#augh my poor spine

[ombekende]

[infi8ity]

nsfw. | MDI.

∞

THE ORIGINAL PLAN FOR YOUR ONE-HOUR LUNCH BREAK WAS AS FOLLOWS— surprise toji at his tattoo parlor with chinese takeout, spend and enjoy time with your husband as you both eat said takeout and make it back to work before 2 pm.

you hadn’t even made it to step two when the plan quickly became— toji making you cum as many times as you could bear before 2 pm. it was 1:25 now. by this time, you had orgasmed twice.

but toji was ever determined to make it a third.

that's how you ended up in his back office at “cursed ink tattoo shop” on his peeling black leather sofa spread ass up; face down over the arm of the couch getting fucked stupid.

clothing and undergarments lay strewn haphazardly across the room, a testament to the fervor of the past few rounds. toji’s dominating presence was accentuated by the sheen of sweat glistening on his powerful form, each drop reflecting the dim light.

he held your hands firmly behind your back, his grip unyielding as he pressed them down, deepening the curve of your arch. with his free hand, he braced himself against the back of the sofa, his muscles tensed to maintain his balance and control.

with every thrust into you, you could feel your abused walls tightening around him. the pain was intense but the pleasure was far fucking greater.

“i can't quite--," your husband tenses in between his powerful strokes. "hear you, woman. speak up."

he knew what he was doing. when he fucked you like this— like a madman— you were always lost for words. the way he rammed his thickness into you at such a force, your only response was the loud lewd moans escaping your lips.

this doesn't suffice for toji.

with a deliberate, firm release of your wrists, his hand slides around to grasp your chin, his grip intense as he forces you to meet his gaze. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours, drawing your face closer to his until you’re mere breaths apart, a deep hunger in his navy eyes.

"should i stop? is that what you want? for me to stop fucking you?"

though his words are threatening, his pacing does not falter. he continues to pound his thick length into your soaking cunt.

"huh?" he growls, awaiting your response.

you choke on your moans. you felt unable to form a coherent sentence, thus furiously shaking your head in protest. "n-no. fuck- augh,"

"then let me fucking hear you, baby," he whispers in your ear. his hypnotizing tone sends shivers down your spine down to the pool between your legs. "wanna hear you scream my name mrs. fushiguro."

he loosens his grip on your chin and guides your forearms to rest on the arm of the sofa. pressing his body against your back, you can feel the slickness of sweat causing your bodies to cling together.

he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

toji drastically slows his pace; allowing you to catch your breath and regain your composure. albeit further delaying your orgasm. you whine in complaint.

he gently shushes you, wrapping his muscular bicep around your barred throat. his touch is firm yet tender, applying just enough pressure to hold you in place while eliciting a soft, controlled choke.

he teasingly pulls out, thrusting himself agonizing slowly— back in. bottoming out, he asks, "whose dick is this?"

"mine." you sputter.

"thats right.” he drags his tip along the folds of your cunt. “whose pussy is this?"

"yours. all yours."

his hips connect with your ass. the force rocking you forward, a moan catching in your throat.

"good girl." he praises. he thumbs his fingers between your nipples. pinching and twisting softly. "who fucks you like this?"

"just you toji. only you baby. please, feels so good i'm gonna cum. was having a bad day, i need it.”

your responses seem to please him, as he speeds up his pace. he abandons his assault on your nipples and finds purchase on your clit. tracing circles against your bud.

"aww, my poor wife was having a bad day at work? maybe after i let you cum this third time, it'll get better." he drawls.

he wasn’t lying; work had built up a pent-up tension deep within you. If there was any way to release the stress weighing on your shoulders, toji was the perfect remedy.

as if reading your thoughts, he quickens his movements. your walls suck him in deeper, tightening well around him. his groans like music to your ears. "you feel so good y/n. you're so beautiful like this. 'm gonna nut from the sight of you. "

the praise gives you a boost of confidence as you were unable to differentiate what felt better? the pressure of him pinching and massaging your clit or the feeling of him massaging your guts and hitting all the right spots.

you rotate your hips around him, almost as if you were fucking him right back, and toji moans with you. you chant his name like a broken record. you can't help yourself. It's the only thing you can think of. him. him. him.

his arm tightens against your throat in response to you clenching around his length. your pussy pulsates, your orgasm nearing its release as he hits that one spot- over and over and—

in sync, you cry out as you cream around his dick; feeling toji’s hot loads shooting inside of you. your juices flowing together, coating your walls and spilling out of you as toji removes himself.

the room was filled with the sounds of panting as the two of you fought to catch your breath.

toji is the first to move. he presses soft kisses against your lips before he opts a glance at his wristwatch and stands.

“well then mrs fushiguro, it's one thirty-seven." he remarks, casually sauntering around the room in search of your scattered clothing. "i’d say we have fifteen minutes to fix you up, get some food in your stomach— Lords knows you’ve had enough of me in there,” you snort. “and on the way to work before two.”

he pads in front of you, in all his six foot two perfectly muscled glory. he was no longer erect, but that hadn't diminished his length in the slightest. he motions for you to take your clothing.

“wait,” you begin. he quirks a brow. “you made me cum three times. least i can do is give you one more so that we’re even. yeah?”

“you sure? ain't you hungry?” he asks, cupping your hands against his face. his thumb swiping across your parted lips. you captured his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue against his finger. looking up at him beneath your lashes, you suck softly.

he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop and groans. "hungry for something else that's for sure." you reply, eyeing his growing erection.

you grin lustfully as he runs his fingers through your hair, eventually grasping a fistful.

"fucking hell," he says under his breath; tossing your clothes to the side. "do your worst woman."

∞

© infi8ity. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[virgoiscariot]

Touched a guy’s spine today. Not pleasant! I’m putting collegenase onto this stage 4 to his mid back and my fucking finger catches on bone. AUGH. Thankfully the poor guy was turned away from me and couldn’t see the face i made. I’m usually very good at keeping my cool but touching a SPINE is. um. anyways

[ultramarcypan]

beneath the costume is the child we always are

Nacht, who’d been examining some of Asta’s quizzes, looks up at that. “A fairy tale?” He asks, setting the pages back down. “Why a fairy tale?”

Written for BlackBullsWeek2022 (Prompt: Fairy Tale)

“You wouldn’t have to be doing this if you just studied for all your tests in the first place.”  Noelle sounds totally uninterested in his distress, even as she’s neatly laying out all of Asta’s notes and quizzes on the kitchen table to make sense of them.  “Honestly, if you didn’t get points for writing your name on the top, I don’t know if you’d have any grade higher than a zero.”

“I do!  I really, really do!”  Asta protests, slumping over onto the table.  “I can’t help that I’m an idiot!”

“‘Atta boy Asta!”  Yami, who’d shown up to watch the show, barks a laugh out.  “Own that shit.  How’re you ever gonna surpass your limits if you aren’t aware of your own flaws?”

Asta perks up at that.  “That’s a good point!  Thanks Yami, sir!!”  His enthusiasm is instantly curbed when a hand comes down on his shoulder.  He stiffens and swallows down a yelp, hands shooting to his side as his spine locks straight.  “Augh!”

When he twists back, he’s face to face with a smiling Nacht Faust.  “Nacht!”  He squeaks out, as the hand on his shoulder squeezes down.  “I didn’t know you were there!”  

Nacht hums, smile taking on a razor edge.  “No, I imagine you didn’t.”  Asta pales, even as Nacht removes his death grip from his shoulder.  “Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have been taking advice from Yami, which I’ve told you time and time again is a bad idea.”

“Yes sir!  Sorry sir!”  Asta apologizes, folding his hands neatly on the table.  It hadn’t taken him long to learn that crossing Nacht was a terrible idea.  And, more importantly, Nacht did have a tendency to be right about most things.

Noelle snorts, a highly undignified sound for a lady of her pedigree Asta thinks, and Yami rolls his eyes.  “Alright then asshole, you help the kid.”  He gestures to all the papers spread out that Noelle has finished organizing.  “See if you can salvage the train wreck that is his Lit grade.”

Nacht pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and settles down neatly into it.  “I’d be happy to help if someone wants to tell me what’s going on?”  It’s phrased as a question but all of them are smart enough to hear it for the polite demand that it really is.  Asta hastens to comply while Yami rolls his eyes again, this time with more force.

“I’m failing Lit,” he says bluntly.  He doesn’t lie in general and he certainly doesn’t lie to Nacht; besides, proof of his poor, poor grade is all on the table in bright red ink.  “But my professor’s cutting me some slack, since I’ve been showing up to his office hours like twice a week and emailing him frequently with questions.  He’s offered me some extra credit that’ll give me enough to at least scrape me by with a passing grade.”  Nacht hums to show he’s listening and Asta continues.  “He told me to pick a fairy tale–one that we hadn’t already talked about in class–and to briefly summarize it and then explain what theme or moral the story may be telling.”

Nacht, who’d been examining some of Asta’s quizzes, looks up at that.  “A fairy tale?”  He asks, setting the pages back down.  “Why a fairy tale?”

Yami’s the one who answers that.  “It’s a World Lit class,” the older boy grunts, fishing in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.  He pulls one out and in the same movement that he puts the pack back, he fishes his lighter out and flicks it up in a fluid motion to light his smoke.  “Apparently, the brat did the best on that unit, so that’s what the teacher gave him for extra credit.  Play to his strengths, or something like that.”  When the silence stretches he takes a deep drag from his smoke and grunts at them.  “See Nacht?  I fuckin’ pay attention to what the kids are doin’.”

“And I’m so proud of you for that,” Nacht says, amusement laced in his tone.  “So with all that cleared up, my next question is obvious.”  He tilts his head at Asta, ponytail falling over his shoulder as he does so.  “Do you have any idea what story it is you want to do, Asta?”

Asta shakes his head.  “Not a clue.”  He leans back in his chair, running his hands through his hair.  “I did like the unit when we did it in class, but I don’t read a whole lot on my own and I don’t even know more fairy tales than the ones we covered,” he admits with a frown.

Nacht hums, thoughtful and Asta zeros in on it.  “Do you have a recommendation?”

“For a fairy tale?”  Nacht says.  “Sure, I know several of them, but that doesn’t mean that I’d pick one that you like or that resonates with you.”

“I trust you!” Asta says enthusiastically as Noelle coughs an ‘idiot’ under her breath.  “I’m sure I’ll like whatever you pick out, Nacht!”

Nacht’s gaze softens and turns fond, and with a shake of his head he scoots closer to the table.  “If you’re sure then, Asta.”  The younger boy nods and Nacht pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a few times, his brow furrowed.  The others wait, intrigued, as he flips the phone back around with a Wikipedia article open.  “Personally, my favorite fairy tale is The Bremen Town Musicians.”

“Sounds bougie,” Yami says as Noelle and Asta scoot closer to the phone to skim the article.  “What’s the ‘too long, didn’t read version’ of it?”

“It’s a story about a donkey, a dog, a cat and a rooster,” Nacht starts.  “They’re all older animals, past their prime and use on the farm they live on and their masters mistreat them because of that.  So they decide to leave their homes and they end up running into each other on their travels.”  Asta nods to show he’s listening and even Noelle glances up in interest. Nacht, realizing that he has a rapt audience, smiles softly.  

“They decide as a group to head off to the town of Bremen, a place known for its freedom, and decide they’ll become musicians.  On the way to the town, they come across a lit cottage and when they look in, they see three robbers gloating over a pile of treasure they’ve stolen from the innocent.  They decide to scare them off and teach them a lesson and they make a huge ruckus–and the robbers, startled by the sudden noises, run off in fear.  The animals head into the empty cottage and decide to stay for the night as a rest from their travels before they continue on to Bremen in the morning.”

Yami puffs out another cloud of smoke, rolling his cigarette thoughtfully between his fingers.  “What next?”

“Later that night, the robbers come back to investigate if it’s safe to go back into the cottage and retrieve their loot.  They draw straws and send one of their group in to investigate; in the dark cottage, the only thing he can make out are the cat’s eyes, which shine in the dark.  Thinking that her eyes are the fire and he reaches out to stick his torch in to light it.”

“Bet that goes great. ”

Nacht grins, all teeth.  “About as well as you’d expect.  The cat yowls and scratches the robber with her claws, which startles the other animals awake as well.  The dog bites him on the leg, the donkey kicks him, and the rooster crows loudly and chases him from the house.  The terrified robber makes it back to his companions and tells them that he was attacked by a horrible witch who scratched him with long fingernails–the cat, a dwarf who had a knife–the dog, a black monster who hit him with a club–the donkey, and worst of all a bat who had screeched and flown at him–the rooster.  The robbers abandoned the cottage to the animals, who decide that they’re quite happy there and end up living out the rest of their lives together happily there.”

“That’s kinda like us!”  Asta says.  None of them had noticed, but he’d been scribbling furiously on the back of one of his tests, taking notes as Nacht had told the story to them.  His handwriting is messy and the words slant on the page, but it’s legible enough to make out the outline of the story with annotated notes about key points, and even some scribbles on the side about the tone of the story overall and theme.

Noelle’s face bunches up in a frown.  “How do you figure?”

“Think about it!”  Asta taps the pen against his paper rapidly, chewing on his lower lip as he processes his thoughts.  “Everybody here is kinda a misfit in some way or the other, yeah?”

Yami claps loudly.  “You can say that again!”  He agrees enthusiastically.  “Ain’t a damn one of us normal in this household.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of,” Noelle says, raising an eyebrow at him.  Yami shrugs.

“And,” Asta says, ignoring his housemates and looking at Nacht with bright eyes, “all the animals banded together to protect each other and to make their dreams come true!”

“Is that what you got from the story?”  Nacht asks, and Asta makes doe eyes at him.  “I’m only asking, not saying that you’re wrong.  A lot of interpreting text is based on personal experience, and if you can use the text to support you, then you’re good.  I’m curious is all.”  He soothes.

Asta considers that for a moment, mindlessly clicking his pen as he thinks and looks back over his scribbles.  “Yeah.”  He says, after a few long moments.  “Yeah, I think that’s a big part of the story.  That friends can be family on their own and that finding freedom and happiness in life are more important than being strong or useful or popular.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause that follows that assessment.  Asta can feel himself turning red and he’s just about to start backpedaling and begging stupidity for his weird interpretation when Noelle makes a quiet noise.  “Huh.”  She says, half to herself.  “I can see that.  It’s…a nice interpretation.  Way better than what I thought an idiot like you could do.”

“Noelle!”  Asta whines, slumping over on the table.  “That’s so mean, I really thought about that one!”  She harumphs at him, not moved in the slightest by his cries.  Yami and Nacht share a glance over their quarreling kids' heads.  “Yami, sir, Nacht–help!!  I thought my moral was pretty good!”

Yami chuckles, but Nacht is the one to speak up.  “I think,”  Nacht says, pushing himself up from the table.  “That is a key part of the fairy tale and a very accurate assessment of what the key theme of it is.  Sounds to me like you’ve figured out what you’re doing your extra credit on.”  He offers a rare, real smile to Asta as he picks his phone up from the table.  “Best get started then, seeing as your professor is already doing you a favor by offering it at all.”

“Wait,” Noelle says.  She crosses her arms in front of her and looks Nacht up and down, one of the few in the house brave enough to ever stand up to him or challenge him in any capacity.  “Wait, I have something to ask before you melt back into the shadows or whatever you do.”

“Go on,” Nacht says, amused even as Asta hisses at Noelle for her audacity.

Her eyes narrow and she fixes him with a stare that rivals his own.  “That’s not a super well known fairy tale,” she says.  “But you sure did have it ready to go and you clearly knew the story well enough to just rattle it off.”

“Yes, the point being?”  

“Where’d you first hear it that you just conveniently have it ready to give to poor dumb freshmen who can’t pass their English classes?”

The atmosphere in the room shifts at her question.  Nacht tenses and it’s such a jarring and alien response to see on their normally cool and unflappable den mother that Noelle and Asta immediately are uneasy.  Even Yami has straightened up, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray by the sink and leaning forward slightly.  Asta is just getting ready to kick Noelle under the table and make her apologize or rescind the question or something, when Nacht wilts and lets out a sigh.

“It was my brother’s favorite story.”  He admits to them.  “When we were kids, we had a picture book of fairy tales and that was in there–he would make our parents read it to us at least twice a week before we went to bed.  I always grumbled about it but, truth is, I liked the story a lot too.  And…”  Nacht trails off, but it doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines and figure out where he’s going with it.

Yami’s still hovering, clearly ready to intervene should things get ugly, and Noelle has visibly wilted, guilty despite having asked an overall innocent question, but unsure if an apology would even be welcome.

It doesn’t matter, because Asta’s the one to speak.

“Well,” he says quietly, slowly, not looking away from Nacht as he does so.  “I bet he’d appreciate that you remember the story so well and that you’ve passed it on to us.  And I bet he’d be happy to know that you’ve found friends just like the animals in the story and that you’re happy here with us.”  Asta says it matter of factly, like there’s no doubt in his mind about Nacht’s real feelings.  “Thank you for sharing it with us.”

It’s Noelle’s turn to look at her classmate in panic, sure that he’s just broken the unspoken but cardinal rule of ‘don’t ask about Nacht’s brother’ that all of them strictly adhere to.

Shockingly, Nacht doesn’t lunge at Asta.  He doesn’t snarl or snap or shout or make any sort of threat of physical or emotional harm against him.  What he does do is blink in surprise at the younger boy before he lets out a soft huff of a laugh, and crosses his arms in front of him in an almost pseudo hug.  “You’re very welcome, Asta.”  It’s the realest and most genuine any of them have ever seen him be–Nacht isn’t cold or unwelcoming, but he is sharp and aloof and to see genuine emotion come from him, especially such tender emotion is….odd.  Different, though not in a bad way per say.  It falls silent again, still a bit awkward but not unbearably so.

Yami slaps his hands on the table, making both Asta and Noelle jolt.  “Alright,” he says gruffly.  “Enough of all that, write your paper brat.”

“Yessir!”  Asta says, both desperate to fully end the awkwardness and finish his work on time.  Yami gives him a firm nod before he pushes himself off from the counters and saunters towards the living room, throwing his arm around Nacht and dragging him along in the process.  Nacht protests, much more mildly than he usually would, but enough to make everyone let out a silent breath of relief that he seems to be okay.  He does glance back as Yami’s frogmarching him from the room, letting his eyes slide from Noelle who’s fishing fresh paper out from her bag to organize an outline to Asta, who’s pretending he’s reading back over his notes while watching them both out of the corner of his eye.

“Asta?”

“Yes?!”  He jumps, guilt evident in his tone and how he squirms in his chair, sure he’s about to be called out.

Instead, Nacht offers one more small smile.  “Make us proud, yeah?”

He doesn’t know if Nacht means the Black Bull Boarding house and all their roommates, or if he’s talking about him and his brother.  It doesn’t really matter.  His answer’s the same regardless.

“Yeah!”

Notes:

This is my forcibly shoehorning Nacht's devils and their symbolism into an AU where devil's don't exist lmao. Also will I ever stop writing Yami and Nacht with a subtext of 'you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid?' Maybe, but it sure ain't in this fic!

[mystyrust]

Tricks and Treats - Ectober 2020 Day 4

Prompt: Darkness / Poison

Word Count: 1286  AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255454

Additional Tags: Slight crack, Halloween, also kyle shows up!

It was no secret amongst the inhabitants of the ghost zones that on Halloween, the divide between the realms of the living and dead were thin. The ghosts could visit the land of the living, and for once, they wouldn’t be ushered away. In fact, if they were scary enough, they could even get free candy.

Danny knew this wasn’t the exact truth – in Amity Park, where the ectoplasmic concentration was higher than average, ghosts visited the land of the living all the time. But he was still extra vigilant for Halloween. Last time, he messed it up by summoning the Fright Knight. This time, it would take place during a new moon, when the night would be darkest and a ghost would be strongest. With living people in creepy costumes and cosplay, anything could go wrong.

“Hey, nice claws. They almost look real.”

“My, what sharp teeth you have!”

“That scythe looks dope! SO creepy.”

Luckily, Danny’s ghost sense could help him tell apart living people from dead ones. So he took it upon himself to patrol extra vigilantly on Halloween night, to protect the living people from the dead ones. Sam and Tucker were upset at first, but Tucker decided that it was possible to patrol and go trick or treating at the same time.

“Listen, guys. We’re still patrolling; we’re just taking candy breaks on the way! And besides, if we dress up for Halloween, we’ll blend right in!”

Danny found himself agreeing – he wouldn’t even have to pretend to be home after curfew if he told his parents he was trick or treating.

Halloween was Sam’s favorite holiday of the year – she loved all things occult, candy, and costumes. She always had the scariest costume of the three, but this year she opted for a more expensive cosplay.

“Holy crap your Mikasa Ackerman costume looks dope! Very on-brand for you, Sam,” Using the Manson Money™ that she rarely flaunted, Sam had purchased highly detailed props – Danny wouldn’t be surprised if the Vertical Maneuver Gear that was part of Sam’s look would actually work just like on the show. While Mikasa’s color scheme wasn’t as gothic as Sam would have liked, the character was moody and independent – just like Sam.

“Thanks Tucker! You really outdid yourself with your costume this year!” Tucker’s ‘costume’ wasn’t cosplay like Sam’s, but he was wearing an oversized suit that made him look taller than he really was, with fake arms attached. Tucker’s head was “held” by the suit’s fake arms, making it look like a decapitated person was walking around with their own head in their hands. The fake neck on top of Tucker’s suit still smelled like ketchup.

“Why aren’t you in costume yet, Danny?” The two friends had arrived at Danny’s house at the same time, waiting for him to finish changing so that they could go out “patrolling” the best candy routes together.

“I am now,”

Danny covered himself with a white sheet, with just two holes for eyes.

“I knew this would happen. Listen, I have a spare Ghostbuster’s costume at my house.”

“But Sam!” Danny protested. “If I need to go ghost, the sheet can hide my transformation!”

“That’s no excuse for poor effort on the best holiday of the year. You can still keep the sheet for if you need to go Phantom, but I’ll be damned if you don’t have fun as Fenton, too.”

The three made a detour to Sam’s house, with Tucker complaining that lost time was lost candy along the way. Luckily, they hadn’t lost much time – it wasn’t too dark yet, and the trick or treaters had only just started trickling into the neighborhoods.

“Trick or Treat! Smell my feet! Give me something good to eat!”

The three friends combed through the neighborhood, getting nearly full buckets and some prized candy bars along the way. At first, Tucker was worried that the houses would perceive them as “too old” for trick or treating – but once it was obvious that people much older than the trio were also out trick or treating, he began to relax and enjoy himself with the rest of his friends.

Danny, though he was enjoying himself, was too busy keeping his guard up. Especially now, when it was darker out. His core hummed with extra energy – he felt the extra power bubble underneath his skin, and stretched his senses out as far as he could. His hearing, his sight, his awareness, his ghost sense. Suddenly, he felt a chill crawl up his spine, just as he saw a group of trick or treaters walk by. Ghosts – they all were.

“Sorry guys, I’ll be right back.”

Danny unfolded the white sheet and covered himself, turning into his ghost form before turning invisible and flying out. Just as the suspicious group of Halloween goers turned the corner, Danny approached them from above.

“Fancy seeing you out here, in your not so fancy outfits.”

It was Ember, a couple others in lazy ghost blanket sheet costumes, and –

“Aw c’mon!”

“Youngblood?”

The child ghost was the same as he always looked, dressed up as a pirate.

“We weren’t planning to, but the kiddo really wanted to come out,” Ember responded.

“I promise I’m not gonna cause any trouble, I just really wanted to celebrate Halloween and get some candy!”

And that resonated with Danny, a little. He just wanted to enjoy himself, but he was on duty protecting all the humans from a threat they didn’t even know to look out for. And, by the looks of all the ghosts, a threat that probably wouldn’t manifest, at least tonight. Danny sighed.

“Look, if you promise not to cause any trouble for anyone – no damage, no ghost powers, no whatever – and you just do normal trick or treating like a human would, I suppose I can let you go.”

It had been a few months since he’d last won against Ember, Youngblood, Kitty, and Johnny 13. A few months since they’d bother to cause trouble for Danny. They weren’t so bad all the time, and once they reached an understanding, they went from evil to annoying at worst.

“Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou ghost boy!” Youngblood floated up to give Danny a hug.

“Remember! No ghost powers!”

“Oh right!” Youngblood floated down, giving Danny a hug around his legs.

Not all ghosts would be willing to reach an understanding, but Danny would maintain an alliance with the ones that did.

The ghosts returned to their trick or treating route; Danny should head back to Sam and Tucker, before –

“Hey, Fenton,” Danny hears a familiar nasally voice behind him.

“Hey…Kyle,”

“Dude, nice Halloween costume,” The lanky teen complimented. “Nice glowing aura effect. And the flying part! Totally jealous.”

Kyle wasn’t alone. He was with his younger brother – and Danny’s classmate – Wes Weston. They were both dressed as… Danny Phantom.

“We couldn’t figure out how to get the flying part down,”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Danny delivered a knowing smile at Wes, who glared in return.

“Kyle, he got ‘the flying part’ down because it’s not a trick. Because he’s actually a ghost, you know?!”

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows ghosts aren’t real.”

“Augh! He’s floating right in front of you!”

“He’s obviously using strong magnets to – oh, he’s gone,” Danny had turned invisible, to return back to his friends. While the Weston brothers amused him, he had enough of them for one night.

The town was ignorant of the ghosts that lurked alongside them. Sometimes that ignorance was bliss, like tonight on Halloween, where any ghost can pass as human. And sometimes, that ignorance was… willful. Maybe it’s for the best that no one believes either of the Westons.

[artnerd1123]

Chapter One

All Moving Pictures End

——————————————

Chapter one is always quiet. Until the end, that is. Henry knows this better than most. That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier. 

DTRH!AU masterpost AU askblog

——————————————

This is my first fic for BATIM, and my first fic i’m posting anywhere! I’m a lil nervous, but mostly excited! Hope y’all enjoy!!!

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Chapter one was always quick. Sure, he could drag his feet if he wanted. The breathing room did him good some days. But there was only so much to do. Only so much to explore. The only other ��person” up here was a wolf’s corpse. Not exactly the most welcoming environment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it all a hundred times, anyways. He could do the whole thing blindfolded if he wanted. Not that it mattered. Everything in this place ground to a halt eventually. Every movie has its credits. Every book has its final page. And every chapter has its ending twist. It was as inevitable as his next loop around this godforsaken studio. Might as well get it over with.

                                                  ————

Henry Ross strolled slowly down the halls, gaze flicking around him. He knew it was safe. Old habits die hard, though, and so would he if he didn’t keep an eye out. And he was pretty sure there’d be a cutout jumping out somewhere soon. He eyed the end of the hall suspiciously. “Last thing I need is to get startled into fight or flight early,” he mumbled to himself. One more step. Nothing yet. Another. Still nothing. Huh, he thought, brows furrowed. Maybe it was down the other hall? His mind was drawing a blank. Always an encouraging sign. Or not. The toon shrugged. Whatever. He had a valve to turn. He took one last step, and the sharp trill of a violin sent a violent chill up his spine. His hand flew to his chest as his body shivered comically. A hollow grin peeked out at him from around the corner, ducking back around before he could do anything more than gasp. “Oh- oh c’mon, that wasn’t even fair,” Henry complained. “Cutouts don’t even do anything. Sheesh.” He rubbed his temples as he caught his breath. It’s still chapter one. The scriptwriter just wanted to throw him off his rhythm. As per usual. Once he quit his toonish shivering, he resumed his stroll down the hall. The cardboard cutout earned itself a slightly stern look as he rounded the corner. “You best behave yourself,” he told it simply. At least he still remembered the projector room’s tricks. Henry strode right in. He didn’t even blink as the projector suddenly sputtered to life. Its light spilled onto the wall, ready for an audience long gone. The animation was simple. Just a cheery demon doing a jaunty dance. Unseen speakers crackled along with it, an old recording whistling over the sound of film spinning. Henry couldn’t help but smile. There he was. The little devil darling. “Right on cue, bud.” The demon kept right on dancing as Henry ducked under the projector. Sure, he could’ve walked through the light. But it’d been a long while since he’d seen bendy dance. He wasn’t about to stop that, even if it was just a fleeting ghost of the past. Henry whistled softly along with the recording, straightening back up on the other side. The valve was right where it should be, next to where he’d grabbed the plushie earlier. Not for the first- or last- time, he wondered why he couldn’t have turned it earlier. Why Joey has me running all over kingdom come is beyond me, he thought. Gripping the sides of the valve wheel, Henry gave it a strong yank to one side. It loudly protested the movement, the grating groan of old metal ringing out. He grimaced at the sound. “C’mon, you can���t be stuck now,” he huffed. Though the racket made his ears want to bleed, Henry pulled harder. The groan resounded again, rusty joints straining as much as the toon, before they finally gave up. He let out a satisfied grunt as it spun a few slow turns. “There she goes.” The valve ground to a stop after a moment or two, clanging as the pipes above it started to rumble and creak. They might have been old, but they held the pressure of rushing ink well enough. Henry gave it a nod of satisfaction. Good. Ducking back under the projection, he gave it a thumbs up. “Step one done, bud,” he told it. “I’ll see you in a b-” What more he had to say was cut off by a very loud pop. A mini monsoon of ink burst out of a pipe directly overhead, gushing onto the toon below it. Henry gasped and sputtered like an angry cat as he scrambled out from the ink. He tripped over the step on his way out, flopping onto the floor with a wet splat. He was utterly drenched. Soaked gloves slapping against the floorboards, the poor toon tried to prop himself up. “Augh- that stuff’s spoiled- uck-” he choked, hacking up some ink. It burned on the way out. As if it was trying to stick to him. The sensation made his muscles tense as he struggled to get his feet under him. No. Not now. Not ever. His breaths wheezed as he swiped ink off of his arms, shaking out his legs and hair. Ink flew everywhere in a haphazard fashion- as if a dog was shaking itself off instead of a man. It was all gone in moments. He was clean again. Never had Henry been more grateful to have a trope at his disposal. “Eugh… talk about a bad time to be short a shower…” Henry said shakily. Looking over his shoulder, he could still make out little bits of light through the spurting ink. The cheerful whistling still reached his ears over the little waterfall roar. The sound eased some tension from him. Even under all the ink, Bendy was still there. Let’s hope that stays true, he thought grimly. Henry’s footsteps quickened as he traversed the halls again. The noise of the machine grumbled along behind the walls. Just one switch to flip, then he could really get this nightmare started. And he was gonna do his damn best to make this loop count for something.

The relic room was the same as he left it. Well, almost the same. Everything sat silently on its pillar. Dust still sprinkled over the floorboards. The screen next to the lever, however, flashed with a single word- READY- in big, bright letters. The rumbling of the pipes confirmed as much. Henry stared grimly at the screen from the doorway. Sure, the machine was ready. And him? “... ready as I’ll ever be,” he said softly. Time to start the show. He crossed the room without another thought, setting a hand on the lever. Despite the state of the studio around it, the metal was warm to the touch. As if someone- or something- had put it to recent use. He didn’t care to think on it further. Henry tugged it down with a grunt. The screen darkened for a moment before the letters changed. “RUNNING,” they declared. At once, the machinery along the wall sputtered to life. Slow at first, but getting faster as ink oiled the worn gears. Henry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when the lights suddenly dimmed. The only light left in the room was a bright circle- illuminating the machine’s life-giving power source. And, of course, the toon standing before it. He turned to the door as the clanking, rumbling, and groaning of old mechanics and ink ticked up louder. Step two was over. Now, he had a meeting to keep. The halls- once lit brightly- were now as dark as a tomb. More fitting, he mused, than the false mirth the old lights had given off. All that was left now were candles and emergency lamps. He passed by them quickly, trying to ignore the way they flickered and dimmed. Just one foot in front of the other. Another turn to the right, and a sign greeted him. It proclaimed itself as the “ink output schedule.” As he neared it, a couple other signs came into view. “EXIT,” one said. “DANGER, KEEP OUT,” cautioned another. He slowed to a stop before them. The ink machine was close. One more turn. “... this thing’s gonna need some serious updating,” Henry muttered, giving the output sign a tap. “As for the rest of these…” He snorted, shaking his head. If I could actually follow them, I’d be set, now wouldn’t I? But no, he’d ignore them. Again. He peeked around the corner instead. The way to the machine was boarded up already. How the boards got there, he wasn’t sure. But he supposed a little protection from what was in there didn’t hurt. The fact that he needed it, though, did. Could the demon see him? Did he know he was here? Was he already out of the machine, lurking just out of sight? Was he just a whisper of script? Words yet to be written? Or rather, words yet to come to fruition? He didn’t know how to answer any of those questions. Answers or not, the toon still knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Fists clenched at his sides, he stepped over the pipe before him. The floorboards creaked lightly as he closed the gap between himself and the boarded up doorway. He raised a hand, forcing his fingers to flatten out. Though the determined look on his face couldn’t hide how he shook. Behind the boards, the room was quiet and calm. Deceptive as the rest of the studio. Just touch the boards, Ross, he thought to himself. Get it over with. You’ve done harder. It’s not like you can go back now. His hand wavered. Moved forward, pausing again. Trembled. And quickly, before a moment more passed, he pushed his hand against the old wood. The studio around him instantly burst into inky chaos, a devilish grin erupting before him. Clawed gloves swiped out from the gap between the boards, a loud shriek accompanying their deadly strike. Demonic talons dug themselves into Henry’s chest before he could so much as flinch. The movement knocked him off his feet, the toon crashing backwards into the floor. He let out a strangled wheeze, stars bursting across his vision. All the wind had gotten knocked out of him. He couldn’t get in any air- he couldn’t breathe- oh g- fuck- c-c’mon- By the time he managed to suck down a breath, the demon was long gone. The remnants of its appearance, however, were still very much in effect. Henry’s chest heaved as he lurched to his feet, clutching his torn shirt. Morphing stains laced over the walls as ink poured from the ceiling. There was so much- too much- that it was flooding the halls. Move move mOVE MOVE, his mind screamed, nothing more than wheezing coming from his mouth. The ink was already lapping at his feet while he struggled to get over the blasted pipe in the hall. Dark liquid clung to his legs, splashing up against the walls the more he struggled through it. He just did what he could to keep moving. Each new crash of ink rupturing old planks made him flinch. But he didn’t need the herding of inky waterfalls to get to his destination. The toon pressed on towards the door he knew was waiting for him. Henry caught a glimpse of a scrawled message on the wall- DREAMS COME TRUE- before another cascade of obsidian sludge obscured it. The irony wasn’t lost on him at all. The only dreams that come true here are fucking nightmares. He let out a strangled chuckle, grabbing onto the corner to pull himself through the rising ink. It was up to his waist now. A slow burning sensation on his legs spurred him on, the toon now throwing himself around the next corner. His hands scrabbled desperately against a chest of drawers against the wall, breaths hitching in his throat. He could see the main room to his left. The exit would be right around the corner- right there! He was close! Just a little farther, Ross! Chest leaking ink, ceiling overflowing with sludge, and spoiled liquid eating at his form, Henry splashed his way around the last corner. The sliver of light shone enticingly in the darkness. Once again, he couldn’t help but wish he could reach it. So he tried. Lurching forward, Henry all but jumped towards the light- -only for his foot to pass through nothingness. His outstretched hand was illuminated for only a moment before the rest of him pitched downwards. He let out a cry- both of fear and of rage- as he tumbled, once more, into the depths of the studio.

                                                  ————

A loud splash and a stream of curses announced Henry’s arrival at the bottom of the pit. He sat up with a groan. Ink still leaked down from above, pattering against his dark stained clothes. He swatted at it halfheartedly. Frankly, he’d already had enough of it. His free hand reached to gingerly rub his back, the other keeping him from flopping backwards. He got up as carefully as he could. How in the world he didn’t break his spine from that fall was beyond him. But, he thought ruefully, it wouldn’t be much of a story if the protagonist died right away, would it? At least the pain and injury would fade quickly. The trope of animation errors at its finest. “Alright… alright,” he grumbled to himself. “I better get a move on. Where’s those blasted valves…?” A glance around the room didn’t reveal much. It was a simple space. What wasn’t cut off by a small ink waterfall was still half flooded with the foul sludge. A metal shelving rack sat against one wall. A pipe with a valve was against another. Easy enough. Henry was about to wade to the pipe when something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head towards it, not caring that his neck protested painfully. What looked like a thin box glowed softly on one of the shelves. Henry’s brows furrowed. If it glowed, it had to be important. He paused a moment to see if he could recall… “… Oh!” he snapped his fingers eagerly. “Right! Tapes!” He splashed clumsily over to the shelf, giving the “box” a look over. It was an audio log. He could see that clearly now. A little beat up and stained, but unmistakable. A small smile twitched at his lips as he ran a hand over it. He couldn’t quite remember who this one was… but he didn’t think it mattered. Any trace of his old friends was good enough for him. The voices made him feel less alone. He could do with a little less loneliness. Henry gently pressed the play button, watching the little machine come to life. The tape clicked softly into place. There was a moment of quiet whirring before a grumbling voice rang from the speaker. “It’s dark and it’s cold, and it’s stuck behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about pressure that I don’t, or he’s some kind of idiot,” a man barked gruffly. Henry recognized it instantly, his smile widening into a grin. “Tom!” he said brightly. “Good to hear from you, old friend.” Ah, yes. Thomas Connor. The studio’s repairman. Henry shook his head as the tape continued, the memories of Thomas complaining about pipes drifting up in his mind. … of course, a few choice phrases in the recording made the toon’s smile slip. “Like a dying dog on its last legs,” Thomas said about the pipes’ noise. He wasn’t wrong, but the mention of a dying dog… “This whole darn thing… just isn’t natural,” Thomas grumbled uneasily. “You could say that again,” Henry muttered darkly. Of course, it was the last phrase that really sobered him up. “You can bet, I won’t be doing any more repair jobs for Mister Joey Drew.” The final click of the recording echoed in the silence. Henry gave the log a long, hard look. “... well, you weren’t wrong, Tom,” he finally sighed. “You certainly weren’t wrong.” Reaching for the log, he flipped it onto its back. If he remembered right, he could probably get the tape out of there… a muffled click let a smile flit across his face. “There you are. C’mere, you.” He slid off a panel in the back to reveal an old tape. It had a labelled transcript taped to it, thankfully. That’d help keep track of names. He carefully slipped the tape into his pocket, setting the empty audio log back on the shelf. With the tape listened to and taken care of, Henry turned his focus to the task at hand. Draining all this awful ink. He slogged through the black sludge that stuck to his knees, making his way to the first valve. It turned easier than the one upstairs, but still made the same godawful groaning noise. “Geez Louise, you were right about the noise, Tom,” he winced. The ink level was falling, though, so he didn’t complain more. He was just glad the valves worked. “One down, two to go.” Glancing around, he spotted the door to the stairwell through the waterfall of ink. Because… of course it would be back there. Where else would the door be but behind more ink? Henry put his arms over his head as he jogged through the inkfall, shuddering at the feeling of old ooze on his limbs. He continued his jog down the steps, grumbling as yet another waterfall blocked his path. Stepping through this one gained him more than a shudder, though. It was a downright uncomfortable grimace. His foot had splashed right down into another deep puddle of ink. “Aw, c’mon now,” he sighed, wading down once again. “Can’t ever leave things simple and easy, can we?” At least this valve’s right in front of the stairs…

Another two rounds of groaning pipes, descending ink, and running down steps deposited the now soaked-and-grumpy toon in a rather cramped room. Calling the space a “room” was almost too generous. It was more like a glorified broom closet. A very drippy, very busted up one at that. “We’re gonna need a dozen teams of restoration architects in here,” Henry said flatly. “And that’s at a minimum.” Ink dripped slowly down from his hair before he flicked it away. A quick shake off had him relatively clean, minus some staining on his shoes. Once he was satisfied, the toon turned to the one other defining feature of the room. A closed door. It didn’t remain that way for long, the knob turning easily in his hand. He knew his way clearly from here. The door swung in to reveal an old workshop. Henry strolled right in, gaze sliding over the sparsely furnished area. All that was of note were a few stacked barrels, and an old workbench, and a boarded up doorway along the far wall. The bit of graffiti spattered around- a venomous declaration that “THE CREATOR LIED TO US-” drew a soft snort from the toon. Yeah, you could say that. Overall? The room was nothing of interest. No, what he was really looking for sat on top of the workbench. An axe lay out on top of it, its blade glinting dully in the dim light. Henry picked it up, testing its weight thoughtfully. It looked pretty sharp. Pretty durable, too. An axe had always served him well… “Hmm… yeah, I could go for a new one,” he said decisively. Swapping the axe into one hand, he shoved the other into one of his side pockets. He pulled out another axe a moment later. This one was slick with damp ink, its blade blunt and its handle full of hairline cracks. It had certainly been through the ringer. He gazed at it fondly as he set it on the bench. “So long, bud,” he sighed softly. “We had a good run.” Henry took a minute to swing the new axe around. This room was as good as any to test it out. It was a little different than he was used to- no doubt because it was newer- but it swung and balanced well. He gave it a pat of approval. Approaching the doorway, he glanced it over, sizing it up. “Now-” grunting, he hefted the axe over his shoulder- “new friend of mine-” tightened his grip- “let’s get-” and swung hard at the boards before him- “to work-!” The splintering of wood made a wonderful soundtrack as Henry chopped his way through the final hall. The work went quicker than he liked, but it still felt good to swing a proper axe again. Breaking boards was easy. Breaking boards was kinda fun. And, most importantly, breaking boards meant progress. At the end of the short hall, he leaned on the wall to catch his breath. The new axe really was nicer. Hopefully it’d last a few loops. One last door was before him, three boards holding it shut. He eyed it somberly. At long last, there it was. His entrance into chapter two. The toon straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders. The axe dragged against the floor as he walked purposefully over. One more door. One more room. And one more unfortunate headache. Flipping the axe up, he promptly slammed it into the old wood. All three boards gave away like butter to a hot knife. Satisfied, Henry tucked the weapon behind his back. It was better to save things in his hammerspace than to trust that a certain scriptwriter would provide him another axe later. The door opened with a slow creak after he turned the knob. Before him was a small room, lit only by candlelight. Some sort of large ritual circle was drawn in the center of the floorboards. Candles sat flickering at six points around its edge. Edging in, Henry kept an eye on his feet and the circle. That thing might be his ticket to chapter two, but he didn’t want to jump on the train early. The location didn’t feel fuzzy as he looked around, but… well. You never know what could pop up next in this studio. At the wall across from the entrance, two coffins leaned side by side. A boarded up door was to their left. On the right side of the room, three chairs were set up. On the left side, there was an empty shelf. Whom the chairs or coffins were for, Henry couldn’t say. The sight of the door, at least, was reassuring. All that was left now was to step into the circle. “... you better make this quick, Joey,” he muttered.

Without further ado, he planted a foot squarely in the inky circle.

The pain he felt was immediate, surging up through his leg and into his head like a lightning strike. He couldn’t help but gasp, hands flying to his head as he doubled over. An image of the ink machine flashed before his eyes. By the time he squeezed them open and shut to dispel it, the pain had lurched him sideways. An image of a wheelchair greeted his newly opened eyes, and he groaned desperately. The pain was cranking higher- higher- so much he could barely see straight. He fumbled around, vision clouding up as he tried to turn back to the door. All that greeted him, though, was one last horrifying image. The ink demon was standing there. Illuminated by the light of an open door behind him. Reaching for him. Some distant part of Henry felt his body stumble backwards. His mind finally fell into darkness. And then… Then… … Nothing.

Nothing but the dark of the ink.

E̶̷̸̮͍̮̤̪̠͔͚̬̻̼̰̤͉̱͔̝̰͠Ņ͈͉̙̣͙̜̣͖͔͍͍͢͠ͅ��̟̬̭D̷̨̼͇̖̮̙ ̶̴͎̪͓̯̮̲̼͠O͏̶̸̸̞̣̦̟̫̦̞̪̳̤͎͚̯̦̝̳F̶̵̥͚̘̣̮͔ ̣̫̞̰̬͚͞͞C̭͎̥̠͔̩͕͕̯͉͍̤̬̩̙̟͎̱͉̕͠͠͠͞Ḩ̢͜͠҉̲̥̮̫A̴҉͕͚̬̳̲͙̮͙̝͡͝P̵̩͎̩͓̲̬̕͟Ţ̯̱̠͍̝̲̠̗̼͜͜E͏̷̮̬̪̬̠̙R̷̡̹̖̥̖͘͜ ̧̪͈̥̝̞̘̰̬̻̺̞̠͎͟͟͞Ó̠͙̲̞̰͔͕͡N̵̬̜̣̜̬̻̖͈̙͍͍̻̰̤͎̙̜͜͝ͅĘ̰͎̩̺̙̱̯͈̭̬͙͇͔̕.̸̸̧̳̱̣̠̺̭̖̦̹̳͙̼̳̠͠͡ͅ

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[tavernlightsart]

Prologue

TW// birth, dead, blood

Sallowclaw hissed in frustration and panic as the pure white she-cat in front of him let out a blood curdling scream, splintering the branch clamped tightly between her jaws. The silver tabby blinked away the tears clouding his vision as he worked to help her through this. The amateur mixture of burnett and chervil had done far less than he had hoped to soothe the pain. 

'What if I grabbed the wrong thing?!' He thought with horror, swallowing hard. 'No… no I stole these directly from Adderjaw!' He reasoned, placing a paw on his mate's side as she let out another screech of pain, the stick breaking and allowing her to scream at full volume. 

Sallowclaw winced, but he shook his head, focusing on the molly again. "C'mon Blizzard, I know it's hard- but you can do this!" His usually confident, deep voice was cracking with fear. 

"Augh! This is- I can't- ah!" Blizzard shut her eyes tight as she screamed, finally, after nearly four hours of labor, delivering her first kit. Sallowclaw quickly scooped up the bundle of wet, white fur and licked the casing off it and rasped his tongue backwards along the kit's spine, doing as he had seen Adderjaw do when Runningwillow had delivered her kit earlier the same day. 

The kit let out a feeble mew, and Sallowclaw heard another yelp from Blizzard. The kit took after their mother… they were tiny. Blizzard had warned him that she wouldn't be able to deliver the three kits she had found herself pregnant with seeing as she was very small framed. 

Sallowclaw felt with a surge of fear and panic that she might've been right. "Sallowclaw!" She yelled, ribs shaking with the force of her breathing. "Y-you ha-have to take her… r-raise her in HiddenClan- augh! I'm not going to make it-" 

"Don't say that!" He yelled in reply, hackles raising not out of aggression but rather fear. 

Blizzard threw her head back with another scream, claws digging into the earth before her. When she had regained enough strength, the beautiful white she-cat lifted her head, chest heaving. "I love you, Sallowclaw… I love you so much." 

The warrior was now fully crying, tears falling unabashedly down his striped cheeks. "I love you too, Blizzard!" She placed her paw on his and Sallowclaw smiled sadly, barely noticing her claws digging into his flesh. 

The loner let out a screech, her body seizing as the grass around her lower body turned dark as blood pooled around her, staining her pearly white fur a deep maroon. With that, her chest rose sharply one more time before she exhaled deeply, her features falling still, blue eyes seeming suddenly clouded with the emptiness of death. 

Sallowclaw let out a wail of grief, burying his nose in her fur and sobbing. He heard something shuffle beside him, accompanied with a soft mewl. 

He turned to see the tiny white kit, attempting to knead at Blizzard's still warm corpse with desperate, hungry cries. Sallowclaw felt a new rush of tears well up in his eyes. This was his kit… this was his kit. 

Sallowclaw was a father.

But the kit looked so much like Blizzard… she even had the little grey dots on her tiny face. The grey tom didn't know how he was going to be able to look at his child without seeing their mother… who had just died beside him. 

"I'm so sorry…" He whispered, unable to look at Blizzard. He had to get this kit back to camp quickly, Runningwillow had delivered her own kit earlier that day, so she would have enough milk for this one too… 

That is, if HiddenClan will forgive him for falling in love and mating with a loner. 

Gently, he lifted the kit by the scruff, shutting his eyes to steady himself before heading off in the direction of the HiddenClan border since he and Blizzard had found a place just outside of the Clans for her to deliver their kits… well, kit. 

Just as he reached the clan's border, his head hung low in shame and grief, he heard a cry that made his fur bristle. 

Ears swiveling to meet the noise, he first noticed the stench that hit his nose. 'What is that?!' He though, drawing his lip back while still holding his kit. 'Blood..? An outsider cat… and,' With a jolt of horror he recognized the third scent. 'Fox!' 

Suddenly, the bushes shook as a strange smelling, molly shoved her way through. She was a large brown tabby, although that was hard to tell by the amount of blood covering her pelt. She ran with a limp which Sallowclaw noticed was from her back right leg, where she was missing a large chunk of flesh. The thing that really chilled him, however, was the fact that clamped similarly between his jaws was a newborn kit. 

In a panic, the she-cat set the small bundle of brown fur, though significantly larger than his kit, down in front of her, glancing around wildly with her yellow eyes. "You have to help me!" Her meow carried a very strange accent that the tom didn't recognize.

Sallowclaw set his kit down, standing over them, hackles bristling. "Who are you?!" 

"Vonnie," she replied hurriedly, breathing hard. "There's- there's a fox chasing us. I lost him down at the river but-" Sallowclaw opened his mouth and sure enough, the reek of fox had grown stronger. Vonnie looked at him with desperation in her eyes. 

"You have to take my daughter, please! She can't die!" 

Sallowclaw bit his lip, looking away. 'I have my paws full with my kit… what if I can't carry both of them away in time… and I lose both kits?' A shiver ran down his spine as the thought of occured. But Vonnie's next words spurred him to make up his mind. 

"Take Sparrow and run! I would do the same for you." 

Sallowclaw realized she was right, and the desperation in her voice only sealed it. Leaning down quickly he scooped his kit and Vonnie's daughter, Sparrow, as close together as he could, grabbing onto their scruffs and turning with one last look at Vonnie. 

At that moment, a large fox burst, snarling, from the bushes. Vonnie yowled and launched herself forward, furiously tearing at anywhere her claws could find purchase. So Sallowclaw ran, he raced as fast as he could down through the forest that he knew like the back of his paw. Although he was very careful not to jostle the kits too much, both were mewling pitifully by the time they finally reached the entrance to HiddenClan's camp. It was one of the only parts of the forest that was mostly open to the sky. A clearing that housed his clan comfortably within the tall bramble bushes that guarded them.

The first to recognize Sallowclaw was Fernfoot and her apprentice, Reedpaw, who were watching over the camp for the second guard shift. 

"Sallowclaw-? Woah!" The young, rambunctious, rusty-brown tom, exclaimed as he saw the kits. Reedpaw was quickly hushed by his mentor's tail over his muzzle. 

The brown tabby she-cat looked up at the older warrior with confused concern in her brown eyes. "What's going on?" She asked in a hushed tone, leading him inside. With a flick of her tail and a stern look towards her apprentice, she sent Reedpaw to fetch the medicine cat, Adderjaw. 

Sallowclaw didn't answer. He felt as if he put the kits down he'd begin to cry… he couldn't do that infront of Fernfoot. So instead he simply looked down, thick tail dragging as his large form sagged with shame and grief. 

Soon enough, a tall abyssinian tom ran up to them from across the camp, Reedpaw just behind him and questions glittering in his gaze. 

"Reedpaw, Fernfoot, I need to speak with Sallowclaw." The warrior nodded and sat down, but Adderjaw flicked his ear and added, "Alone." Embarrassment flickered through Fernfoot's eyes and she padded off, beckoning Reedpaw to follow. 

Sallowclaw finally set the two kits down and clamped his jaw shut to keep from crying, unable to look up at the medicine cat. Adderjaw immediately got to work, examining each kit quickly and giving them each a lick over the ears as they mewed. Seeming satisfied, he nodded and looked to Sallowclaw. 

"The white one seems to be premature and slightly underdeveloped in size, the brown one is alright, just hungry. And, uh, congratulations, Sallowclaw, you have two little girls." 

"No." He hissed out, voice strangled. "They- the brown one isn't mine, her mother asked me to take her… a fox was chasing them. She's most likely dead now." 

Adderjaw processed the information, his face remaining neutral. "I see…" 

"And the white one-" Sallowclaw's voice broke again. "Her mother was a loner… she's- she's dead." The silver tabby dipped his head as tears began to well up in his eyes. 

Adderjaw leaned over and licked his shoulder soothingly. "My sister had her kit today, I'm sure she wouldn't mind taking these two in… what are their names." 

Sallowclaw looked down at the two kits. 'Vonnie called her Sparrow, so…' "Sparrowkit." He replied, gesturing to her. The white kit covered her little face with her paws, shrinking in on herself like she knew the focus was now on her. "And Shykit." 

Adderjaw smiled softly, lifting Shykit in his jaws. "C'mon." He meowed quietly, flicking his tail for Sallowclaw to follow with Sparrowkit as he headed for the nursery. 

Once inside, they were careful not to wake up the two nursing queens, Brightmask and Greywash, or the monarch, Applesneeze. Monarchs were queens if they were toms or in between. Applesneeze was simply an elder who chose to care for kits as his permanent position. 

As Adderjaw explained, Runningwillow nodded, the confusion in her face shifting to curiosity. "Sallowclaw?" She asked in a soft meow. "Where did they come from?" 

Her brother began speaking. "He found-" 

"Both of them." Sallowclaw interrupted, sending Adderjaw a meaningful look that seemed to sat "no one can know". He sighed. "Both their mother's are dead." 

Runningwillow furrowed her brows in sympathetic sorrow. "Oh the poor dears… of course I'll nurse them. And Sallowclaw, feel free to visit your daughters at any-" 

Sallowclaw let out a low, pained hiss, tears in his eyes. "I will never be a father!" Or a mate… StarClan made that clear. He added mentally. The abyssinian molly looked taken aback by his outbursts, simply nodding and replying with a soft, "Okay." 

The silver warrior turned and exited the nursery quickly, furious grief tearing at his heart. As he left he could hear the siblings speaking in hushed mews to each other, but he didn't care to listen. StarClan had taken Blizzard from him because he broke the Warrior code. He wasn't going to break it further by raising Shykit and risk losing her too. 

Besides, he was sure he'd make a lousy father now. After all, he was a lousy mate, he couldn't save her… Turning his blue eyes skyward, Sallowclaw sighed, watching as the trees shifted, outlining Silverpelt glimmering above them. 

'I'm sorry Blizzard. I'm just not strong enough.' 

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E49 (Jan. 29, 2019)

Hey hey hey, we’re on the internet! Filling in for @eponymous-rose​, it’s time to fake my way through a Talks without having quite caught up yet. What could possibly go wrong?

Tonight’s guests: Sam Riegel & Liam O’Brien!

Announcements: The second season of Between the Sheets debuted last night, ft. everyone’s friend Bobby. It’ll be on Youtube tomorrow morning & is already on the CR Twitch. Next week will feature cinematographer Quyen Tran (aka Sam’s wife!)! Everyone agrees Sam married up. It’ll air Monday night on the CR Twitch.

And now, episode 49: A Game of Names

Brian comes back prefacing some comment with a mention that Matt names the episodes, which Sam immediately derails because he thought Taliesin named them. Poor Matt.

CR Stats: The M9 have cast Disguise Self 97 times. Liam: “What a bunch of lying motherfuckers!” 20 were by Nott; 17 were by Caleb.

Sam’s found it interesting that his in-game persona has been a bit of a facade, but Nott as a character is in an in-between place between who she was and who Nott purports to be. “It might be weird to be called Veth, actually, because it’s just not in the course of her experience in the last couple years. She’s gotten used to the name if not the body.”

Caleb doesn’t like to think about Bren or the old self that came with it; he winged the name “Caleb” the moment he met Nott, but now he has a lot of good memories associated with that name. Brian asks if it was a name of someone from his past; Liam points out you can always retcon anything. Sam’s surprised it was the day he met Nott; Liam says he’d actually been using different names everywhere he went, and Caleb happened to be the one that happened to keep being used by people he never left.

Sam and Liam goggle that they both picked characters with false (very similar) names, that their questlines are so accidentally intertwined, and that they’re so linked despite the fact that they’d decided they’d traveled together right before the first show. Sam wonders who else has fake names.

“Nott the Brave” and “Veth Brenatto” being anagrammed was a purposeful decision out of an accident. He was originally going to be Vix off a gag he made in Campaign 1 re: Vex & Vax, but decided he’d better scrap it & just go with a V name instead as homage. He created the anagrammed names together (without the help of a fantasy name generator, he points out).

Everyone thinks Fjord still has secrets to reveal. “What if it’s Ferrrd?” “What if it’s Fred?”

The water issue for Nott grew out organically in the game. He knew she’d been turned into a goblin (and assumed she’d been killed in the process), but wasn’t sure exactly how she’d died until a few months into the campaign. Then he emailed Matt and asked if it was okay if the way Nott had died had been by drowning, and Matt said, “Yep!”

Liam agonizes over the fact that they all can email Matt, asking if something can be added to character history based on how plots are going in-game, only for him to say “Yes!” and then be silent for six months before walloping someone over the head with a barbed-wire bat. Ha!

Liam reminds everyone that Caleb canonically does not know Beau’s last name. Liam knew it and was talking in third person (even though it was in an accent). It was not meant to be metagamed knowledge.

Liam was surprised by the “Fuck him!” comment but was not surprised Nott had had something chambered, so out of game he recognized this was the beginning of Nott’s story & was ready for it. Caleb still feels like he’s walking a tightrope and juggling plates, but Liam points out it’s his own fault if anything drops.

Everyone marvels at Nott’s use of “Bren” as a false name in episode 2. Sam remembers looking over at Liam as Liam gave him “the weirdest look! Liam looked at me like I had just said the c-word.” Liam: “I was staring holes into your skull.” Sam thought Caleb was judging Nott for being deceptive. Liam sat there for a hot minute wondering if Matt had let something slip, if Caleb was talking in his sleep, if Sam had seen a sheet from Liam’s binder... “Anything but this impossible fucking coincidence.”

GIF of the Week: @winteristboi with an incredibly topical GIF of Liam revealing his name, Sam commenting “That’s why you looked at me,” and including a flashback of the just-mentioned episode 21 moment.

The intertwining of Nott’s & Caleb’s backstories has been fun for both of them. Sam finds Liam an excellent actor and likes doing scenes with him. Liam and Sam both talk about how they actually prefer bumps in the road and complicated relationships instead of everyone being friends & peaceful. They had a conversation months ago about how they’re looking forward to things falling apart within the group. Liam reminisces about how much he loved the bowl argument with Beau. “That’s the best part of the show.”

Nott is very excited that part of Caleb’s backstory is out so that he can get some healing, maybe.

Caleb is closer to Beau than the rest of the M9 at this point. In the moment of his backstory, “he was wanting to borrow her spine. And Beau had rested her hand on his shoulder just moments before, and that was reassuring to him because he knew things could get ugly, so he was looking for that again.”

Very quickly, Nott saw something in Caleb that reminded her of her son. “A boy who was scared and alone in the world and needing someone to take care of him.” Even in game zero, Caleb was knocked out and Nott had to save them, kill the gnolls, and get them out of there singlehandedly.

Sam finds out onscreen that halflings live much longer than humans. It’s hilarious. “I thought they lived the same as humans!” He’s worked it out with Matt that Veth is not older than Caleb, who is 32. Veth got married at 20ish (childbearing age), spent a couple years happily married, goblins intervened, escaped, and is now about 25 years old (a young mom). “Similarly, as I understand it, when you are reincarnated, you are given an adult body, so goblin Nott is 7-8 years old.” Liam gasps that if she doesn’t get changed back, she’s taken a 200 year lifespan and violently compressed it to only a fraction.

Many of Veth’s quirks (collecting things, general nervousness, and enjoyment of wine) were badly exacerbated and heightened in goblin form. Where she enjoyed a nip of sherry wine before, she’s now a raging alcoholic. Where she enjoyed collecting baubles before; now she’s compulsively stealing. She was a nervous Nellie before; now she’s ratcheted anxiety. Sam discussed this with Matt. Liam again: “Her lifespan was condensed down into this dense little ball; her habits were condensed into a dense little ball too!” Sam, brightly, dancing: “It’s a saaad episode!”

Liam’s asked about his arm-scratching as Caleb. (Sam’s stunned; he never realized!) In Liam’s mind, the scars are extremely faint and old, and it’s cold in Wildemount. He doesn’t imagine them as large or even visible gashes unless you knew where to look.

Sam envisions his goblins as just generally amped up. Not angry, but murderous. Sam also has been playing it that Veth has been becoming a bit more goblin & less halfling over time just because she’s being overwhelmed by the physiology. It would have been different if she’d been in a different body. She’s very eager to get back, but she is also aware that her “perceived vehicle” who might be able to get her back to her original form is not quite ready yet. She’s anxious for that to get cooking.

Early in the campaign, when Caleb wakes up from a fight and screams, “Take them out!” he was talking about the crystals Trent put in his arms.

Fanart of the Week: @queddajaw​ with a gorgeous Nott drowning portrait.

Nott has a general tendency to want to see people connect (Astrid’s letter, Jester & Caleb). She knows time with a loved one is not eternal. It’s not really a projection of her own relationship. Augh.

Caleb didn’t give the whole truth because a) it’s too humiliating & heartbreaking to talk about and b) the first confession to Beau/Nott was only out of need, and he was just excruciatingly lonely. He’s gotten it out once and knows that it’s completely awful, and he doesn’t want to dump it on the rest of the group unnecessarily, such as “sunflower” Jester. Liam also didn’t feel it was all pertinent information in the moment since he didn’t want to trample on Nott after she’d just bared her soul to the group. Liam mimes opening a door over Sam’s face: “But alsooo myyy story is super tragic!”

Sam thinks VM was more familiar with each other at this point in their campaign, but not as vulnerable/connected. It’s a very different story.

What makes Sam keep picking goblins as backstory villains? “They’re gross.” Actually, it’s more coincidental this time as Liam was the one who picked his goblin race. Sam talks about how he’s gotten tweets wanting to know why goblins can’t be nice, is he racist against goblins? Sam: “Yes. In your campaign, you can do what you want. Veth might be horribly misguided!” but in his/Veth’s mind at the moment, there’s nothing redeemable about them. She is curious about the butler goblin, but didn’t really get a chance to talk to him.

Caleb is very relieved they’re not going to Rexxentrum.

Sam thinks it was a good time for Nott’s reveal. Caleb had thought it would take longer for him. Matt had asked Sam how long he wanted to play it out, if he wanted the reveal to be early or late game, and Sam told him it would be fine for him even if it never came out in the whole campaign. He’s excited to see how this will change the group dynamic for everyone. 

Liam comments that he always tries to make character decisions that feel true, even if it leads to things that are sad.

Sam did tell his kids how Nott became a goblin. As soon as he was done, his daughter asked him to tell them the story one more time. I have flashbacks to Travis saying “Let’s do it again” at the end of C1.

Sam hasn’t given up on the shirt gag, but he gave away 20 shirts for a donation prize. When he has the shirt, he will wear it. Sam also points out that he’s also tracking the facial hair from C1 too.

After Dark: Secret Secret Names Edition:

Everyone marvels again at how cool Quyen is. Sam tangents full circle into a discussion of Mr. Yuck. Brian tries to get us back on track talking about drinks, and I don’t even know what’s happening right now. Sam drinks a (I think!) Miller Lite on screen and almost throws it back up. You dramatic fool.

Quyen is a big wine nerd, just like Sam. “Now, we enjoy a burger and a beer once in a while, we’re not awful people.” Then he tells a story about how when people bring them wine bottles at their homes as gifts his wife has a terrible poker face if she doesn’t approve of the wine. Don’t buy her wine, is what I’m getting from this.

They discuss Mame Drop from today, which featured some laser discs and old games.

Nott’s favorite reality show would be whatever is the opposite of Hoarders, like maybe Storage Wars. Dani suggests Caleb might be into dating shows. Brian takes great offense at the word “smut” as a descriptor and talks about his 30-person Bachelor watching parties. Dani suggests he [Caleb] might be into the sordid melodrama of that and Real Housewives. Liam: “Tell me more about my character. You too, internet.”

This entire segment has devolved into an almost rabid discussion of reality shows and I legitimately cannot keep up with it. GBBO has come up, cat judging shows, documentaries about Scientology...

Liam & Sam try to have a man date once a year where they have a good dinner and glass of wine together and catch up on their years.

Travis apparently really got into David Blaine like eight years after he was relevant. Brian puts out a call to send him David Blaine gifs. “He’ll know exactly why.”

We end with an incredible moment of tiny Sam’s head being shopped live onto the cutout of his Emmy acceptance. “We go to the moon not because it is easy, but because it is hard, hard, hard.”

And we’re out! Have a lovely evening, everyone, and is it Thursday yet?

[f-nodragonart]

have you guys ever watched the docufiction film The Last Dragon | A Fantasy Made Real? Its a fictional documentary set in an alternate universe where dragons were real

I wrote a few reviews abt it quite a while ago, but the longer one is p old and kinda cringey/incorrect in certain places, so I’ll run down my basic thoughts here

also if anybody wants to watch this film, here’s a link to it. I first watched this when I was a wee lil dragon-fanatic, and I’m obviously a sucker for faux-documentary/field journal fantasy media, so this movie holds a special place in my heart. HOWEVER, as I will explain here, it unfortunately gets a LOT of things wrong. it’s def got some positive qualities (which I will also describe), and it’s a fun watch, but DO NOT take this movie as an accurate assessment of what dragons could have been under different circumstances

WHAT THIS DOCUFICTION GETS WRONG*:

*I’m ESPECIALLY harsh on this movie b/c it’s a DOCUfiction. I tend to be a bit more lenient when a story isn’t necessarily aiming for a realistic setting (stylistic consistency is relevant here), but when a piece of media sets out to describe a scientifically feasible setting?? I bring the hammer DOWN

1) dear god, the anatomy is janky

the wings in particular can get RLY bad. 

these wings clearly need more musculature and lower arm/’hand’ length, and a full membrane connection to the torso. they don’t even have ANY hint of integration/connection to the ribcage– no keel, no shoulder/chest musculature, not even any scapula!!

disgraceful…

while I can accept elbow spines in certain cases, I still don’t rly think they’re necessary in most cases– ESPECIALLY in this case where they don’t even provide extra area to the membrane around the elbow! what’s even the point!!

also I just noticed the designers forgot to put the elbow spines in the skeletal, so I can’t even check if they were integrated correctly….. hell, looking closer, I don’t think the front legs have scapula either….. DISGRACEFUL…

the wing shoulders also need to be shifted back behind the front leg shoulders, obviously, but they ALSO ought to be shifted down more towards the sides of the ribcage. wings based high up near the spine are typical of birds b/c they’ve got specialized wing musculature that basically pulls all the wing muscles (including the “back” muscles) down under the ribcage. bat wings aren’t built for that kinda setup, thus the shoulders are based more towards the sides on actual bats. this would likely be the same for bat-winged dragons

and those aren’t even the worst wings

I legit lose my mind a little lookin at these wings like…. why no membrane…. WHY NO MEMBRANE…

also there was clearly some attempt here to give these wings chest/shoulder musculature, but the designers didn’t know how much musculature a wing actually needs (or even how those muscles need to be shaped to properly hold a body..). thus, we just get pillowy, bara-boy boobs that would be useless for flight, even if the wings themselves were actually designed right

obviously a keel is necessary for a creature this big, but even if the designers nyxed the keel, the LEAST they could do is stretch the pecs down the full length of the ribcage to properly support the torso…

beyond the wings, some of the torsos are JUST a mess

the wyvern’s torso is mostly a problem b/c of weird wing integration, but the hexapod up top just has a plain weird torso, wings or not

it feels like the designers attempted to slap canine-like front legs on an ungulate/equine chest, and just utterly failed to integrate them properly. thus, the legs are floating to the sides of the chest rather than connected to and holding it up in any substantial way

I actually see this lack of shoulder integration in a lot in dragon designs, but it’s usually a result of trying to preserve the shape of chest/throat scales, so it’s kinda weird to see on a leathery-skin design

another thing abt this particular hexapod dragon is a bit hard to explain, but the neck is like… weird. idk if it’s super apparent to others, but the neck attaches more under the skull, a bit like a dog (ignore the skeletal, it’s clearly not accurate to the dragon actually presented). however, the flow of the neck from the chest is more of a horse neck? the strong up-and-over curve of a horse neck can’t rly attach to the skull in any way except the direct back of the cranium, yet this neck attaches somewhat to the underside of the skull, giving it a VERY awkward curvature. I happened to recently answer an ask abt necks that may explain this better, but suffice to say, the neck is weird

also, as u can see above, the base of the neck at the chest is super stiff b/c the animators didn’t bother to shift the mass of the chest/neck w/ the movement of the neck, which in turn makes the neck look ABSURDLY thin at angles like these

oh, and while this is certainly not the worst of the anatomical sins, the shrink-wrapping is p bad. yeah yeah, flighted creatures gotta be light, but flying animals still have SOME fatty deposits, like…. c’mon, u can SEE the cartilage rings in the throat of that poor wyvern, gimme a break… + it gets cold in the sky, where are some protective feathers/’fur’ for these guys?? especially side-eyeing the one living in the mountains. yeah I know they’ve apparently got that heat-retaining blood protein or whatever, but much like the flight bladder (which I will get to later), that’s asking me to excuse a bit much in terms of anatomy

(tho to be fair, the actual dinos featured in the film are naked and thin too so… at least this inaccuracy is consistent..)

I feel like this is especially bad w/ the heads. it looks like there’s barely any muscular support at the connection to the neck, and no jaw musculature to speak of. of course, a croc-like jaw design could layer the muscles under bone so that they’re not necessarily visible from the outside

but note the mass distribution of the bones of the jaw– they still stick out a fair bit to leave room for the muscles underneath (including on the upper jaw), and more importantly, the area for basing the muscles on the lower jaw is WIDE. now dragons may not necessarily need a strong bite-force like crocs if they’re using their talons and fire for attack, but most ANY toothed-animal skull is gonna NEED a lower jaw with a wider back end to provide stable, strong support to the jaw muscles. what I’m seeing from the ‘croc-’like dragon heads in this movie (not the wyvern head so much, that actually isn’t too bad in this respect) are flimsy, cardboard structures that will warp at the slightest hint of pressure

also, the teeth on all the dragons are weirdly straight and thin? like fishing teeth? but the main dragons are all land predators– they SHOULD have thick/curved teeth. even crocs have thick, slightly curved teeth, get w/ the program!!

and let’s not forgot this fucker

sir… SIR, that is a muscle-less TUBE with LEGS….. 

………..funny how suddenly the wiener-dragon ain’t shrink-wrapped, eh?

also this dragon absolutely CANNOT glide, no matter what kinda “flight bladders” they got, the membrane surface area is FAR too small even for gliding, I’m sorry!!

2) “evolutionary theory? what’s that??”

basically the film goes, “WHOA this dragon has 6 limbs! no other vertebrate on the planet has 6 limbs! they must have a wild genetic mutation for that to happen– oh, yep, they sure do!” and just… leaves it there

the evolution of 6 limbs in any evolutionary tree similar to Earth’s is literally so complicated, I have an entire post dedicated to breaking down JUST that concept. the way this movie so briefly presents this “wild mutation” doesn’t even BEGIN to cover how incredibly difficult it would be to shift something as hard-wired as vertebrate limb number from four to six

what’s even MORE frustrating tho is that this movie’s timeline for evolution doesn’t even make SENSE! supposedly their oldest dragon is the wyvern– the tetrapod. then that TETRApod somehow led to the HEXApod marine dragon. what in the world?? WHERE did that other limb set come from? WHY is there another limb set suddenly???

as I explain in that post linked above, it’s practically impossible for another functional, full limb set to evolve in a complex vertebrate– that’s why it’s most reasonable for hexapods to evolve long before tetrapods set the standard, and the two evolutionary lines would go their separate ways. there’s a small chance a limb set could evolve properly into a small, early tetrapod (tho even that is a long-shot), but in a LARGE vertebrate whose entire physiology revolves around their current tetrapodal, bipedal setup, as this movie suggests w/ their wyvern? hell nah, not a chance

and there are def other evolutionary problems throughout– generally just the fact that dragons seem to change VERY little, ‘aesthetically’ speaking, despite so many years of evolution and adaptation to wildly different environments (looking at the marine dragon..). yet when the dragons ARE markedly different from one another (wyvern vs. hexapod), it only brings up more problems, as covered above. like it’s all just so vague and ungrounded in any real evolutionary reality

also this post pointed out further problems w/ the evolution I didn’t even think abt (like the forest dragon being a contemporary to the mountain dragon, despite being used as an intermediary b/t marine and mountain) so I’m rly just 🤔 abt all this

3) BAD lab procedure!!

why aren’t the researchers wearing masks? they need masks to protect the corpses from human germs, and protect themselves from breathing in anything weird that was on the corpse! and they keep touching the corpse w/o gloves, getting their human oils all over the body! have they never heard of contamination?? AUGH

there’s definitely more wrong here that I rly don’t have the experience to speak on (and some of it I’m willing to excuse for the sake of a short, dramatic film– like the team having a whole lab setup right on the mountain), but the cross-contamination is what rly bothered me.

WHAT THIS DOCUFICTION GETS RIGHT and/or FUN:

1) realistic, cool behavior

the dragon behaviors featured are actually realistic, and downright cool at times!

screaming to both call for help and hurt an opponent’s ears; flashing wings to warn off opponents; mimicry to trick prey; that KICK-ASS courting ritual (if not displayed a bit awkwardly in terms of body positioning); the fiery brooding method (if we at least assume egg physiology that could handle and require that kinda direct heat, which I don’t think is…. necessarily outside reality… perhaps… maybe…)– these are all awesome examples of neat behavior

2) flight bladders? kind of??

this one is in the “got it right” list based more on potential than actual application in the movie

see, the idea of a flight bladder is p cool! the source of gas from digestion is completely reasonable, and it makes sense as a way to help a huge creature relieve some of the stress of flight

plus, the connection w/ fire-breathing is super interesting! it’s a very reasonable give-and-take system, and I like it a LOT. so this post pointed out the problems w/ having a flight system that relies on a product also used up by a different system, so now I can’t even give it that much credit lmao

however, the flight bladders in the movie are used to excuse some of the worst wing anatomy I’ve seen passed off as “realistic designs”. flight bladders may make up for *some* shortened wing length, or flight endurance, but they CANNOT make up for the problems I described in the “got it wrong” list

3) fire-breathing mechanics

if we now ignore the problems w/ this gas system being directly connected to the flight system, the fire-breathing is decently grounded in reality! the designers not only took into account the fuel source (gas from digestion), but also ignition source (platinum deposits). both of these sources are super interesting to me cus’ they technically utilize outside resources, which is not usually the case w/ a lot of fire-breathing mechanics I’ve seen

also love the specialized mouth anatomy– a scaled inner mouth and protective palate-valve make perfect sense to protect the dragon’s innards from fire, esp since the fire is igniting towards the back of the mouth. though the source of ignition being so far back in the delicate throat is itself suspect, and makes me wonder why it wasn’t simply ignited up towards the front of the mouth to prevent injury….. man I can’t give this film an inch w/o taking a mile back, huh!!

-Mod Spiral

[celestial-ringleader]

💭👻👀🎈🎀

Thanks for the ask \o/

💭 Any ideas for a possible WIP?

I have actually been discussing an AU with @rewrite-a-million-dreams (which is v long and too complex to explain, but to say the least there’s magic and dragons in it) but I have been plotting out a story based around our ramblings.

👻 2 or 3 sentences from something you haven’t posted yet?

“The air was frigid, sending a minute shiver down his spine after every breath he took as he trudged along the snowy floor, the crush of snow beneath his feet filling the empty forest, alerting smaller creatures as he continued his path. The stranger kept his head hung low, pulling his crimson cloak closer together with his free hand while his other flung his satchel over his shoulder….” -from “Natural” (werewolf AU)

“…Phillip nods, setting down the kit and hurrying to the gourney. Now that he’s closer, he caught a glimpse of hair, then a face, a human face, he stares, absolutely speechless, at the creature the rescue team dragged in…” -from “Off the Deep End” (merm AU)

👀 Favorite response to one of your works?

That’s easy, this was something i posted on AO3 a little while ago, it made my heart flip a little bit bc it was one of the first comments I got that was really long (warning a little NSFW):

“This is highly cute and also hilarious and I like it a lot AAAAAAA!!!I have many questions including and now exclusive to why the heck does Barnum have so many spare pairs of clothes in his office? Like dude please, stop living in your office, go home and get some rest and have a bath and change there. If you have a wardrobe in your office then you are working Too Much™. Phillip is so cute in this and also hot damn that boi can do the splits on the lyra in titepants, THAT is a good image yo. Him being worried about his partner is blessed and adorable. He is one good egg. I’m glad he didn’t take advantage of Phin while he was in a state and was 200% focused on helping him get the stuff out of his system. And Poor Phin bab was in so much pain. He needs a good hug that is what he needs. Also all the teeny little things helped establish a mood of environment. I really like the small details like that the little silk pillows on their sofa are Phillips, and that they only brought in that sofa so that Phin could nap when he’s overworking but they also use it to get up to hyjinks together.Their relationship is very heartfelt with a lot of compassion and understanding and I like that they talked things through and Phillip was reassuring and thoughtful. They are really well written and good rounded characters with a lot of emotion and a solid narrative to follow.The story was well paced and easy to read with a really good mix of hysterically funny bits as well as quite touching moments which I think played out really well in terms of the mood of the story.You are a very good writer as well as an artist and I’d love to read more of your work. Keep creating fic, you clearly have quite a talent here.I loved this and 12/10 would read again.” (from @circuskingfeels/Eve on “How Much is Too Much?”)

And of course there’s this other one on a different work (again also NSFW) and it made me feel so good bc they’re a pretty good author:

“God how do I even begin with this. Like how do I

the roller coaster started when you exposed me with that url drop tbh BUT I AM SO. HONOURED. I AM SO HAPPY AND I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT YOU WERE INSPIRED BY MY WHINGEING AND THAT THIS IS THE PRODUCT OF THAT INSPIRATION

One super important thing– I like the inclusion of discussion before the smut starts. That’s very realistic and it was a class act to include it!!

But now we go on to the meat of the subject which is holy CHRIST, your descriptions are INCREDIBLE. Like being able to write filth is one thing, but good god you do it with such attention to detail I? Am awed??? I find that it’s a way to enhance feelings a character may have for another– in this case Phil towards Phin– and you write Phin like he’s living poetry with verses tattooed in every tensing muscle and Phil loves every moment of it. AND I LOVE IT TOO. The detail makes it obvious that Phin is sensitive to all this touching and groping, and it’s! What! He! Deserves!!!!!

I love how Phil kept teasing him too? LMAO. Using the “~” is usually so wild to me but it really conveys this cooing tone… which, again, Phin fucking DESERVES. Augh!!!!

Absolutely wonderful fic. I loved it. I loved the pacing! And seriously, your descriptions are ART. I cannot fucking deal.

As a completely irrelevant sidenote I thought there’d be an explanation for it, but why is Phin reluctant about receiving in this universe? I AM CURIOUS, AS SOMEONE WHO ONLY EVER WRITES HIM AS RECEIVING, SO. also i don’t read the discord stuff oops

or was it because he was a virgin. See how I typed “was”? HA. PHILLIP POPPED HIS CHERRY. i’m so proud

THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS. THANK YOU FOR SHARING IT. THANK YOU FOR PINGING ME TO READ THIS AUGHHHHHHH I AM GOING TO CHERISH THIS AND HOLD IT CLOSE TO MY HEART FOREVER…” (from @hughbyjackman on “Tease”)

🎈 What’s a spoiler for a WIP or series?

Well,,,i may have spoiled one on the first question lol but I can throw a little tidbit from the back and forth convo between me and Jac:

“okay. so.

to try and summarize it, Phillip (at the time he was a prince) comes across Phineas who he thinks is an average person during a storm and Phin got injured by dragon hunters (who are a big deal in Phillip’s kingdom) and ofc Phil, being a good person, takes him into his castle for shelter and to make sure he’s well (yes Phil is a sorcerer/wiccan) Phineas, not wanting to share his true identity, tells Phillip he used to be a knight for another kingdom and has spent his days since then wandering and bc Phillip has taken a big interest in Phineas, Phillip appoints him his knight whenever he becomes king lets say his father died a few months beforehand and Phil couldnt be happier 

After the coronation party, when it’s official that Phillip is now king, he finds Phineas half transformed in his bedroom (bc the poor thing got stressed out from the party and saw a lot of people wearing jewelry and armor made from dragon scales)”

🎀 Favorite story?

Out of the stories I wrote, my fav has to be “How Much is Too Much?” but from other people i have to say one of my favorites is “Sink Me In” written by @silverlynxx (warning, it’s NSFW but its a good read)

[devoraakss]

Maybe for modern au...Drunk one night stand with Aveana and Lucio but HE gets attached and keeps finding excuses to visit her

this is going to be so fucking long oh my god i gOT CARRIED AWAY. Maybe i’ll start a series in a modern au centered around this? a whopping 2,585 words im fdgsf

Lucio was no stranger to one night stands. They were fun, simple, easy, chaotic. Everything that Lucio adored. It started like it always did, he had maybe a biiit too much to drink… but he was sober enough to have a coherent conversation and not come off as a total ass.  

He had seen her from across the bar. Like some kind of awful romantic comedy, he knew he had to get closer to her, talk to her– something! If he was lucky, take her home. Lucio knew he was a catch, he’d been flirting all night but… well, he hadn’t seen anyone quite as… eye-catching as she was.

A mess of dark brown hair tied up in a messy bun, pale skin speckled with so many freckles he could make constellations with them if he wanted… Her right arm is inked with intricate geometric designs and he can see the beginnings of another tattoo on her thigh, peeking out from under the hem of her short dress that hugged her hips so perfectly. Her body was sinfully curvy, with thighs that look like they could kill a man. she looked so soft and plump… He had to at least try to get a piece of that.

When he finally tears his eyes from the rest of her, he’s been caught. a startling pair of mismatched eyes are staring him down, and a teasing smile plays on her full lips. Well, if he didn’t move now he’d just look like a creep.

With relative ease, Lucio stands and strides over to where she sat at the bar, taking the empty seat beside her and offering her a charming smile. “You come here often?”

This… exquisite woman laughs, blessing his ears with her musical voice– He swears she looks more beautiful than he does… It must have been the alcohol.

“Classic conversation starter… maybe I do.”

Her voice is like silk, sending shivers down his spine and making him think of what else that mouth of hers can do… especially with those pouty lips.

“That’s odd, because I’ve never seen you before, and I know I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

“Oh? you sound very sure of yourself.” She moves and her skirt slips a little higher up her legs and gods, what he wouldn’t give to have those thighs wrapped around his head– Lucio quickly looks away banishing those thoughts from his mind. The last thing he needed was to pop a stiffy in the middle of the crowded bar– though it would be interesting. He wasn’t interested in a quickie by the bathroom, he wanted so much more than that. To drag his hands over her curves, bruise her, mark her, have her screaming his name… Speaking of…

“If there’s one thing I have an abundance of it’s confidence, my dear… I don’t believe I caught your name.”

She gives him a look that is mildly amused, giving her drink a stir. “Aveana. and you are?”

Lucio grins, resting his elbow on the bar as he leaned a bit closer to her. “My name’s Lucio, Aveana.” He lets her name roll off his tongue in a sultry purr, and by the way her eyebrow arches at him, biting her bottom lip… She was as… interested in him as he was in her.

“What do you say we get out of here? I’m sure I can show you a good time, if you’re interested.”

Aveana laughs once again, finishing off her drink with a smile. “That sounds like an invitation if I’ve ever heard one.” 

Lucio can feel his heart racing in his chest, holy shit this was working? of course it was, she would have to be blind if she wasn’t interested in someone as enthralling as himself. “It was, are you coming with me, or am I going home lonely tonight?” Lucio teases, but he hopes to god she says yes. Being able to run his hands down those supple hips of hers… He just might be drooling a little. Aveana gives him a look that’s almost searing, incredible mismatched eyes gazing at him like he is the mouse and she is the cat. She stands from her seat at the bar, flagging down the bartender to pay for her drink and then turning back to him, a haughty smile on her lips. “Your place or mine?”

Lucio woke up with the hangover from hell, coupled with two sets of paws digging into his back. Mercedes and Melchior were barking up a storm, excitedly stepping all over him in their attempts to stir him from his sleep, which only served to make his head throb even more. His dogs still when they see he’s awake and they excitedly shove their cold snouts under the covers, the shock nearly making Lucio fall off the bed, but he manages to keep them at bay with his foot. “m’fuckin’ dogs… go away.”The dogs huff, but seeing as they are not  dragging their human out of bed anytime soon, scramble over him and run out the door to his bedroom, barking and snapping at each other.Bloodshot silver eyes flicker open, squinting angrily at the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window of his penthouse. He huffs angrily, grabbing one of the satin red pillows and putting it over his head, trying to bury deeper into the sheets. He was almost back to sleep when his phone buzzed from where it sat haphazardly on his nightstand. With another irritated huff he reaches for his phone, feeling around before his hand closes around the device. He turns it on and winces at the brightness, quickly turning it down before squinting to read his notifications… A new text from Nadia– he had seventeen missed messages, and two missed calls… Damn… what time was it? He glares at the clock and groans. 2:30 pm. 

He had a lunch date with Nadia and he missed it. Well he didn’t want to go anyways but he always at least tried to make an effort. He sighs, quickly typing back a half-assed response to Nadia– ‘srry noddy 2 hungover to care lmao’ with a few emojis just to piss her off.The missed calls were both from Valerius, no doubt because Nadia had been furious he missed their engagement. Lucio shrugs and sets his phone back on the nightstand, content to go back to sleep before– There is a angry banging on his door, muffled voices reaching his ears. The sound makes Mercedes and Melchior go ballistic. Lucio snarls a few curses into the pillows, kicking the covers off himself like an angry child who was just told to get up for school. Pulling himself from the comfort of his bed he is suddenly struck by the fact that he was bare ass naked. This wasn’t too odd, though a quick look in the mirror reminded him of the… adventure he had the night before. Dark purple bruises are setting in on his neck, shoulders and chest, a quick glance at his back shows angry red scratches– and it all brings a shit eating grin to his face. It came back in blurs, but the more he remembered the faster it started coming back. Aveana. He didn’t bother looking for her, he figured she was long gone, but there was that small part of him, the silent disappointment that he likely wouldn’t see her ever again… another impatient bang at his front door drags him from his thoughts and he quickly fishes out a pair of sweatpants from the clothes piled on one of the couches in his room and tosses them on, hand coming to rub at his temple as he makes his way towards the door. “Fuckin’ hell I’m coming! good gods…” Lucio barks out, and Mercedes and Melchior race to the door, nearly tripping him as he reaches it. 

“Mercedes! Melchior! G– augh, Go away!” 

He shoos the dogs off, placing himself between them and the door to keep them from running out. He grumbles as he undoes the lock, cracking the door open to reveal a furious Nadia. Scarlet eyes bore into him but he can’t find it in himself to care how angry she was, returning her gaze with an unimpressed praise of his brow. “What did I do this time.” Nadia’s gaze is scorching, and not in the good way. “I know you don’t care about a lot of things but when we make plans to have lunch, with my parents, I expect you to arrive!! I can tolerate being a bit late but blowing it entirely? And making me look foolish?!”  

She shoves her way into the luxurious penthouse and he lets her, rolling his eyes as she passes– though he wasn’t expecting the shorter, white haired person that follows her. Asra is staring at his phone texting someone as he enters behind her, gaze flickering to look at Lucio with a disgusted scrunch of his nose, shaking his head with a sigh. “Nadia, I hate to say I told you so, buuut…” “Then don’t!” Nadia fumes, heading to the kitchen and grabbing one of Lucio’s favorite wines. Lucio makes a face, like he just bit into the worlds sourest lemon. 

“Sure, make yourselves right at home.” He comments flatly, glaring at Asra as he shuts the door behind them. His house was by no means fit for guests, and Lucio was only just now seeing the clothes strewn around the living area… were those his boxers on the counter?Nadia doesn’t seem to notice, not even bothering with a proper glass as she uncorks the bottle and takes a strong swig of it. “Aw, c’mon, Nadia that’s–” “Shut up! You don’t get to bitch about your wines! Do you know how long my sisters are going to hold this over my head!? ‘Oh, poor Nadi, can’t make her husband show up for a simple luncheon’ I’ll never hear the end of it,” she rounds on Lucio, pointing accusingly at him with one perfectly manicured fingernail.

“And it’s all. Your. Fault. Our relationship is for show but you kind of defeat it’s purpose when you don’t fucking show up!” 

Nadia collapses into one of the chairs at the island counter, steepling her fingers against her temple. Asra clicks his tongue, sliding into the seat beside her and propping his feet on the counter. “Gonna take a bit to fix that one, Lucio.” Lucio rolls his eyes again, willing to say just about anything to make them both go away. His hangover was making Nadia sound like a shrill harpy, and Asra was beginning to sound a lot like Camio…

 “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I forgot.” He begrudgingly apologizes, moving to rifle around in his medicine cabinet for something to soothe the ache in his head. “Convenient.” Nadia snaps back, but she doesn’t sound too mad anymore… she must have ranted most of her anger to Portia before coming over to chew him out. If it weren’t for both of their parents fixing up their relationship Nadia and Lucio wouldn’t even have to make an effort to be together– but alas. Here they were. Nadia makes a disgusted sound, and when Lucio turns around Nadia is glaring at a.. Thin piece of fabric draped over the table, the dark red lace a clear indicator that it wasn’t his. Lucio quickly grabs the underwear and tosses them somewhere in the living room– if he had any shame, he would be blushing, but the only thing on his face is that shit eating grin. “Sorry about that.” he remarks, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “I cannot stand you.” Nadia fumes, taking another drink of wine and resting her head on the marble counter. Lucio chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “So you’ve said before.” the next hour is Nadia ranting about what exactly transpired at this lunch, and the longer she talks the more Lucio is glad he missed the damned thing. The second the two of them leave he promptly passes out on the couch. 

Lucio spends the next few days making it up to Nadia, going to a brunch with both her parents and her sisters– it was painful to sit through. Especially when his thoughts were occupied with someone else. He couldn’t get Aveana off his mind, it was stupid and foolish but he was 100% sober and remembered every moment of them together. It was a simple one night stand, but he silently hoped that if he returned to that bar… he would see her again. This distracted state of mind led to many questions from Nadia’s family met with a confused ‘Huh?’ or ‘I’m sorry, what?’ Which served to make Nadia more flabbergasted, and afterwards Lucio made up some half-assed excuse about having another engagement to get away from her.A quick text to Valerius and he had a ride home, so that was taken care of.. in the mean time, maybe he could do some shopping– Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice the person in front of him until he walked right into them. A disgruntled ‘oof’ left Lucio’s mouth, his face screwing up in a displeased scowl, perfectly stylized brows drawing together. 

“Hey, watch where you’re–” His breath caught in his throat when he saw those familiar blue and gold eyes, expression going from a scowl to one of utter shock. “Lucio?!” Aveana looked just as startled, her voice cracking on his name, nearly dropping her phone in her hands.They both stare at each other for a few seconds– though to Lucio it seems like hours, and his heart is slamming against his ribcage. He knows exactly what she looks like under those clothes, the expanse of soft skin covered in gorgeous lines of ink, the freckles that dot over every inch of her. He knows how she feels beneath his hands, soft and perfect. He knows how she sounds when his lips are on her neck and– “Lucio, what the fuck” Asra’s voice shatters his thoughts and his expression is back to that scowl of his, silver eyes darting over to him. He’s so thrown he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “What are you gawking at?” Asra has his arm hooked through Aveana’s in a friendly manner which floors Lucio even more– Asra knew her! Asra knew her and all this time he could have– no, no, scratch that, Asra probably wouldn’t have told him even if he asked. “You’re the one gawking, goatshit–” “Asra.” Aveana gives him a hard jab in the side, cheeks bright red as she cuts her eyes at him. Asra makes a face, glancing at his friend. “Hold on, are you telling me you know him?” Lucio grins, folding his arms. “We do indeed know each other. I think I still have something of yours back at my apartment, too…” he remarks offhandedly, giving her a knowing look and watching the blush on her cheeks just spread.  

Asra opens his mouth to speak, but then he stops himself, eyes going wide. “Hold the fuck on, just a minute,” He’s sputtering now, violet eyes wide and accusing in Lucio’s direction.“Asra, we really should get back to Muriel, you know he doesn’t like staying in the food court by himself…” Aveana tries to interject but Asra is all out glaring at Lucio now, it was too late. “Those– on the counter?!– I cannot fucking believe you!” Asra’s abject horror only makes Lucio’s grin widen, which in turn makes Asra even more irritated. Aveana quickly pushes Asra towards the direction of the food court, offering Lucio a sheepish smile. 

“I’ll, uh… stop by your place later to grab that… thing..” She mutters, averting her gaze from him and tugging Asra off in the opposite direction. Lucio watches with an emboldened sense of glee forming in his chest. He had this little dove in his grasp again, and this time? He didn’t intend to let her go.

[cutegirlmayra]

Soulmate au is when the 2 characters are meant to be in a more magical way? like, maybe they were born with a mark that helps them find their other half or destiny wants them together, you know what I mean? is like... like the red string of fate! their souls are bonded together. I am not the same anon that ask about the soulmate au, just want to let you know what it was :P

Thank you my friend!

I did some research and found out more about Soulmate Aus! :D

I’ve decided to combined ‘Hearing your name from the Soulmate’ and ‘Having trouble being away from soulmate and having to come back because of longing struggles’. I hope that works xD

(x)

Prompt:

Amy heard the crowd cheer out his name.

Her eyes flicked, something about it felt right, but she wasn’t sure why.

Looking around the crowd, she peeked her head out to see a bunch of rescued flickies being released from a contraption of sorts… a blue boy bouncing on a yellow button to free them.

He posed, hands on his hips with the back of his wrists. His head held high, cocky and confident.

He folded his arms as he smirked for the photos.

She couldn’t help but stare…

She wondered if this was love at first sight.

—

Later, after some tarot card reading, she took off for Palm Tree Panic. Before this, this was a quiet girl, expected to marry and just be a stay-at-home kinda wife. You know, with that dainty kinda life.

But the second she drew forth his name in her throat, the second the syllables formed, she knew.

“Sonic!”

She felt her heart race and something rise from her feet, forcing her to skid with her heels to stop herself.

It was like a truck flew upward and sped out of the ground and up through her body; bringing the sensation with it as it hit hard and swiftly. Completely knocking her clueless as a bubbly sensation of fizzing wonder floated up her stomach and stopped her breath.

What on earth was this?

The boy turned around, his face frozen.

Had he felt it too?

She walked a little closer, though the name rang through her mind and her body was lit up with a warmth again, a pure and underlying longing came to her to be closer and say his name again.

“…Sonic?”

This time, she watched him jitter from his knees up to his nose, having the vibration carry as slapped his two hands to his nose, and blinked, in shock.

His quills bristled, much like her own, and she thought for a second…

Her soulmate?

“Son-”

“Stop!!!”

She plugged her mouth with both hands, about to step forward but became to afraid too.

She desperately wanted to finish speaking his wonderful name, to hear that glorious ring and feel that amazing rush!

But the boy looked afraid…

“I’m sorry…” she softly spoke, but didn’t let this awkwardness continue.

She bounced up and happily did a small sway of her body, having her arms follow the gesture before her hands covered her face in shy fists again.

She blushed, and pulled them down again.

“I’m Amy.” she stated. “Amy Rose.”

She repeated this, just to be certain…

If him saying her name caused the same sensation then.

“…A…EM.” he cut himself off, looking down.

He was clearly uncomfortable, as he slowly moved a leg back, shaking as his whole body wanted to try and say her name too.

He tried to get away, walking like an uncomfortable march, as if something was between his legs, giving him a wedgie. This uncomfortable walk was because his legs had almost gone completely limp, and his heart was pounding while some strange sensation of fire and water boiled within him uncontrollably.

It was confusing and scary.

“Wait!” Amy called, holding a hand out and looping an arm around his arm, nuzzling up to it as she once again swayed herself closer, making him lean his head back.

He sweated as she batted her eyes.

“Uhhh…”

“Did you feel that too?” she inquired, before giggling and looking like a smarty-pants, but trying to be alluring.

She tilted her head down and continued her flirtation, or what she could pass off as flirting…

“If you felt that by me saying your name… then you must feel the same when you say mine!” she cheerfully stated, squeeing a moment as she released his arm and shook back and forth, her face covered again, acting coy.

“Eee! How embarrassing!”

“U-…Um…” Sonic kept sweating profusely, feeling suddenly too hot and faint, he kept trying to inch away… moving backwards as he did so, trying to not startle the strange girl that sent an odd feeling through him. “E-embarrassing?” He spoke through gritted teeth in a fake smile, his eyes slightly showing how crazy he thought this all was.

“Well, yes!” Amy kicked a leg up and swung it behind her, placing her two hands clutched tightly together and up by her side as she closed her eyes.

Her head looked up to the sky, as she sighed- “Because if it is so, then we’re soulmates! And you’ll never want to be apart from me-!”

A sudden gust of wind, and she blinked her eyes open, looking ahead.

“AH!” she gasped, offended as her arms swished down through the air and shook by her sides, seeing him take off without her…

“Ohhh…! The nerve! I’ll have to teach you some manners! Come back here!” she stomped her foot down, the wind kicking up, as she suddenly took a deep breath.

“SOOONNNIIICCC!!!!”

This time, the sensation changed.

She giggled, suddenly feeling like she was being tickled, and then, a massage that completely relaxed her… her eyes looking to enjoy the feeling, her feet digging into the ground as if someone had scratched behind her ears. She blushed before an electrical circuit of sorts traveled up her spine and exited through each individual quill, making her let out a cry of delight before shaking her quills back in place from being elated upwards.

“It HAS to be my soulmate!” she chimed, overjoyed! “My hero~” she swooned, instantly in love with the idea!

She suddenly dropped her arms and looked shocked again, “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed.

“Now we’ll have to get married!” she threw her arms up, jumping in her glee, “Yeee~ I’m gonna be Sonic’s wife!” the same tingling, but on a lighter level now, still noticeable though.

“You are not!”

She suddenly blinked her eyes open from her dreamy state, and looked over across the way.

The boy was trembling, his eye twitching, as he was clearly feeling the effects from her call.

She had no idea if the sensation was doubled because it was his name or not, but she enjoyed the feeling it gave her.

She smiled, happily, before putting an innocent finger to her mouth and ducking her head down.

—

Playing innocent, eh?

Sonic growled in his mind’s thoughts, ticked off he was triggered so easily.

What was this!? A soulmate!?

PAH!

Like he, Sonic The freakin’ Hedgehog, would have any need of any woman-partner!

Bleh.

He felt the sensations finally leave.

Good.

Though they died down slowly…

Ugh.

The feeling lingered a bit but he ignored it, or at least tried to as he folded his arms and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid mythologies!”

“Myth… Mythologies!? Ah!” she looked deeply offended, and her open mouth expression made him snicker.

Oh good.

He could have fun messing with this one…~

He thought that with deliberate glee, motioning his fingers in a wave on his arm, smirking down at her, a devil’s look of wicked pleasure in his eye.

A soulmate?

More like a nuisance! He couldn’t have ‘soulmate’ on an adventure! Please! She’ll break a claw.

He teased and mocked her, leaning up from his first expression to lower his eyelids, sizing her up and unfolding his arms to place them judgingly on his hips.

She’s not even all that.

He dropped his smile.

If she WAS his soulmate, wouldn’t she be more than pretty?

His face suddenly dropped, looking up and off into the distance.

Did he just think that?

Pretty?

He shook his head.

Nah, man! It’s gotta be the sensations! Ah-! N-not like he believed that stuff was real though, anyways!!! And even if it was-

He spat at the ground, lifting a leg up exaggeratedly to do so.

He would fight it till the day he died! Just in spite of it all!

“Do yourself a favor, Pinky.” he didn’t dare call her by her name. “Eggman’s afoot, and I wouldn’t want ya gettin’ hurt. Just run along home and forget about me, alright? Thanks for being a fan though, see ya!” he leaned forward, using the hand motion to ‘shoo’ her away as he flapped it back and forth a moment, looking like he didn’t care as he saluted a ‘cool-dudes’ goodbye and was about to take off.

His leg was positioned right.

His hands were curled and ready to reel forward.

He could almost feel the awkward moment dissipating behind him before-

“But..! Ohh.. I don’t have a home.” She ducked her head down, her sudden soft eyes revealing a helplessness Sonic’s eyes couldn’t ignore.

His eyes had shifted back, just by hearing the shift in tone.

He glared forward, sweating..

‘Don’t let her get to you, Sonic…’

He frowned, though his kind heart was starting to show…

He tried to bury it deep, telling himself it wasn’t safe for her anyway, but then again…

Why did he care?

“Augh.” he threw his arms up, relaxing and leaning forward in a hunch, before turning back to her.

She wasn’t trying to be annoying… she was just looking for her hero.

He pouted, looking up again and away from her.

“You really don’t have anyone? Not one single person who gives a care about you at all?”

The harshness wasn’t meant to be so… well… apparent.

But the poor girl seemed to shrink away, her fingers starting to roll over each other in nerves, and a look of pity suddenly came over her.

“I… I guess not.” She felt rejected, and by her soulmate?

Harsh…

Wait, what!?

Sonic shook his head.

Don’t start that again!

“Ahh, come on! I can’t stand to see you sulk all of a sudden from being sunshine and rays a moment beforehand. Dang, I’m getting soft.” he scratched the top of his head, turning away as if to dismiss his sudden kindness, but she raced at lightspeeds up to him, shocking him at her agility, before tacking him down the tall hill he was on.

“Woah-hey-waaiiitt!”

as they tumbled, he felt a sudden pull to make sure he took any damage instead of her.

This was normal though, as he was used to defending others, but…

His hand wrapped around her waist, and he seriously focused on getting upright, jumping up and holding her bridal style, looking on.

He was suddenly aware of his strange maneuvering of having her in his arms, and blinked, looking down as if that was pure instinct…

She smelled… good… AH!

He shook his head and flailed his arms about, letting her go on the ground as she stared at him, wide-eyed in admiring love for him.

Or so he thought.

He clutched his hand to what felt like a about to burst out heart, as if willing it to stay in there.

“Look, just leave me alone, okay? You’re better off on your own.” he started walking ahead, dusting his arms off of her… ugh, scent and the feeling of her soft fur and- Grr.. he’s got strange thoughts now!

He took off, darting forward and moving through the stage.

When he felt he was far enough away, he relaxed, sighing in relief and started stretching.

“Let’s never have to go through that again…” He muttered to himself, before a strange feeling of guilt came over him.

Amy…

“Amy Rose!”

She had said that.

A strange allure of longing… followed by deep, profound impulses and urges to hold her again, took over and created a quake in his hands, as he held them out in front of himself, watching as they tensed and shook by just the thought of her name, the memory of her in their possession…

“W-wo-wo-woah… what’s happening to me?” Sonic, feeling the odd thoughts start to swarm, rapidly started having his body shake, and he slowly pulled his hands up to his withdrawn head.

His eyes widened as he twitched slightly, his feet wanting to go back, his body feeling queasy…

Suddenly…

“I found you!”

“WAH!”

He flinched away but she caught onto him.

Instantly, a volcanic eruption sent a signal boost throughout him, and a wave of relief followed by a gentle pressure release gave him the sensation of a pleasant nap. At least, he wasn’t sure how to describe it either than that.

To his inexperience, he thought he had a heart-attack followed by heat stroke and a sudden condition of anxiety induced cerebral palsy.

His body wasn’t coordinating and he was helpless to fight her off.

He just looked up, his nose twitching so he rubbed it to try and excuse himself from this mess.

Should he… really let her tag along?

How’d she catch up to him so fast anyway?

Was she able to really be his..?

“Please don’t leave again! You scared me!” Amy stated, shaking her head. She started leaning up and whining slightly, the tone of her pitch right in his ear sent a goofy smile on his face, and suddenly his foot started thomping the ground like some kinda thumping in glee.

He must have lost his mind.

“If you leave, I’ll be drawn back to you! So that’s mean to make me long for you like that!” she shook him up, but his face just showed complete surrender to the ecstasy.

He’d never felt this dumb before.

“Um.. miss, could you not… haha…” he was meaning for her to do this to him, but she just let him go, thinking he meant the shaking.

“Opps! My bad. hehe.” she giggled, having a hand up by her mouth, “I forget my own strength sometimes..”

“Your strength is… strong.” he was still wobbly, still goofy face, before he shook himself out of it and looked really upset.

“Ble-blr-blr-blr-GRUFF. Hey! What’s the big idea?!” He was starting to lose his temper…

Amy ‘eep’d, covering her face slightly, but peering over gloved hands, leaning away.

“Look, I don’t have time to play with little girls.” he leaned his face forward,.. but was that really just the pull?

His fist came up to make a point… or was it his hand wanting to be closer to reaching for her again?

“Like I said before. Eggman’s hunting more flickies, and I don’t have time to waste around and mess with you! Scram, kid! I’m a loner! And always will be!” he flung his hand out and stated his point bluntly, before taking off.

“Oh, wait!” Amy desperately cried out, “Son-!”

“Oh, and another thing.” Sonic came speeding back, placing a finger on her mouth, and turning his head with an eye squinted and the other having it’s eyebrow up, as if he was pointing out another thing…

“Don’t call me back! It’s weird! And you’re better off with some prince charming. Trust me!” he removed the finger, but the touch was suddenly something he couldn’t ignore…

“You.. you alright with that?”

She had ducked her head down, covered in shadows.

“…H-hey… you aren’t crying are ya… Miss?” He bent his head down, refusing to speak her name.

—

Anger swarmed through her.

Her true love, her soulmate.

Rejecting her so cruelly.

Didn’t he know this was a once in a lifetime opportunity?

Soulmates couldn’t be apart without desperately longing for the other, and saying each other’s name was suppose to give a forever strength to their bond, a never-ending love that only grew and grew as the name was spoken by them.

She found him… and he was telling her to buzz off.

Like she couldn’t follow him.

She could play hero too!

She rose her head up, determined.

“I CAN PROVE IT!” She hollered in his face, making him move back and blink in utter disbelief.

“P-prove?” He gawked, “Prove,… what? Exactly?” he leaned forward with his hands on his hips again, feet together, looking curious but confused at her words.

“I can prove soulmates are real!”

He must have admired her gusto, Amy thought.

Cause he stood up straight, turning slightly to the side with his body angled, and folded his arms, giving her a formidable look…

“Oh, you can, can you.”

“Yes! I can! I’ll prove it right now!” she stepped boldly up towards him, toe to toe, as he looked down at the foot positioned out to her, the other on the side, and then back up with just his eyes.

“You for real, girl?”

“Say my name!”

His head shot up and his hands unfolded, horror and shock coming over his face, before tensing it up and having a snarl replace his frown, a look of contempt in his eyes.

“Come again?”

“I’m sick of you denying it! You know if you said my name, you’d feel it too! You couldn’t run or.. or hide from it anymore!” she shouted out, letting her voice fill the zone as he twitched his fist, tsking…

“Pfft. As if.” He leaned back up, trying to not take this seriously.

“I’m on a very important mission. I don’t have time for your silly games, lady!”

“AMY!”

He froze a second, twitching an eyelid down as if he was bracing himself, lifting an arm as if he had expected that to do something to him.

“See! You moved!” Amy pointed out, “Say it and you’ll know!”

“I… I don’t believe you! Or in your magic jargon of silly love stories!” He defended, but he was sweating again, nervous…

“Do it!” She wasn’t backing down, her face right at his, making him stagger back.

“Uhh…” he slowly started retreating, realizing this girl’s will was equal to his own.

At least, Amy hoped that’s what was coming off.

She advanced forward, taking one step at a time as he repeatedly stepped away one foot at a time.

“Amy. Amy… Rose.”

“Quit it, girly! Ah..” Sonic was cut off by a loose rock, seeing it fall from his foot’s weight and retrieving his foot back. Looking down at the drop, he looked a bit panicked for a moment.

“Now!” She lunged forward, as his arms spread out and he tried to arch his back away from her.

“Alright, alright! But it’s not gonna change anything! You’ve gotta go!” Sonic demanded back, shouting so she understood him.

—

Geez, I never knew a girl with so much -tude.

He snarked to himself, before watching her back away, her eyes still daggers as if threatening him to keep his bargain.

“If you feel the same… I stay with you!” she folded her aggressive little arms and pouted like most little girls do.

Sheesh.

How’d he end up in this mess?

“Fine…” he scratched the back of his head, “You win…” he buffed up his chest, sucking in some air.

He was about to release it, when she was suddenly swooped away.

He blinked, before turning to look up.

“What… just happened?”

“SOOONNICC!!”

“Eeee! Hey!” he gripped his quills, having the sensation return but differently this time, having the quills stick up and shake straight, but his impulses feel like they had a million-bolt batteries in each part of his movable body!

“Metal me!” Sonic looked ahead to see Metal carrying her off. “Darn, we must still be in sync!” he realized, and darted his head down, glaring.

If he thinks he can take her away, I’ll-!

He sped off, not giving the thought a second look.

“Hang on!” he called from below, before seeing her let out a cry of help, her eyes spraying tears as suddenly Metal flew off into the sky.

Sonic reached up, his boyhood voice suddenly echoing out a sensation he hadn’t known before.

It was as if he was meant to say this sound, born into it, destined to speak it and let it rest on his tongue forever.

“AMMMYYY!!!!”

(Awww, so cute! XD I love classic Sonamy!!!)

Others like this (x) (x) (x)

[pointy-kitty]

We Can Make It

A Wreck It Ralph Fanfiction from five years ago

Chapter Twelve (FINAL: this is all I had written before I dropped out of the fandom. But this may not be all you hear of this yet. Wink.)

She swallowed dryly, straightening up, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Hoo! Wow, good midi, that was—ah.”  

She was reminded quite suddenly of the furious little cuss as he was practically upon her in a blur of grey fingers and gnashing yellow teeth. Just barely slipping away in time, she retreated to the bar, hopping over the counter and stepping on the remnants of a few ruined bottles. He slammed his hands down against the surface of her alcohol-drenched sanctuary, pushing himself up to glare bullets down at her. At that point, it occurred to her: Where did she think she was going to run by hiding in the bar?

His long fingers seized her collar immediately and yanked her up to his level before he shoved her down against the countertop, nearly knocking the wind out of her as she wheezed with the pain of tiny glass shards embedding themselves in her shoulders. The wound in her side shrieked in protest of her desperate breaths. Turbo had her pinned by her chest, his face seething with so much rage that she could barely bring herself to look. Instead, she fixed her gaze upon the fist drawn back, shaking, ready to blacken her eyes.  

No, he would not. He would not. They were friends. He would not. Could not.  

“Turb—” she rasped, her head still spinning. “Turbo, dear God, calm your bits—augh…”

His body wavered with deep, growling breaths.

“Turbo? S-Sourheart?” She nearly pleaded, a desperate smile twitching on her lips.

His fist moved, and she flinched hard when his fingers caught her face, holding it tightly in place as he stared at her. Rage faded into a broken frustration. Snarls settled into shallow, high sighs. The lights above cast shadows over his face, but his seemingly glowing, yellow eyes were molten with conflict.  

“Uh—” she wanted to begin, but somehow could not find a place to start. The way he was just staring down at her, unmoving, not allowing her to move, made her want to squirm. She would have preferred being yelled at. Being tickled at this point was probably a longshot, she decided, but she would have preferred that, too. Anything but this heated staring contest.

“Okay, are you—” she was cut short. Mentally, by the clumsy, flailing backflip that her heart attempted, and physically by fingers digging into her jaw and yanking her face upwards to his. For a moment, she was just thoroughly confused and disoriented. The next, it hit her exactly what was happening.

He was kissing her. Roughly, urgently, rushed and angry. Every move he made came before she could even contemplate her own. His lips tugged at hers, his tongue traced her mouth, their teeth clicked awkwardly together, and all she could do was lie there and blink.

Her voice tumbled into his lips, spilling out messily, “Mmm—what—mmhhrrr—doing—”

He answered with a muffled grunt that sounded suspiciously close to a “shut up”.

She could have argued, made a fuss, shoved him off. But despite all logical reasoning in her head, she did not want to. This was alright. Yes, this was definitely alright. Her eyelids grew heavy, fluttering shut as the hand gripping her face slid behind her neck to pull her upwards even more. Her arms stretched behind his back to shakily slip her gloves off before her hesitant fingers found their way to his massive tangle of hair.

It was disgusting, the way she could taste sour apples on his breath, the way each hair on his head was slightly slick with grease, how his other hand gripped at her waist and brushed her wound, prompting a gasp that only spurred him on. Every little noise he made, all the sighs, huffs, growls. The movement, the desperation, the heat, was all disgusting.

And it was disgusting, the way she loved every second of it.  

Turbo was not pausing, not pulling back to look in her eyes, taking no moment for tenderness or romance. He seemed completely lost in the task of smothering her, finding any way to get a reaction. And, goodness, was she reacting. Her chest was pounding almost painfully, her skin all but smoldering, her palms burning up and chilling with the start of a sweat. It was completely overwhelming.

And the moment his hand dropped from her neck to her shoulders, the flame was drowned out by pain. She gasped, pulling back, squirming away from his touch.  

For the most fleeting moment, he looked just about ready to snatch up her neck in his teeth, but his eyes came back into focus once he fully got a look at her face. She was wincing, squinting, her head still swimming too deeply to even prompt her to speak.

He broke the silence, breathless. “What?”

She tried to swallow, but found no moisture. It struck her just how thirsty she was. “Glass,” she panted, “there were glass shards on the counter, y’numbskull.”

“Wh—” his eyes suddenly snapped open. “What? Oh, God, turn over, let me see.”

Her bones and muscles did not like that idea at all, and made it known quite loudly as she attempted to flip herself over on the unforgivingly hard surface. Once on her belly, she felt the fabric behind her neck lift as Turbo peered down at the damage.

And, if her assumptions were right, probably down at her posterior, too.

“How does it look?” She asked after a few moments of him holding his tongue.

“Uhh, well, I’ve, uh, I’ve seen worse, that’s for sure…” His thumb brushed down the top of her spine, jolting her with pain that wracked her body with a sharp twitch.  

She let out a chest full of air that she did not realize she had taken in. “Watch it back there,” she hissed lowly. “You’re going to lodge them in deeper.”

“Toots, I’m a driver. I deal with broken glass—Ow,” he flinched, and his hand yanked back.  

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “We should probably just head back to Fix-It Felix Jr.”

“No, no, I’ve got it. I’m a master of precision work.”

“Oh dear midi, what..?”

His fingertips very carefully dragged against her skin, slick with what she could only assume was blood, and paused at one shard. The moment she felt the pinch, a protesting gasp jumped in her throat, leaping into a full yelp when the tiny curve of glass was crudely pulled out.

“GOD—” she reflexively kicked back at him, knocking his thigh with her heel. He snarled in pain and frustration.

“Well hold still or it’s gonna hurt more, you wriggling trout!”

“Don’t—Just—Don’t do that,” she wormed her way out from under him and swung her legs to the floor. Her code felt light, brittle, and ill. She had really taken in way too much in the past hour. “I need to go home. Gotta get Felix. He can fix it.”

Turbo groaned, rocking back to sit on his heels. “You think he’s going to get glass shards OUT of your back with a HAMMER..?”

“Yeah, he is. Trust me, it’ll do a much better job than your fingers will.”

He grimaced.  

“Besides, you need to see where I live. I’ve been here so many times and you’ve not once visited me. What’s with that?”

“What’s with that?” He cocked a brow, hopping to the floor, “This is my game, that’s what. I’m in charge around here, so it matters if I leave. You could probably leave your game forever and it wouldn’t matter.”

“Wow,” her eyes fell half-lidded, “thanks.”

He sneered. “Don’t mention it.”

“I’m afraid there’s no backing out of this one, though,” she straightened her clothes, attempting to stand with authority, “we’re going to see Felix. We need him, anyways, to take care of all this.” She gestured widely to the room that was disheveled from her little ball game.  

“Which is your doing, you know, of course?”

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “I know. I’m not sorry, either. But that’s another thing, you’re coming with me because you and I need to talk.”

“Yes,” his brow furrowed into a stern glare, “we do.”

“About those fans.”

“And your killing spree.”

“And your ‘concert’.”

“And your interruption of said concert.”

“And that…” she deliberated, glancing at the counter. “Whatever you call what just happened.”

He flinched slightly, blinking. “Yes. And, not to forget, we need to talk about your little disappearance.”

“Disapp—What?” Her shoulders rolled indignantly, and dozens of sparks of pain shot through her back. “Augh… Okay, look, let’s just get there and we can talk once I’m not beaten half to death.”  

Her shoes awoke and she lifted slightly into the air, bending to grasp Turbo’s wrists, despite his loud protests that eventually dissolved into him gripping her hands for dear life as they ascended.

“I don’t really see how a few cuts counts as ‘half to death’, toots,” he called up shakily, his whole body curled and tensed as he watched the floor drop away. Make-It very carefully maneuvered through the broken window and out into the open air.  

“Oh,” she had honestly nearly forgotten how she had even gotten the pain in her ribs, having so much to distract her from it. “Right. I, uh, had a bit of a run-in with your artificially intelligent rivals.”

He merely made a bewildered sound, and she could feel his eyes scanning her for any other injuries. “What do you mean?”

A half-hearted, resigned laugh rolled from her mouth. “Yeah, they kind of tried to kill me.”

“WHAT?!” His whole body swung, nearly throwing her off balance, aching her poor shoulders with the effort of holding him up. “BASTARDS! GREASY BLUE BASTARDS, I’LL BREAK THEIR LIGHTS IN!”

“SHUT UP,” she barked down at him, “They’ll hear you.”

“I should HOPE SO,” he snarled, fuming, his scrawny legs flailing. “GET OUT HERE AND LET ME BITE YOUR WINDPIPES OUT!”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

He groaned, growled, and gave one last raging, heaving struggle before hanging his head slightly.  

“I messed them up,” she added softly. “Stabbed ‘em. Cut ‘em up.”

His head gave a brief nod. “Good.”

They did not bother to board the little train that would take them to Game Central Station, but merely floated along the tunnel agonizingly slower than Make-It was used to. The red grid bristled over their bodies as they left the golden hallway, and they were met with the routine inspection of the surge protector, as usual. After momentarily trying to have Turbo declared as food, the encounter was over, and they were well on their way to Fix-It Felix Jr.

Upon entering the game, Turbo made a bit of a grunt that indicated he was severely underwhelmed. The boxy clusters of forest, glittering lamp posts, babbling creek, serene pond, and vast void of sky apparently did not impress him. The massive Goliath of an apartment building or towering mountain of bricks held no wonders either.

She was not sure if it was just out of defiant irritation with Turbo or legitimate emotion, but Make-It found herself very much appreciating just how much she loved having a quaintly beautiful, safe home to return to.

As she hovered towards Felix’s bedroom window, she glanced towards the dump, an absent-minded need to check up on Ralph tickling her brain. The bricks near the stump were raised over the sleeping mass of muscle, as she expected. Or, rather, they were for a moment, before he propped up a bit and squinted at the floating pair. His face pinched together in confusion.

She could not blame him. From where he was, it probably looked like she was making a special delivery to Felix, the package being a particularly disgruntled and disheveled racer.  

She tried to offer a shrug, but winced aloud as her grip wavered. Turbo yelped a bit, clutching her wrists tighter and hissing profanities.  

“Nevermind, Ralph,” she half-called. “I’ll, uh, tell you later.”

Turbo growled in protest. “No, you won’t.”

“Hush.”

The bricks on Ralph’s belly shifted as he sighed, and with one push of a colossal hand, he rolled over and shook his head. Make-It’s mouth twitched in an uncertain smile, wondering if she and the ‘bad guy’ would ever come to a mutual understanding. Whatever the answer, she felt a strange fondness over what she and Ralph shared.  

The two rose finally to Felix’s window, which was already propped open.  

“Alright, sourheart, get ready,” she steadily approached the sill.

“Get ready—what—how—” His legs raised defensively and flailed a bit before his heel caught the ledge and she managed to push him in. He skid and bounced on his foot in an unexpectedly nimble effort to keep his balance.

“Hm,” she hummed, gingerly maneuvering herself inside as she let the flames on her feet die out, “oughtta start calling you ‘twinkle-toes’ instead.”

He groaned quietly. “Thanks, but, really, no thanks. At all.”

Taking a glance around Felix’s room, it occurred to her how even with the lights turned out and everything dusted with only soft glows from the windows, it was such a bright and friendly space. Family portraits and group sketches lined the sky blue walls, along with particularly shiny medals, gifts from the Nicelanders, and photos of said residents. His bed was far too big for him, yet perfectly kept, every corner of the sheets and blankets tucked in uniformly. There was only a slight mound towards the pillows where her cousin slept, peacefully rising and falling with his breaths.

She had a horrible need for an air horn.

However, she resisted, and strolled over to stand beside his bedside table. “Hey, Felix,” she whispered. “Cuz. Fix-It. Hey. Wake up.”

“Jeez, toots, poke him, or something.”

“I don’t want to move my arms again,” she sighed. “Not more than I need to.”

“Mmh,” he grunted a bit, pushing his arms through the sleeves of his suit and finally zipping it up fully. “Right.”

She drew in a deep breath. His programming would have to help her out, this time.

“Fix it, Felix!” She griped in her best Nicelander impersonation.

It was a complete knee-jerk reaction, the way he was instantly upright, his blue nightcap falling in his face from the momentum. “Wh-What!?”  

“Felix,” Make-It droned.

Her cousin tore his confused eyes away from Turbo to throw a concerned look at her. As usual, his features were far too adorable and sincere. It made her stomach flinch away and murmur.  

“Need, uh,” she tried to stare at the tip of his nightcap instead of his eyes, even as he tossed it out of his face, “need your help with something.”

“Well,” he sat a little straighter, righting himself, “of course, Mavy. What’s the matter?”

She peered at Turbo, who gave her an expectant look in return. As her hands cautiously pulled open the belt on her waist, she found herself kind of regretting bringing him along. The way his glinting eyes widened and swept down her body in a strange sort of alarm did not exactly make things less awkward.

Looking back at her cousin’s bright red, perplexed face did not either.

“Mavy, uh, what…”

Oh, if only the Nicelanders could see this.

“Shh,” she cooed slightly, turning to sit on the side of the bed. “Don’t—just, look, okay. Just look.” She made short work of the buttons on her smock and let it fall to her elbows, exposing her wet shoulders riddled with bits of glass. Felix nearly shrieked. Quite effeminately, she noted.

“Oh my land, Mavy, what happened?” He hopped to his feet on the mattress and practically leapt to the nightstand where his golden hammer lay. He knelt behind her, his breath coming in squeaky little gasps as his fingertips slipped against the blood. “Mavy, you poor thing! What happened to you?!”

Her eyes crawled to Turbo, who was watching with a slight twisting frown. He practically winced at the notice of her gaze.

“Mm,” she grumbled slightly. “Got a little too rowdy. Lost my balance.”

“…YOU lost your balance?”  

She tried not to curse. It was so hard for her to lie to her cousin. It just did not work, despite her efforts. “Yeah,” she sighed, “had a couple drinks.”

“Oh, good golly, Mavy,” she could practically hear him shaking his head. “You really need to watch it on the alcohol!”

There was a brief flash of light as the unnaturally warm metal of the hammer bounced off her back, and with a metallic ping, the stinging cloud of pain in her shoulders vanished. It was the most heavenly, light, uplifting feeling.

“Ahh, woah,” she sighed with a bit of a chuckle. “Augh, sweet midi, thank you.”

“Of course,” he affirmed genuinely. “Was this your bottle, Turbo?”

“Uh,” he sounded like he had just been handed a surgical tool. “Well, yeah, I mean, kind of. Yeah. Yeah.”

Blinking out the euphoria, she glanced over her shoulder. The shards had removed themselves and sat on top of the covers momentarily before Felix tapped them briskly, forming a completely whole and unscathed bottle, which he tossed to Turbo.  

Turbo blinked, observing the bottle in his hands, completely at a loss as to what to do with it. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Is it empty?” Make-It asked, only half-aware of her own voice.

Turbo was about to reply, but Felix did for him. “Yes, it is,” he stated firmly, “as should all the bottles you encounter be. ...You know, empty already, not from having been, uh, drank…”

“Yes, cuz,” she giggled, a tiny peal of her programmed laugh chiming in. “Oh, you know what, I’ve actually got more for you to fix…”

“Oh?” Felix clapped, and the lights turned on instantly. Turbo nearly hissed at the sudden onslaught on his eyes. Make-It merely squeezed her own shut and groaned lowly. The last thing she wanted was either of these men being able to get a better look at her exposed upper body.  

Felix spotted the injury immediately, apparent by his shocked, squealing gasp.  

“And how did THAT happen?!”

She reluctantly let her eyes crack open. The first thing she saw was Turbo, who was staring quite blatantly at her side, looking horribly perturbed and increasingly pissed off. Whatever he saw, he did not like it.

And, taking a look at herself, she could not really blame him. The entire left side of her ribs was splattered blue and purple with vicious bruising. Those racers sure could land a hit.

“That,” she pointed deliberately, trying and failing to come up with a plausible explanation, as the presence of her cousin seemed to completely sap her of any bluffing ability, “was also from losing my balance.”

There was a silence that stretched a whole lot longer than she would have liked. She was cold, in pain, and tired of eyes dragging over her skin.

Once she looked back, however, she would have preferred that the two were looking at her. Instead, they were staring at each other. Her cousin looked just about ready to be worlds angrier than she had ever seen him, and Turbo was glaring back defensively, still irate at the fact that the bruise was there at all.  

“Oh, God,” she groaned. “Felix, he didn’t punch me.”

His eyes narrowed. “A punch isn’t the only way to hit…right?”

She groaned again, louder. “Damn it, Felix, it was the Turbo-Time AI racers, okay? I got in a scuffle with them and one of them punched me in the ribs. Just, please, fix it. For the love of code.”

“Oh,” he perked up a bit, “right, sorry, cuz.” He proceeded to deal another incredibly wonderful blow to her side. “Why in Litwak’s did you get into a fight with them?”

She hummed in appreciation of the pain dissolving. “They don’t like me. They saw me. They grabbed me. They’re like a couple of poorly trained dogs. Kind of got my arms and legs too, now that I think about it…” She waved her arm out a bit, hinting, and sighed contentedly as Felix relieved the ache.  

As he sent rays of happiness and sunshine through the rest of her limbs, he shook his head, his mind elsewhere. “Mavy…”

“Won’t happen again,” she half-lied. “It’ll be fine.”

“Mavy, I don’t know if you should be going over there if—”

“Hey,” Turbo butt in, stomping over. “Those nosebleeds won’t lay another finger on your cousin, got it? Or else they’ll have me to answer to. As well as they can answer after their faces have been run over repeatedly, anyways.”

Make-It buried her face in her hands. “I can defend myself just fine.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Turbo nodded, gesturing to where her bruises had been.  

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” She snarled a bit.  

“By what you’ve said, just barely! Magical rainbow girl or not, there are seven of those freaks and one of you.”

“And every single weapon imaginable is in my arsenal, need I remind you?” She tapped the side of her bucket on the floor with her foot.

“Oh, yeah? Take that away, and what have you got?”

“An entire code’s worth of over-the-top acrobatics, for one thing,” she shrugged sarcastically, standing and pulling her smock back on. “If I can’t kill them, I can at least get away.”

“They have cars, Mavis.”

She squinted smugly. “Cars don’t jump.”

“Seven cars. Seven cars that move a whole lot faster than you can jump!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Felix slowly curling back, his fingers tensed, his eyes darting between the two of them. A momentary pang of guilt slapped her in the stomach for making Felix watch this fruitless argument.

“Look, Turbo, Felix suggested that I don’t come visit you anymore; is that what you’re wanting?”

“No!” He was practically shouting. “No, no, that’s not it at all!”

“Well then what are you trying to accomplish here?”

“I don’t know!” His hands grasped at nothing. “Just let me keep those bozos away from you, okay!?”

Her mouth knit shut, her glare fixed on his seething yellow eyes. God, she was so tired of these trivial disputes.  

“Thanks, Felix,” she nodded to her cousin and seized one of Turbo’s wrists before dragging him towards the window. She did not linger long enough to hear his reply before yanking her friend out into the open air and rocketing around to the back of the building. After dropping onto the seventh stone from the left, the two plummeted into her basement suite.  

Turbo barely had a moment to take in the barrage of colors and trinkets before being hurled out in front of the artist herself.

“Just what is your problem, you twitchy little cuss?” She demanded, folding her arms.

“My problem?” He gestured widely. “YOU are my problem.”

“That’s nothing new. I’ve always been your problem.”

“Yes, that is very true,” he waved a finger, “but more so as of late. Particularly these past few days, toots.”

“But I haven’t done anything these past few days. I haven’t even been there!”

“Exactly! That, Mavis, is exactly the problem!”

She paused. Her code seemed to malfunction at just how little sense he was making. “I told you I was coming back when I left, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” he growled, pacing slightly, kicking a mangled piece of sheet metal. “But you could have come back and said, oh, I don’t know, well, could have warned me that you were going to be a few days.”

“A few days,” she repeated, trying not to fall dumbfounded. “I didn’t know how long I was going to be gone. Are you that much of a cussing baby that you can’t look after yourself for three days?”

He rounded on her, rumbling like an engine, “Of course not! I’ve been looking out for number one my whole life!”

Her head swayed slightly as her eyes drifted to the ceiling. “And those three days were so different because…?”

He twitched, stuttered, squeezed his eyes shut, tossed his arms up. “I—I don’t know! How was I supposed to know if you broke your promise or not? It’s not out of your character to just flat out lie!”

“Maybe not,” she granted, “but I came back. I didn’t lie. What’s the big deal? Why the hell are you so angry at me?!”

“Because you—You—” His hands clenched into fists. “Gah! I just am!”

“But WHY?”

“Because I said so, God damn it!”

“I really think this reaction isn’t proportionate to making you worry for a few—” she paused, her brows slowly raising as she looked at his face. He grew increasingly anxious and defensive as she watched him.  

“What?” His voice was quiet and cautious. “What are you looking at?”

She snorted into delighted laughter, bouncing up and holding her stomach.  

“Wh-What is so funny?!”

After a few lightning jumps from the wall to the ceiling and back to the floor, she rocked back and landed on her rump, still spouting out peals of high giggles. “Oh, by the eight bits, you’re adorable!”

He looked far more offended than he should have been. “…I am NOT adorable.”

“Yes,” she pointed, falling onto her back, “yes you are! Oh my land! I know why you’re angry! You’re mad ‘cause I made you feel something!”

“That’s stupid,” he growled, “you’re stupid.”

“Someone’s grumpy ‘cause he missed me!” She practically sang, her legs kicking out with violent laughter.  

“If you don’t stop laughing right now I’m gonna turn your ribcage into my new engine!”

She could barely even reply, her stomach was so tight with cackles. She merely rolled onto her side and pulled her hat over her face, wheezing.  

“Lousy piece of scrap metal,” she heard him grumble, and his foot nudged her shoulder.  

Once her fit of mocking laughter subsided and she collapsed onto her back, she pulled the knit hat back and peered up at him, grinning hugely. He stared down at her, his hands shoved into his pockets, sporting a weak frown and glare.

She sighed. “God, you’re weird.”

The spark of a scoff sounded in his throat. “Well look who’s cussin’ talking.”

“Okay,” she lifted her hand a bit, “I’m done making fun of you for that… for now. I need to make fun of you for something else, now. That concert. Tell me, what was with that concert?”

“It was going just fine until you showed up, is what was with it.”

“Well, yeah,” she sat up, “but you were faking it! To a bunch of husks who couldn’t tell the difference. Why?”

He huffed and avoided her gaze. “I don’t usually do that,” he grumbled. “I’m usually practicing, because my incredible guitar-playing ability is only slightly coded and the rest self-taught. I didn’t think you deserved to hear the king of the racetrack practice after you pulled that disappearing act.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “You could have just kicked me out. Do I make you nervous?” She leaned her head against his leg a bit, batting her lashes up at him. He flinched back and let her fall to the floor.

“Bouncy little Easter eggs don’t scare me.”

She chuckled into the shag. “Uh huh. Too nervous to play in front of your schoolgirl crush, sourheart?”

“Oh, my God,” he put his palm against his eye, turning to wander away and mutter under his breath.  

“Hey, I’m not through with you yet!” She rolled a bit, catching one of his ankles. He stood there, one leg being pulled back, simply letting his head hang in aggravation.  

“What do you want, now, you insufferable oil stain…?”

She was about to retort, be clever, get under his skin some more, but her obnoxious heart leapt up and punched her in the throat, sending a spurt of uncomfortable heat into her face.

“Uh,” she swallowed, her voice smaller than she would have liked, “there was one more thing we were going to talk about. About, uh… you know, the shards. Yeah, the glass shards.”

“The glass.”

“Well,” she shrugged a bit, “how the glass, hm, got there…”

He was silent.

“…Why’d you do it?”

“Why do you think?”

She paused. The realm of romance was completely foreign to her. She felt like she was floundering around in a place that she really should not have gotten lost in. “Well, uh, I guess there could be a number of reasons,” she stared at the floor, not wanting to start the list.  

A short sigh sounded from him as he shook his leg free of her grip and crouched beside her.  

She propped up on one elbow, staring at his hands to avoid his gaze, though his own eyes were fascinated by his fingers as well. “I thought you were going to punch me.”

“So did I,” he muttered.  

“And, obviously, uh… kissing someone is a great alternative to punching, right?” Her sarcasm was broken and forced in her desperate attempt to not be so awkward. The results were counter-productive in her mind.

“At the time, I guess,” he shrugged. “Would you rather I had punched you?”

Her voice dropped involuntarily. “No.”

“Well… good.” He sat back, resting his elbows on his knees.

A horrid silence settled in between them as they watched his long, grey, clammy fingers twist around each other. Make-It’s mind was exhausted from overthinking, and yet, she could not place a single coherent thought.  

“Sorry,” he finally breathed, “about the glass.”

“Did you know it was there?”

“Kind of,” he winced, “I don’t know, maybe. I was really pissed off. REALLY pissed off.”

She snorted a bit. “Yes, I gathered as much.”

“But, honestly?” His hands opened a bit as he half-shrugged, closing his eyes. “I think I kind of missed you pissing me off.”

Against her wishes, a genuine smile broke over her face. “Yeah,” she sighed, “I missed pissing you off, too.”

He rocked with a silent, brief laugh, nodding slowly. “So…”

She sat up and leaned on his knee. “Are you--…”

His eyes lifted. “Where--…”

She licked her lips absent-mindedly. “Want to--…”

They stared at each other. His strange, alien yellow eyes were wide and uncharacteristically honest. It should have made her flinch back, look away, anything. She could not handle truthful eyes, and, yet, she somehow managed to hold his gaze.  

“That’s…” he breathed, “not how I pictured it happening.”

She blinked, and tried very hard not to question the fact that he had pictured it at all. Something inside her thought it would ruin the moment. “Oh. Well… I guess not. It was… uh… it was something else, I’ll say that…”

“Can we just,” he furrowed his brow, “you know, pretend that never happened?”

Her insides squirmed a bit, and a crooked, misplaced smile appeared on her lips. “Uh… no.”

“Great,” he looked at his lap, his mess of hair falling over his face.

“But,” her words spilled out brokenly, and she could not have caught them if she tried, “you know, everybody slips up sometimes. But then we fix it, or, or, uh, we… make it better.”

He glanced back up at her, one brow slightly raised, his eyes searching.  

She swallowed. “Did you… want to make it better? ‘Cause… I’ll let you. As a favor.”

He blinked slowly. “…Lap two?”

“You could say that...”

His lips pressed together, his eyes flickering down periodically. With a bit of a gulp, he nodded slightly, and exhaled, “Yeah.”

“Well…”

“But,” he interjected, “if it’s just going to be a stupid favor, then, no.”

Her code seemed to stutter. “I—Well, it’s--…” her gaze fell to his lips. “It’s not.”

He watched her quietly. “Alright.”

One of his hands twitched and lifted to hover under her chin. His eyes were completely fixated on her mouth as the tips of his fingers ghosted her jawline and his palm eventually met her neck. Her skin tingled and burned, and she tried desperately to ignore the pounding in her ears as that familiar sour apple scent washed over her face. He was drawing closer much faster than it seemed, and the warmth radiating from his face began to mingle with her own.

“Though,” she tried to speak, but ended up sighing, her hand moving on its own to lightly grip his arm, “you know, this conversation isn’t over.”

He blinked steadily, and she caught a glimpse of his eyes closing before hers fell softly shut. “I know.”

It did not take much. Just a slight pull, a bit of a lean, and their lips were pressed together again. Heat spread from Make-It’s steaming face throughout her body as she tasted his sour breath, felt his absurdly soft mouth move and push against hers, and let her steady gasps escape as slow, airy sighs. Every movement, every touch, sent her code spinning. Gravity swept in her stomach, her muscles melted, and her mind fell into blissful silence.  

The most miniscule moans and murmurs rode out on Turbo’s exhales. Each time he leaned into her lasted a little longer than the last, and each breath he took was a little deeper. His thumb brushed her cheek, lowering as his fingers ghosted over her neck and rested on the curve of her collarbones. She was sure he could feel her ribcage pulsing with every desperate jump of her heart. That could have been what prompted his lips to curve into the tiniest smile.  

It took her a moment to realize it was over. Her eyes lazily lifted open, immediately met by his cloudy gaze. They remained there for a time, simply watching each other, sharing sighs on their lips, lost in the movement of his fingers against her throat.  

“Well,” he finally hummed, his mouth twitching up a bit, “how’s that?”

She grinned breathlessly. “That, sourheart, was decidedly better.”

His head tilted as his smile turned smug. “Turbo-tastic?”

She could not have rolled her eyes harder if she tried, but her chuckle betrayed her. “Alright. I’ll grant you that one.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” his thumb pressed against her collar.

Shaking her head, she leaned forward to push her nose against his. “Turbo-tastic.”