. 

“Hm?”

Seungcheol holds your gaze very seriously as he continues. “It didn't let me hug you.”

You blink. “What?”

“It didn't let me hug you,” he repeats, as serious as ever, and you want to laugh in fondness because it really is that serious for him. “I couldn't cuddle you to sleep. I hated that.”

“Oh,” you say, positively melting away at his reason, so unbelievably in love with him that your heart is goo in your chest. “That's so sweet, Cheol, oh my god.”

You lean over and pinch his cheek, cooing over him, and he bats your hand away with a groan, smiling. 

“Go away,” he grumbles, but it's so full of warmth that the words carry no weight whatsoever.

“But then you can't cuddle me in your sleep,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly. “Unless… you don't wanna cuddle me any more?” 

You gasp dramatically, leaning away from him for full effect, and then yelp when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his side, preventing you from moving away. 

“Don't say silly things like that,” he reprimands teasingly, laughter tinging the ends of his words. He kisses your shoulder. “Of course I want to cuddle you. It's the only thing I'll be doing every night from now on.”

“That's awfully cheesy,” you point out. “Sap.”

“It's all your fault.”

“Huh, I suppose it is,” you say proudly, snuggling into your boyfriend. “Glad to know I have such an effect on you.”

Seungcheol sighs, fond, and kisses your shoulder once again. “Oh, if only you knew.”

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