#TRIPLETS BORN

[water-coolant]

I have been getting very into roblox drawing.

I don't know why I'm so hooked on it.

[brainless-but-thats-all]

Triplets born

[anxious-art-block]

🎸🥁🎹🎶

(Close-ups under cut!)

Don’t forget your Daily Click!

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[the-big-cheese]

Oh so when ELON puts computers in people’s brains it’s “advancements in science” and “The beginning of the future”

BUT WHEN I, DR. ROBOTNIK-

[smolldust]

I don’t know why but despite never watching the show, I have the Sonic Underground theme song memorized

[taffydragondraws]

Sonia the Hedgehog please?

Get yourself a girl who can impersonate Steve Urkel

[sbnkalny]

*claws up your sofa*

I actually have zero time for humans. if I’m deprived i go my heart sinks as i jump up your hand in a jar

[katjavasileva]

Triplets 2023 - 2016

[bensonluvr69]

THE CHILDREN GROW, LEARN WHAT'S RIGHT

[ghosttfiish]

Dumb sketch of manic in the tmosth style I guesss

I fuckin LOVE this creature. Watching sug is dangerous and I will be hospitalized for it. Anywayz more sonic underground fans pls follow me pls pls I love u all

This was really quick so if it's a little wonky oh well

[canisalbus]

Was Machete a quadruplet? Or were his siblings born separately?

I think his parents first had one son, then got a pair of twins, and lastly Machete. The age gap between the siblings isn't very notable, they were born in fairly rapid succession. (Maybe that's a partial reason why his mother was pretty burnt out by the time Machete came into existence).

I'm not sure if all of his brothers made it into adulthood in the original 16th century setting, child mortality was very high after all.

[p3achj3llyf1sh]

I’m back on my bullshit (Tails looks a bit different in this AU too i just got lazy oof)

[the-they-in-thats-what-they-say]

Thank you Tails

The most important canon facts TailsTube has given us

-Tails uses tumblr -In his world, tumblr has a two-tailed icon -The fact above might imply Tails has created tumblr

[ohimsummer]

i think papa! sugs would have a huge chunk of change saved up for after you have the triplets.

you were worried about going back to work, and paying for childcare amongst other things since you have three little ones to care for now. but suguru is determined to be a provider, he wants his lovely wife to live easy, and he also wants his family to have extra money to fall back on since he won’t be working as many hours.

you’re going to be staying with the kids full time, but suguru is also cutting back on his own work hours to help you out as much as possible. what he saved can last for a year at least, and he plans on spending that year caring for and spending time with his wife and newborn daughters.

[baylardian-1]

she's been putting it off............................

[deweysdenouement]

“This stays between us,” Ernest instructs his brother as Frank silently stitches the small but deep wound on his right side. “Seriously. Not even if Dewey asks.”

“I’ve never been accused of being a gossip,” Frank murmurs, finishing his work with surgeon-like precision.

“Come on, you owe me one.” Ernest nudges him with his boot. “That man thought I was you.”

“I always tell you not to do that,” Frank scowls. “You should have let me take the hit.”

“You would do the same for me. You have done the same for me.”

Frank drops the used needle into the tray beside his couch with a clank and a blank expression. “That was different,” he says. “I didn’t know the poison was in the sugar. I thought the violence would start after the tea.”

“You expect too much civility from your side,” Ernest tells him. “They were trying to kill either way. Why let someone finish their breakfast?”

“They were very polite.” Frank pours rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad. “And J always…hey, do not scratch those stitches.”

“My associates just went for the gut.” Ernest winces at the burning sensation of the alcohol. “Didn’t take much of a look at me.”

Frank stares at him. He’s got the kind of stare that goes right through a person.

“What?”

“You’re upset,” Frank states.

“Alright, Captain Empathy.” Ernest rolls his eyes. “I scratched the stitches and it hurt, just get on with telling me off.”

“That would probably make both of us feel better,” Frank agrees. “But I’m asking you why anyway.”

“If you’d been the one who got stabbed, you’d have clammed up until the end of time,” Ernest says bitterly.

“We’re different people.” Frank puts down the cotton pad and folds his hands.

“I wish we were,” Ernest snaps, which he doesn’t mean to say at all, but his side is burning and a not-insignificant amount of his blood is on the floor.

Frank just nods. He doesn’t need any further explanation.

“Do you remember when we were little?” Ernest asks finally. “Before…before everything. And I cried because we all got different colour scarves for our birthday and I wanted red like yours?”

“So we’d match.” Frank smiles a little. “Yours was green.”

“And Dewey’s was yellow.” Ernest nods. “But Father sat us down and he told us that he didn’t want us to just be identical triplets our whole lives. He wanted us all to be as different as we could possibly be. That’s the only memory I have of him.”

“I remember,” Frank’s voice is soft. “I don’t think they ever mixed us up once.”

“I hate that they believed I was you so easily,” he says. Then, “No offence.”

Frank snorts.

“They don’t see a single tell,” he continues. “We’re one person on two sides. Where do you draw the line? What’s me, and what’s me pretending to be you? And what’s me pretending to be you pretending to be me? Are we both just pretending to be a manager?”

“Ernest.” Frank holds out a hand. “Stop.”

“Sorry.” Ernest shakes his head. “Too sincere for you?”

“I read the files on our parents,” Frank says quietly.

Ernest stills. Dewey had handed them each a copy of VFD’s records of their parents some years ago. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to read them, and neither had Ernest. He had been under the impression that Frank had never touched them either. The last he was aware, none of them knew a single thing about their parents beyond blurry, unreliable memories.

“How is that relevant?” Ernest says at last.

“Because…” Frank considers his words. “I looked at all these photos. I read people’s accounts of meeting them. Letters they wrote, diary entries. Even their school reports.”

“And?”

“And I’m nothing like them.” Frank smiles grimly. “I’m too neurotic, I was too clingy at school, I don’t laugh much. Our mother loved sesame and I’m allergic. Our father couldn’t focus on anything, but I can’t put something down until it’s finished. And they seemed so fun.”

“Where is this going?”

“Let me finish.” Frank huffs. “Our father questioned everything. He made trouble every single day at school, but it was because he had the strongest sense of justice any of those teachers had ever seen. He was charming and funny and he loved the sauna. He was a terrible dancer but a great singer. He wanted to be a cowboy when he was little.”

“Frank.” He can feel a dam starting to crack, something swelling to bursting in his chest.

“You’re not me,” Frank says sternly but gently. “You’re our father’s son. And that man is so loved and so missed. Which I’m told he would have been cocky about.”

Ernest laughs a little shakily.

Later, when he returns to his own room to rest, he finds a photo tucked into the pages of the book on his nightstand.

The man in it has a squarer jaw and darker hair, but the smile that looks back at him is like staring in a mirror.