#chip looks more like silver than shadow does

[tuhbanbuv]

Ok I've had this theory for a while and will not shut up about it so I have to see what Sonicblr thinks of it but in poll form

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Before the Dawn Has Come, I'd Block the Sun

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as blood and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You discover more than you could have ever expected when researching your thesis.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: This is my fave so far.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me❤️

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The dry heat sops the moisture from your body, drawing it to the surface as sweat beads and shines on your skin. It’s so hot, the air ripples visibly, the old stone streets appearing more crooked than their ancient foundations. Your sandals hit the ground in a ragged rhythm as your bag weighs you down, your thumb leaving a smear across the screen of your phone. 

You slow as you read the hanging wooden sign and compare to the text on your phone. This is the one. If you weren’t looking for it, you might miss the marquee; hand-painted by your judgment. 

You black your phone and slide it into the loose pocket of your linen pants. Shorts might have been a better choice but you are on an academic mission, not vacation. You uncap your insulated bottle but in the heat of Grecian sun, it does little to keep the water cold. You don’t mind the lukewarm gulp as you tip it into your mouth. 

You slip the bottle into the side pocket of your knapsack and approach the tapered door. It looks as if it might have been placed in the medieval years. The white paint is split by the splintering wood and a curious red outline is streaked around the door frame. That might be something to look into; perhaps another superstition. 

You knock and wait. You wipe another sheen of sweat from your brow and fan yourself with your fingers. You stare at the door anxiously. You check your smart watch. You’re not late. 

Below the time, your heart beat pulses. Even at an easy pace, the heat has you in excess. You blow out a breath and look at the door once more. 

You raise your hand but before you can knock again, you hear a creak from above. You back up as the doors of the second-storey window push outward and hit the siding. The opening is shadowed by a wooden canopy built into the frame and a head of silver head peers out. 

“You may let yourself in. I will be down in a moment.” 

You’re surprised that the man speaks English. Most of the locals don’t know a word of it and your Duolingo crash course has carried you this far, though not without some miscommunication. You set your head straight and reach for the old hoop handle of the door. You push inward, cautiously, letting yourself in with a sense of reverence. 

Within, the entryway is narrow and a set of stairs winds down into it. There’s a mat beneath your soles, woven of wicker, and table to your write. A set of Grecian urns stand on it, symbols painted around their bellies and necks, some polished, others chipped; all in varying states of decay and resplendence. 

You stay by the door and fold your hand, your eyes exploring where your feet won’t. The stairs groan beneath a weight as you peer into the next room, shelves of spines looking back at you. You snap back as a large body descends to the bottom step before you. 

You’re surprised to find a face that does not match the head of silver hair. The man is not young but he isn’t old either. His square jaw is chiseled like one of the country’s famous statues and his form is even more verile and burly than any god of Olympus. But his eyes, they are a shade of amber so pale they almost look golden.  

You’re stunned by his appearance. You shake of that coy thought in your mind. Surely, you’re too deep in your research. After all, what you read about isn’t real, they are wives’ tales. 

“Geralt?” You greet as you extend a hand. 

“You are correct,” he shakes your hand firmly. 

It is just as warm in the house as without. The air curls around you with heat and weaves into your hair, speckling on your scalp. Despite this, he appears unhampered. He wears a linen shirt with an undone collar, exposing the top of his hairy chest, and the short sleeves show his rounded biceps. It is untucked from his grey pants that despite their wide cut, fail to billow around his tree trunk legs. 

“Thank you very much for having me,” you say as he lets you go. “Sorry, did you like English or Greek? I know around here...” 

“English is fine,” he assures. His accent would suggest it’s his first language but you’ve learned from the locals to be mindful. “As it were, I’ve set aside some translations for you.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you look down at your sandals. 

“Leave them on,” he affirms and waves you towards the door you’d only just been peeking through. “No time to waste.” 

“No, not at all,” you agree. “I was hoping to take a few pictures to bring back as well. For reference. I have a translation app that I use--” 

“Mm, none of my records are digitized, for authenticity.” 

“I wouldn’t share them,” you assure. He grumbles. You sense reticence. “Of course, I can just take notes.” 

“We shall see,” he utters as he takes you through to the next room. 

The walls are lined in crowded shelves. Books fill every inch, with some stacked along the edges of the long desk cleared at the centre. You can tell he’s made a recent effort of making room. For you, likely. A strike of guilt flickers. 

“You may work here,” he goes to the desk. “Here is what I’ve put aside,” he taps a thick folder with two fingers, “and these books will do fine for your inquiry. If you have questions or require more of my collections, you might let me know. No pictures.” 

“Um, sure, thank you,” you approach the desk and slip free from your knapsack. 

You glance over at him as he looms, watching you with his eerie yellowish eyes. His pupils pinpoint as his gaze flicks down to your neck as you wipe away the trickle of sweat that tickles you. He quickly reverts his attention to the books. 

“Interesting subject,” he intones. “You mentioned you’ve come from Romania?” 

“I’ve made a trek, for sure,” you open your bag and pull out your laptop and notebook. 

“Mm, I hope your battery is charged. I haven’t any outlets.” 

You look around and only then realise that the sconces on the walls are lit with real flame and that oil lamps illuminate the rest of the space. Hm. It seems a hazard with all this paper, then again, even the hotel you’re staying at is more a rented room in an outdated house. The curly-haired keeper and his wife told you not to plug in more than one thing at time. 

“Oh, right,” you leave it shut and open your notebook instead. 

“Well, I suppose you don’t need me lurking. If you require assistance, call for me. I won’t be far,” he says. 

In his accent, he sounds as if he’s reciting some Victorian script, and his cadence is like the strum of a cello. It sends a chill through despite the stolid air seeping in from beneath the drawn curtains. You nod and step in front of the chair, bracing the armrests but not sitting. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

He stares a moment longer then turns away. His movement is both smooth and stiff. It’s as if you can see a smear of colour with each motion. You shrug it off as another effect of the Grecian heat. 

He goes and you lower yourself onto the seat. The thin embroidered cushion stretched over wood offers little support. You’ve sat on worse in your pursuit of your thesis. You ward off the unease and focus on the wall before you to scale; the books arranged like a fortress to conquer. This will surely take more than a day to get through. 

📜

A day, turns into a week, turns into two.

Despite his standoffish demeanour, Geralt allows you to return to the slanted building on the corner. Each day you pass through the red door frame and sit at the desk. And just as often he adds more to the pile as if you keep you chained there. Yet, you can only blame yourself. You built this prison of academia. 

He doesn’t say much more than that first day. He doesn’t ask questions. He lets you through the door and you part ways. You only see him when he comes to tell you the time. He sends you off before the sun sets on the long Grecian days. You suppose for your own good. It isn’t any good to be walking alone in the dark. 

That day is different. As the moon cycle from a sliver to nothing at all, the night casts upon the Greek roof like ebony silk and the candlelight seems dimmer as you work in its haze. Diligent and distracted from the sifting of seconds through the sieve. Your eyes bore into the parchment as your fingers hover at the corners. 

Vrykolakas devour the flesh, with a taste for liver, though blood does nourish their unearthly being. With fangs like wolves and hunger to match, they are born of sacrilege. They are excommunicated of heaven and hells and all the wiles of humanity. They sleep in unconsecrated earth and feast on sheep when they cannot feast upon that of what they once were. 

In solace, the Vrykolakas find strength. As their hunger deepens, their power heightens, and with the fading of the moon, they float as wraiths upon their hunt to sup upon the flesh of the innocent. 

A shadow, darker than dusk, darker than ink, passes over you. You lift your head, groggy with the stain of scrawled writing in your eyes. You raise your head and blink at the pale figure that emerges into the flickering light. 

“It is after dark,” Geralt declares evenly. 

You flinch and sit up. You glance at the curtains. They look heavier before the deep silt of night. You turn back to him and give a sheepish expression. 

“Sorry, I must’ve lost track of the time.” You go to mark the page with the ribbon and he crosses his arms. 

“Much too late to be venturing out alone.” He girds. 

You pause, your hand in the crease of the pages. “My hotel isn’t very far.” 

“It would be... irresponsible to let you go. A village as small as this would suffer greatly if its only tourist were to perish,” he drones. 

You watch him, put off by his flat tone. His yellow eyes are red around the edges, as if he has not slept. You worry that it might be of your own accord. 

“I have a light,” you assure him. 

“You should stay,” he insists. “You haven’t eaten.” 

You hesitate. You often eat your packed lunch outside between hunching over the desk. He does not permit food around the books. No good archivist would. 

As generous as your other Greek hosts have been, he’s never offered you a meal. You didn’t expect it. After all, you’re there to look at old books. It isn’t a restaurant. 

“I’m fine,” you stand. “Really, I hate to impose any longer.” 

“It isn’t... an imposition,” his voice almost crackles. “I’ve made dinner.” 

“Dinner?” You echo. “Oh, well, if you’ve gone to the trouble.” 

“No trouble,” he assures.  

His teeth glint between his lips, shining and long. You only get a glimpes before he hides them again. You’ve been reading this lore for far too long. 

“Please, finish your reading and I will let you know when it is served,” he drawls. 

“Oh, uh, right,” you sit again. “Thanks. That's... kind.” 

He hums and says nothing else. He retreats just as he appeared, receding like a shadow into the hallway. You peer into the dark block of the doorway for a moment before you put your attention back to the ink. 

…derived of the ‘dlaka’, meaning strand of the wolf’s hair, the Vykolakas were once many. As the mortals upon which they feast, the crowned kings to lead them into their battle of malicion. One such, proclaimed the White Wolf, or White One, in whispered tongues as The Butcher, was the corrupt lord of Haute-Bellegarde. 

 The white liege met defeat by the hordes of the villagers in grief of their slain children, consumed by those which he claimed as his own offspring, better deemed heathens slathering at his cloak tails. In the sunlight he melted into the earth and upon his grave boils a pit of rotted soil. Though it is claimed by some that the Wolf remains, lurking and sniffing for blood, there is little evidence to feed such suspicion. 

“Dinner...” Geralt’s voice pierces like iron.  

Dizziness sweeps your vision as you draw back. That was quick. You think. Again, it seems in this dimly lit room that time is still yet never ending. 

“Come, I’ve set the table,” he slithers. 

You rise as if summoned by his invitation rather than your own will. You swallow dryly and cross the room. He waits and beckons down the hall with his arm. You notice his attire. A black silk jerkin without sleeves, trimmed with silver twine and buttons. His trousers are just as dark and his boots meet his knees. He is odd and out-of-time. 

You pass him and it’s like walking through a cloud of fog, dampy and chilly. You continue as he directs you with a point of his thick finger and a low tone, “to the left.” 

You follow another pulsing light. You’ve never been further than the reading room. Behind the spiraled stairs is nestled a dining room with a square table. The dark wood is framed with slender curlicues of red paint and at the center, the illustration of human heart beneath the foot of a candelabra set with nine long tapers. 

The flames only light the breadth of the table, leaving the walls to hang like ebon curtains. You hug yourself as the air kisses goosebumps to your skin. He escorts you to the table and pulls out the tall-backed chair. Your scalp tingles as the roots of your hair prickle. 

The urge to flee thumps in your chest and yet, you cannot make your feet turn back. You sit as if weighed down by invisible chains. Your heart races with inexplicable panic. The compulsion within overrides any thread of dread or doubt. 

You look down at the plate before you. He rounds the table and takes the seat across from yours. You look up as he rests his large hand around the base of a bronze goblet, the cup cradled by metal in the shape of talons. How strange. This room does not belong in the coastal Greek abode. 

“Please, eat.” 

There is no plate before him. Only the cup. The dish before you is neatly filled with rice pilaf and a strip of indeterminate meat glistening in sauce. It isn’t very appetizing, the smell both repulses and satisfies. 

“What about you?” You ask as you peer between the arms of the candelabra. 

“My hunger has not stirred as yet,” he says. “Please. It is only hospitable.” 

His words are unnatural, strung together with a purpose you can’t unravel. You pick up the fork and knife. You taste the rice first. It’s bland. You take a few more bites and he clears his throat. You know better than to insult him by leaving your plate full. 

You put the blade to the slab of meat. It sinks in easily, so easily it sickens you. As you slice into it, it seems to bleed as more sauce drips from within. It is dense but not tough. You pick up a morsel with the tines of the fork. 

You stare down the meat and push it through your lips as your stomach churns and your mouth fills with saliva. You taste it, the oily sauce coating your tongue as you nearly gag. What is it? 

You pull the fork free and it shines with your spit in the candelight. Your look at Geralt. His pupils are so large that his whole eyes seem to gleam black. You chew but can’t swallow. You reach to the goblet closest to you, that one plain and carved of what could be ivory. 

You drink but not deeply as the iron-laced contents add to your nausea. You wretch and choke on your mouthful. The meat seems to wiggle in your mouth and slides down your throat. Your body constricts as you force it to accept what’s been offered. 

“Is it tasty?” He asks. 

You can’t answer him. Your stomach is agonizingly full. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, and your hands are shaking. You squint at him as your head thrums. You can hear the air around you, as still as it is. You can hear it hissing around the lit tapers, you can hear the slivers of wood pressed together in the table, and you can hear that there is no breath coming from him. 

His chest does not rise or fall. He is perfectly still. Rapt by the maelstrom you find yourself sinking into. 

You look down as your smart watch flashes. The small heart flashes as it turns from orange to red. The number rises higher and higher. You whimper. 

Your breath sears down your throat and into your nostrils. He is calm as he witnesses your deconstruction. You are terrified.  

“Sheep’s liver,” he says. 

You contort in the chair, gripping the armrests as tendrils of pain weave through your muscles and coil around your heart. It’s throbbing inside of you. You look down and swear you can see it through your chest. Swelling bigger and bigger. 

Your eyes flick up at the recollection of the passage. 

‘...so the beast is borne of a man who eats the decrepit morsel of the sheep; that who dines upon the flesh corrupted by the teeth of the wolf...’ 

“No...” you waft, your voice like smoke, acrid and hot. 

He smiles, baring teeth like fangs, long and pointed like a wolf’s. Your neck bends to the side until you think it might snap and your legs twist out inhumanly. You twist and tie yourself, trying to fight the beast that consumes you from within. 

“It won’t hurt much longer and soon enough, nothing will hurt, precious,” he snarls as he sips from his goblet, pulling it back to reveal a trickle of crimson down his chin. 

“Wh-why...” you whine as you stare down at your forearms, tense as you cling to the chair. You can see your veins bulging through your skin. 

“You did not read that one. I did not translate it,” he says. “’With his curse, a prophecy, that his fate should be unleashed upon the day when he should mate. When the Butcher of Haute-Bellegade claims his bride, so shall he claim the day, and put upon the world and endless night. Dusk will consume as he does, and at his side, she will devour in turn.’” 

You moan and gurgle, your head hangs as you bawl and gag on your own tongue. Your bones grind together and your heart begins to miss its tempo. 

“’Upon a moonless night, their vow will be sealed, and all the fates of the world too.’” He recites it as if it is poetry. 

Your ears ring like a siren and your eyes blot with dark stains. Your blood boils over and your muscles knot and tangle. You fold in half and heave and expel a great deluge of guts into your lap. You turn inside out as the world mirrors your transformation. A flash of white then a bottomless black. 

All is still and silent. All is gone and born again. From nothing, there is a sliver. Red, dripping, leaking, pouring gushing. All is red. All is drenched and sodden. All is flooded in the taste of iron. 

A flicker between slitted eyelids. The scent of smoke yet you cannot inhale. You are weak but strong. Broken but unbreakable. 

Your lashes snap wide and you stare up at the peaked ceiling. It is dark yet you can see through it. The smoke wafts to you but does not creep into your nostrils. You turn your head and he is there. Waiting, watching. 

You lay upon the wooden table, naked to him and the night.  You look down your arm to the only vestige of your former self. The watch on your wrist. You tilt your hand so it lights up and the little heart is grey, next to it a dash. There is no heartbeat. You are dead. Undead. Reborn into death. 

“’And in consummation, they will birth the doom,’” he declares as he comes closer. 

He is naked too. Strong and resilient as his pale hair and eyes shine in the darkness. He climbs over you, holding himself above you as you remain unmoving. He lowers himself slowly until his nose touches yours. 

“’And upon their first kiss, the world wept,’” he grits out, lips brushing yours then all at once, covering them. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, eternally.  

As his mission is done, so is yours. You’ve uncovered the secrets of the undead. You know for sure that it is more than folklore; t he is more than just a myth. And you will have all the time in the world to regret that you ever dare to ask if he was real. 

The White Wolf. Gwynbleidd. White One. Butcher of Blaviken. Ravix of Fourhorn. The cursed Duke du Haute-Bellegarde. The bringer of the end.  

[mumms-the-word]

he is enough

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Just some poetic thoughts about a certain handsome wizard who sometimes views himself as not having value when he absolutely does. Pic of my Tav Dani because that’s all I got. ao3 link

———

He is a man for whom grand gestures are as easy as breathing.

An evening in Waterdeep, conjured from the depths of a shadow curse. A night on the glimmering currents of the Outer Planes, your boat a small atom of light among an expanse of glowing stardust. He would create a castle out of amethysts for you, or find a way to pluck a single thread of the Weave to alter your fate if you asked.

All to prove his worth. His value. To show you his love and convince you that your love is not wasted on him.

And yet, you think, as you lay against him with his arms around you, his nose grazing the back of your shoulder, his breath ghosting across your skin, slow and even as he drifts off to sleep, you find in some ways that you prefer moments like this. When all the grand gestures fall away and you are left with these tiny little moments. These precious little touches.

Like freshwater pearls among glittering diamonds, you seek them out, irregular and imperfect, preferring their soft luster over the blinding glitter. You cradle them close to your heart, threading them together on a string, a poem of lines that are no more than broken moments, tiny gestures, little touches.

fingers grazing along your back  the kiss at the corner of your mouth his heartbeat under your palm calm, steady, quiet

You love to watch him when he isn’t looking, when he is wholly himself without the pressure to perform confidence for you. To study him the way he studies the pages of an arcane tome, seeking the secrets between lines.

his lines around his eyes between his brows the curve of his lips the length of his nose the sweep of his hair silver-threaded a hint of divinity among the mundane just like him 

Not that you’ve ever asked for his confidence or for a performance. You’ve only ever asked for a moment of his time. Posing questions just to hear him talk, watching as much as you listen.

his self-conscious smile halfway between arrogance and doubt arrogance of his knowledge doubt in your interest the way he looks off toward the horizon when his thoughts take him to planes you can scarcely comprehend  the way his eyes find their way back to you the instant he hears your voice or feels your touch you, like the Dog Star, guiding him home again

He worries at times, when he catches you watching him as he reads or studies or speaks, that he’s boring you. He thinks he needs to make grander gestures, that he just hasn’t found the thing that wows you yet. 

But while he ponders the wide expanse of the universe, wondering in which hidden corner he might find the one perfect thing to win your heart forever, you fill a universe of your own making with the sounds and sights and senses of him whom you love.

your littlest finger curled around his, a silent promise amid a busy day, a tiny link that chains the two of you together, the smallest constellation for the briefest moment his lips on your cheek, a teeny kiss made in passing as he moves by you, pulled momentarily by your gravity before roaming away, like a comet tugged temporarily into orbit

He would want you to focus on his abilities. His magic. The gestures he makes to cast his spells. The timbre of his voice as he shapes the incantations. The pull of the Weave as it bends to his will. You do notice. You do.

But there are other moments you find more precious. The tiniest things about him linger in your mind.

the steam that curls into the air

over the worn mug that holds his tea the one missing its handle the way his hand cradles the cup and turns it just so that his lips do not catch on the chip on the rim he's done this a hundred times before and yet you watch mesmerized

"When we get to Waterdeep, you'll want for nothing," he says, painting images of grandeur and splendor with an artist's brush, conjuring images of a dozen luxurious comforts. No more days spent aching from bedrolls on the ground. No more falling into exhausted sleep from a day of travel and battle. It's a lovely image, but so is he.

Just as he is.

You wish he'd see that. But his love for his goddess has taught him that he needs to constantly out-perform himself to retain your love and attention. That if he lets a day go by where he doesn't impress you, then he risks losing you forever. You wish he could glimpse, for just a moment, the way you see him.

a man mortal and aching but kind and sweet open-handed brimming with love just a man a good man whose heart and soul calls to your own just a man who doesn't need to do anything or be anyone more than who he already is because he is enough

You know it's hard for him to grasp the concept that he doesn't need to do anything to win your love. That he has it, wholly and freely given, no strings attached. It's the only theory you've ever known him to struggle with.

But when you take his hand and brush your lips against the backs of his knuckles; or you touch your forehead to his and sync your breaths in time with his; in the moments where I love you are the only words either of you have said for the last hour or more; you think you see the start of him realizing the truth you’ve already carved into the center of your heart.

He is already enough.

He will always be enough.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Silver & blood taste the same…

Blurb: FBI special agent Amaranthine Delaware has a nose like a blood hound. She can sniff out crime wherever it may lurk, not even the shadows are safe. But what happens when a crazed killer is tearing through towns rampantly and she has no idea who they are and where they're going next?

Pairing: Bill Skarsgård x OC

Part 1 of ?

Warnings: Gore, blood, violent depictions, homicide, dub-con, somnophilia, sexual themes, sexual acts, swearing, mentions of torture, kidnapping, mentions of weaponry, mental health struggles, addiction (alcohol dependency and cocaine) and possibly more throughout. 18+. Read at your own discretion and risk. You have been warned.

-

October 17th, 2013

The killings started in the early fall here in Indigo Grove. It must have been around September time because all the kids were back in school and that's how our first Jane Doe was discovered. She had been left- no, she had been discarded, in an overgrown area of greenery near a family home. It was the youngest of the children who found her... now two lives are ruined.

I say 'it must have been around September time...' but I know that it was. I remember everything from that first day. Every smell, every sob, every single one of my hairs standing on end as I try not to dry heave onto the ground next to the poor girl laying there on the frozen earth. Her red eyes staring up at me forever piercing and tainting my soul.

I try not to panic at the coffee counter as the barista with smudged eyeliner blinks at me, evidently annoyed at my prolonged silence and stilled movement, "Sorry," I breathe, finally, "How much did you say that was?" she rolls her eyes as she glances back at the till.

"You owe 5.75 today, ma'am."

Ma'am? The word makes my head spin. Her and I are clearly close to being the same age and she is referring to me like I am some 30 year old woman. I would laugh if I weren't so tired.

I stuff my hand into my damp coat pocket and pull out my purse. Loose strands of my rain soaked hair stick to the side of my face. The purse is a faded shade of purple and the faux leather is of a smooth grain. It's about the only thing that has been with me through thick and thin.

I rummage through the compartments of the purse, my cold shaking fingers scraping together the last of the coins that I have. I count them out in my palm before quickly handing them to the cashier.

She looks down at the metal like it is a foreign form of currency before she as well briefly counts them, obviously not trusting my judgement. After slotting them into her till she rewards me with my morning beverage and sweet treat. Nothing better than sugar at 8 in the morning.

The lights in the café are dim as I enter further into the sea of tables, every person appears like a blurred silhouette- or maybe it is just the three glasses of wine from last night catching up to me. My patrol partner, Johnny Franklin, is sitting in a dark far away corner of the café at a small table for two. He is tucked against the wall, his coffee mug in one hand and his toasted sandwich in the other. He orders the same thing every day; Regular coffee with three spoonfuls of sugar and whole fat milk alongside a toasted cheese and tuna melt sandwich and a chocolate chip muffin for dessert.

Johnny is around the same age as my older sister Jocelyn, which I find great comfort in… maybe that’s why I enjoy having him around. He is also a creature of habit, making his days predictable. I always know where he is going to be and when he is going to be there. It’s why I stay so fond of him, he doesn’t surprise me.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” He grumbles lazily, bringing his coffee mug up to his thin pale lips to take a leisurely slurp as I take a seat across from him. A small stubbly beard has grown in on and around his mouth, I notice this as he says, “You seem as chirpy as ever today.” His hoarse voice is dripping with sarcasm and I pray that this won’t be the running theme of the day. Johnny talking nonsense and me with a pounding headache.

“Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system.” I wave my hand, almost dismissing him- or maybe I’m trying to swat him away like he is a fly. He is always getting all twisted up in other peoples shit.

“You look like shit, kid.” The now empty coffee mug comes down onto the cheap wooden table, a light clatter of the porcelain following close after, “I’m in two minds of even telling you what I got paged this mornin’…”

And there it is. That horrid feeling of dread, doubt, despair, anger, hurt, anxiety- my body knows what he is going to say before he has to say it. The way my stomach twists into painful tight knots and how my breath is now lodged, undoubtably stuck in my throat. The world around me pivots on a sideways axel and I’m struggling to make it stop.

“Tell me.” I am strangled as the words come out, almost too quiet for myself to hear. Do I want to know? Can I handle what Johnny is going to tell me? The answer is no, probably not. But this is the work, and I owe it to those girls to catch this sick fuck-

Johnny’s beady brown eyes examine my features. It takes him a moment but he sucks in a deep breath and I see his bushy eyebrows knit together, his mouth also downturning distastefully, “Another body was found early hours this mornin’, around 3am. She has thought to have been out there for at least two weeks they said.”

The sourness in my mouth intensifies. Two weeks… two whole weeks. Evidence could be lost, the crime scene tampered with, decomposition.. animals. The thought alone sickens me to my stomach. How could she have been missed for that long?

“Who found her?” I ask after a long pause, my mind is buzzing with fear. That’s the thing about this line of work, people expect you to have no feeling- but I feel everything.

Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich and grease pools at the corners of his mouth making me cringe. I want to scream at him for even being able to stomach anything after telling me that information. He chews for an agonisingly long time before he finally grumbles, “A trucker on the highway nearly swerved off the road- agents at the scene think she must have still been alive after the attack and tried to crawl to the nearest road to wave down some help but her wounds were fatal. She died as she reached the highway.” Another bite. Another bite of that disgusting fucking sandwich.

My nostrils flare as I suck in a deep aggravated breath, standing up from the table the chair legs scrape along the floor, the screech punctuates my exit and I am gone before Johnny even has the time to comprehend what’s happening.

Dark clouds swell the sky and the chilly air nips and whips at my cheeks. The rain conjures a hellish dance upon my head as it pelts from the heavens above, drenching my hair further. My chest rises and falls with every breath I struggle to pull into my lungs and I find myself thinking about him.

He keeps me awake every night. I dream about him, I write about him- I wonder, what does he eat? What does his morning routine look like? What does he hate? What does he look like? His eyes, his lips, his smile… is it nice? Is it a nice smile, a warm smile, a welcoming smile? What does he smell like?

He consumes my life, he controls my every thought.

I hate it. I hate him.

It feels personal. Every murder… every life that he takes. And I know that it shouldn’t, but it does.

It fucking does.

-

Blue lights flood my vision, captivating the world around me in an inescapable light. The light in which we should all feel safe in, but I don’t. I never have.

The yellow and black police tape is lifted for me as I enter through to the official crime scene. The highway has been closed off and traffic is being redirected elsewhere, creating this ungodly eerie silence. I want noise, I need the noise… it’s too quiet.

“Special agent Delaware, this is Milo Reed, our truck driver.” My supervisor, Harold Hawkins, approaches me from a nearby vehicle. The man stood to his left is as pale as chalk, his eyes wide and dark with purple circles cladding the skin beneath his sockets.

My steps are steady and slow as I inch closer to the pair, deciding it may not be best to go in for a handshake in this moment, “Milo, my name is Amaranthine and I’m the lead detective on this case. My partner will soon be here to take care of you.” My own voice echoes inside of my mind. I can’t imagine how this man may be feeling. All he manages to muster in response is a nod and then he is shuffling off in another direction, his actions meek and stilted.

My next walk feels like one to the gallows, but I find comfort in one thing. I know what his mark is, I know what he has left behind that’ll tie this girl to the last and to the one before her. The butterfly. He irons it into their skin. Always in a different area, but always just as deep and just as brutal. Taking something so beautiful and blackening it with evil…

That’s how he got his name from the media.

The butterfly killer.

It headlined in every newspaper a month back, and it still continues to steal the spotlight today. Front page, big and bold for all to see. I bet he is basking in the glory of all of this…

It makes my stomach churn.

As I advance further into the scene I spot an unmissable tanglement of red hair on the ground. The colour is admirable.. it is absolutely gorgeous. Or so I thought, that is until I realise that it’s not at all the colour of the victims hair- it is her blood.

I fight the urge to vomit, swallowing down whatever salvia I have in a desperate attempt to maintain my composure- especially in front of my male colleagues.

“Have you been briefed?” One of them ask and I nod my head, remaining silent, “It was him, she has been branded on her right shoulder. Her wounds, however, are of different technique. He was angrier this time and he used some sort of screwdriver.” His words are so cool it leaves my skin feeling icy cold, like the decaying corpse in front of us, “She has been photographed but with the recent weather conditions, evidence might be tricky to recover. We will be lucky if we identify any from her, never mind any from him.”

I can feel a slow build in my chest, a rising fire of complete rage. When will this end? Will he ever be satisfied? And will I ever catch him?

“Try your best.” I plea and my eyes flicker from the ground to the flashing lights that are now intensifying my headache and then back to the body. The attending agent has left my side and I struggle to grasp the reality of anything around me.

I crouch down to further investigate our victim. She tried to fight. She tried to flee- she wanted to live so desperately that she crawled 10 metres from her drop off point before her lungs finally filled with blood.

She died alone.

I watch as they carefully remove her body from the scene and into the back of an ambulance, taking her back to the lab where hopefully we will be able to identify her.

She will have a family somewhere, and they are waiting on her coming home.

-

“You can’t smoke in here!” I am four vodka cokes deep in the ‘Hell Gate’ bar just off of the highway and maybe I’m feeling brave and maybe the buzzing red lamp above my head has officially drove me insane but I have had my eyes on this delicious stranger since I arrived and I’ll be damned if I leave here without him. I know that he has noticed me and I know smoking indoors is illegal, and it has been for over 10 years, but there’s just something about watching him do it that makes my insides flutter.

The music in the bar is deafening but it’s pretty vacant of people, even the bartender keeps disappearing elsewhere. The man spares me a quick look, taking one long last drag of his cigarette before he is stumping it out into a nearby ashtray. His face slowly turns towards mine and just like that, he exhales the large cloud of cancerous smoke right into my face.

“What you gonna do about it?” His gravelly deep voice challenges me and my thighs clench together at the mere sight of him. Plump pink lips, stunning round eyes, a strong nose and not to mention the gorgeous brown hair. His tall frame slouched leisurely over the bar has my mind reeling with sin.

I just want to forget. Just for one night.

My front teeth toy with my bottom lip, nibbling on the cushiony skin as I try my hardest to force my drunken brain to think of a quip and sultry response but all I seem to muster is a pathetic, “Steal your lighter.”

He hadn’t noticed but around three seconds ago I had pinched his lighter from on top of the bar and secured in my pocket.

A smugness braces his face, pulling his lips up just ever so slightly at the corners, “What’s your name, angel?” I can tell that I’ve caught his attention by the way his body leans into mine and the total thirst that has consumed his eyes. He wants me.

“You first.” I counter, proud of my own confidence. It’s not every day I manage to pluck up the balls to talk to guys and I would like to thank my liquid courage for tonight. Wherever it may lead.

“Bill, but you can call me whatever you want.” I expect to see a hand stuck out in front of me, but I don’t. He keeps himself to himself, and I quietly admire that. It’s sort of gentlemanly…

I take a short but sweet sip of my drink, letting the alcohol sere my throat on the way down before I chirp, “Amaranthine, but my friends call me Amara.”

His eyebrows perk up momentarily on his forehead before they proceed to faintly knit together in what I assume is confusion, “Are we friends, Amaranthine?”

I bite rabidly at the inside of my cheek, pinching the flesh to stop a shit eating grin from taking over my entire face. There is a short pause as I pretend to think of an ‘honest’ answer, “We can be. If you wanna?” My blood feels hot as scolding iron as it flows through my body, flushing my face for a brief moment.

“Hmm,” Bill’s pink tongue darts from his mouth to swipe over his bottom lip, his teeth gentle nipping the skin, “I don’t know… what do your friends usually say about you?” He is closer to me now and I can feel my breathing start to become a bit ragged. It takes every ounce of restraint I have to not press my lips to his. They are all I can focus on. I wonder what he tastes like.

“My friends would tell you to run for the hills…” In order to regain composure I play with the metal lighter that belongs to him, flicking the cap and watching as the flame would erupt from within. On the side there is a word that is engraved… Love.

It takes mere seconds before Bill is pulling my wrist toward him with force, but not enough to hurt me, only enough to frighten me. And it does, and the gasp that leaves my mouth is borderline erotic and makes my cheeks fervent. He is gentle to take the lighter from my loose grip, placing it into his dark jean pocket and then returning his attention back to my face.

“I think this could work… this ‘friend’ thing.” His grip remains tight around my wrist, “Only thing is.. I don’t think friends fuck their friends, do they, Amara?” Somewhere along the way Bill has stood up from his barstool and he is now towering over me. He must be at least 6ft 2 and looking up at him from my seated position is making my mind spin uncontrollably. I thought I was attracted to him before but now… I want him to take me right here, right now in the middle of this dive bar.

“Friends sometimes do that.” I say meekly as I swallow thickly, all the saliva in my mouth has mysteriously disappeared and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe this is just what he does to me. The greed grows between my thighs and as I'm staring into his eyes I can see the hunger growing within him too- infatuation blowing his pupils to the size of bullet holes.

He yanks me to my feet, his face is uncompromising and I am on fire with anticipation, "Your place or mine?" His lips brush the shell of my ear and I feel electricity race down every vertebrae in my spine, making my legs unsteady. His voice is almost a moan and his tone is low and yet I am willing to totally submit to his every beckon and command.

"Mine..." I feel like I can't breathe, "I.. I don't have a ride." My quavering voice declares my evident embarrassment and Bill tucks some loose strands of my wind stricken hair behind my ear.

"It really is your lucky day." Bill winks at me, a semblance of a smile gently appearing onto his face and his long arm snakes around my waist, guiding me toward the bar exit.

"Oh- I haven't paid!" I exclaim in a state of panic.

"Shhh-" Fuck. His voice is like a lullaby, "I know the owner, don't stress." It was at that moment that I realised, in my inebriated state, that I would believe every word this man said.

-

Sober Amara would never have given her home address to a total stranger- but drunk and horny Amara just did. We are always warned as children- don’t speak to that strange looking man, don’t go near that lady, stay away from them and so on.. but if we lived up to those rules- to that fear, we would never live. We would be so alone..

I juggle my keys, struggling to control the adrenaline that is coursing through my veins, causing my hands to tremble. I manage to slot the key into the lock and jimmy it open- I really have to get that looked at.

I shoulder barge my way inside, losing my balance as I do and I expect to see the floor coming up to meet my face- but instead I feel Bill’s colossal hands gripping my waist firmly, holding me restrained in the air. Shock roots us both to the spot and I can feel something brewing rapidly between us.

My apartment is small, but it’s cozy and it’s home. I keep it clean for the most part, overall the only mess visible is the case files I’ve left on my desk and the map that’s strung up on my wall. To the average person, like Bill, I’ll probably look crazy. Luckily for me, that’s not where his attention is.

“I'm waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you.”

The door has been kicked shut and I can hear the rhythm of my own heart pounding in my ears. I’m starting to feel a bit lightheaded, like I am levitating above the ground. He knows just what to say, he knows how to look at me in just the right way to make my mind turn to mush- it’s almost like he knows me. Have we been here before?

“I’m gonna need your help to get my clothes off…” my hands dance up to behind his neck, cradling it gently whilst pulling him closer to me. My fingers card through his luscious dark hair, tugging the roots playfully which causes a groan to erupt from his lips.

Bill's large hands come to fondle with my chest, his fingers struggling with the buttons of my blouse. His breathing hitches and with a leap of faith and a lewd huff he rips the seams apart. My mouth falls agape as I watch the buttons fly across every square inch of the room. Some of them I'll never be able to find again...

His lips are on mine before I have time to form any sort of coherent thought and the warmth of his skin is enough to heat my entire body for days. My lips part, allowing his wet tongue to slip inside of my mouth and I moan out at the contact. He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes with the mildest touch of mint- just what I expected. Abruptly he pulls away and I whine with the need to have him near again, "I'm going to take good care of you, I promise. I just wanna enjoy the view. It's not everyday I get to fuck someone as pretty as you." His voice has dropped an octave or two lower and the simple task of breathing becomes obscenely hard in that moment and I battle the urge to pounce on top of him right there and then. He slides my ripped blouse down my arms, letting it fall to the hardwood floor below my feet. He steps further away, urging me with his eyes to continue undressing.

"You don't have to be gentle with me, I won't break..." I offer him a smirk and my feet move toward him with gentle strides and I notice Bill's eyes fluttering to and from my chest. My bra is boring but it's black- and black always leaves an impression no matter what it is. Plus, he seems to like the colour, considering he is dressed from head to toe in it, "You can do whatever you want with me."

The air vibrates between us, "What do you want to do to me, Bill?" My eyes flutter innocently up at his stocky frame and he pulls a quick breath into his lungs through his teeth.

"You want me to tell you, or do you want me to show you?" He is walking towards me now, an impure domineering twinkle gracing his eyes. He backs my steps up until I feel the wall crash into my spine and his long muscular arms cage me to the spot, "Are you afraid?" His face is craned down into my neck now, I can feel his breath on my skin and it settles just above my main artery that I can feel thumping.

I shake my head.

"You got any neck ties laying around here?" He asks and I nod in response.

"Top drawer, in the bedroom." I nod toward the dark hallway that connects my living room to all the other rooms in the house. He glances at it before allowing me to move from the wall, his hand slapping my ass hard.

"C'mon then, lets go get them." I giggle a bit as I run toward the bedroom, Bill following closely behind me, "And take the rest of those clothes off before I get there- or you'll regret it."

Excitement pricks at my heart and I assume he is talking about my suit pants and my shoes, and so I am happy to oblige as soon as I pass through the doorway into my bedroom. It's dark in there- pitch black, so I scramble around for the lamp on my bedside dresser, stumbling over clothes that have been left on the floor and more case files that really should be getting organised but aren't. My shoes are first to go, kicked beneath the bed and my pants are peeled down my legs. The rain had caught us on the way in so my skin is a bit damp and cold, making the fabric cling to my skin like it has been glued down.

I pull open my drawer, ignoring the vibrator that I usually hide in there I retrieve multiple neck ties- just in case he wants more than one and then I sit on the edge of the bed, watching the open door as Bill’s sturdy frame emerge's from the darkness of the hallway. Like a hunter stalking its prey.

"Are these okay?" I hold out the palms of my hands, the colourful neck ties splayed flat across them as I present them to Bill like a knight receiving his sword.

Bill's hands find his knees as he bends down to my line of vision, his face mere inches from mine, It’s almost mocking and I feel like I am about to get a telling off for bad behaviour, "I'm going to fucking ruin you, sweetie." His lips pinch his cheeks as he smirks devilishly, his hands pushing me harshly down onto the mattress- knocking the air out of my lungs.

“Wrists.” He demands and I clasp my hands together in the air without a second thought, my drunkenness blinding every ounce of my reasoning. Bill climbs on top of me, his knees at either side of my torso and he hovers there as he skilfully knots and binds my wrists tightly together. He has done this before...

“Please take your clothes off,” I beg, my voice coming out as a sweltering breathy pant and after he had finished securing my wrists to the bed frame he stands from the bed, my body moving with the shift in weight.

“You’re so polite, so fucking cute- you know what good girls get?” He perks an eyebrow, his hands gripping the hem of his black t-shirt as he pulls it up and over his head. The sight of his abdominal muscles tensing and contorting to the movement of his body has my mind sobering up slightly. I want that image permanently engraved in my mind, “They get anything that they want, sweet cheeks.”

He moves onto his jeans next and even just watching him unbuckle his leather belt has my pussy aching for more. I can’t stop admiring his body- he is so lean and strong, chiselled by the Greek gods themselves.

“Like what you see?” His voice takes the reins of every one of my thoughts and I nod my head, my thighs impatiently rubbing together desperate to get some sort of release, “Awww, is she pulsing?” Up until this moment I'd never been provided the chance to experiment this much in the bedroom, my one night stands were always so vanilla and borderline unsatisfactory- so to have my hands tied to the bed and someone as hot as Bill mocking my arousal... it's all so new. I love it.

"Touch me." It wasn't supposed to come out as a command, but it does and the dimple that screws itself into Bill's cheek leaves my wrists tensing against their restraints.

Bill's eyes settle between my legs, his tongue swiping out to briefly coat his swollen lips in momentary shine as he prowls up the mattress and only then do I see how stiff he is in his briefs- I just want him inside me.

Despite my state of tenseness Bill separates my legs with ease, a small 'fuck' leaving his throat as he drinks in the sight of my pantie class core, "Wanna make you scream..." Two of his slender fingers tactically stroke over the slick covered fabric that sticks to my puffy slit, teasing me softly as he applies just the right amount of pressure to my stimulated clit, "You're so wet already and I've barely touched you-" An egotistical hum swims through his deep voice, "My fingers are covered in you already."

I can't help the mewl that leaves my mouth as I watch Bill foam at the sight of me. No one's made me feel like this before, this wanted- this desired. Bill gasps as his fingers hook beneath the fabric of my underwear and it is shortly followed by a profane groan as his fingertips tease my needy entrance, "You're killin' me, baby." It makes my head whizz with exhilaration as Bill tears the poor garment of clothing from my body, slightly burning my skin with the friction as he does.

Goosebumps arise on my skin at the expose to such cool air, making me shiver where I lay. Bill's head of messy brown locks dip between my spread thighs, pressing trails of kisses from my kneecaps up to my bare centre where his tongue strokes a long slow strip through my glistening folds. His lips make a 'pop' noise as he sucks my sensitive cluster of nerves roughly , pulling away only to dive right back in again. And again...

"A..ah!" My back curves up from the comfortable springs beneath me but Bill continues to secure my hips in place, the grip his fingertips have on me is bruising as the room is filled with nothing but the lewd noise of wet sloppy slurping and pleasure pained moans.

"She's dripping," He coo's cutely, his voice is a muffled hum against my pussy and the vibrations cause my legs to quiver as they cage Bill's face between them. After one final stroke of his muscular tongue Bill spits on my folds before rising to steady himself on his knees, "Think you're ready for my cock now, babe?" His huge hand lads a sore slap against my heat and I cry out at the sting, tugging harshly on my bounds. It hurts but it also feels so fucking good...

"Yes! Yes, please. I'm ready... just want you to fuck me, Bill, please." I say with so much agony that it is comedic.

Two of his slim fingers push inside of me, filling and spreading me out as Bill finally free's his shaft from his underwear. His hand pumps at his length a few times, his thumb gently spreading the pre-cum from his tip to the rest of his thick rod, "Say, 'pretty please' and I'll think about it." His smile is more intoxicating than any of the alcohol that I've consumed and I'm growing to detest the affect he has on my body.

He carries on touching himself, his eyes hooding as he throws his head back in total bliss, "Pretty please." The words are almost a sob as I wiggle my hips, trying to meet him halfway. He bites his bottom lip, clearly satisfied with my pleading he taps his dick a few times against my slit only to shock me at the very last second as he pushes himself all the way inside. The stretch is glorious and my eyes are rolling to the back of my head at the sensation of him filling every inch of me.

"So warm- you're squeezing me so tight." It's now Bill's turn to moan as he bottoms out of my pulsating cunt and plunges himself back in again, "Keep this act up and I'll end up cumming before you do, sweetheart." The image of him coating my walls with his hot spunk makes me want to scream.

His thrusts quicken and with more ferocity, the room is captivated by the loud sounds of wet skin slapping skin and the perverted moans from both Bill and I.

"Don't stop! Ah.. fuck! Please don't stop!" My screams reverberate in my chest, bouncing off of every wall and playing back at us. It's evident that Bill has no intentions of slowing down and I struggle to keep my eyes open long enough to watch the perfect contour of his parted lips widen and how his dark eyebrows pinch together in pure delight.

He pulls out of me and grabs my hips. He flips me around to my stomach before pulling my ass up into the air where he spanks the skin brutishly and I endure the red marks that tingle their way up to the surface. Forcing my face down into the pillows he holds my head there as he propels himself back inside of me and the scream that leaves my mouth leaves me drooling all over my pillowcases. My mouth is unable to close from the constant moans exiting past my lips.

"I knew you were a slut, look at you-" He slaps my ass cheek again, punctuating his words, "Taking my cock so well. Am I hitting that sweet spot, baby?" I try to speak, I try to communicate with him but I can't. It's all too intense, "Right there? Yeah, Ugh, fuck yeah!" Bill's moans bless my ears and I feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach, my high is hurdling toward me with every thrust his thick cock gives.

"Want you to cream all over me, can you do that?" I nod into the pillow, having given up on my words and Bill releases a noise that is somewhere between an hum of approval and a moan, "So good for me, so fucking good.." Maybe I hadn't noticed before now, but the way he praises me only increases the fire consuming my insides and I don't know if it's because of how attracted I am to Bill or just a newly discovered kink of mine but whatever it is it's working.

I struggle to breathe against the fabric of the pillow and my eyes pinch closed alongside every muscle in my body tensing as my howling orgasm washes over me. My legs are a shaking mess and I swear I pass out for a moment or so because Bill is the only thing keeping me kneeling upright as he pounds into me from behind- chasing his own release that soon follows closely after mine...

And we are left both a panting muddle of sweaty flesh in a room stinking of nasty sex.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas

[moonlit-escape]

‧₊˚꒰♱꒱༘‧⊹ Zane Mystreet headcanons !!

i love this lil emo freak i NEED to get wine drunk n watch ponies w this guy

6'0 (183cm)

go white boy go

hetero. (comfortable with this label, but honestly his attraction isn't limited to cis women and he has even had crushes on femme men (he just wants to be the token hetero friend))

he mostly dresses casual emo, but sometimes my guy wants to rock a pair of demonias and a fishnet bodysuit with some heavy, pure silver chains and rings, alri

piercings,. piercings piercings piecings. no lips piercings... septum and eyebrow, though. and DEFINITELY gauges in his ears. and ABSOLUTELY ones with cute shapes.

if he didn't cover his mouth all the time, i think he would like wearing dark, cool colored lipsticks

and it'd be smudged all the time bc he keeps fuckin snacking on sweets

of course he paints his nails, and he treats them well bc he hates chipped nail polish (rich boy gets the highest quality, strongest clear nail protection youve never seen before in your life)

honestly all the ro'meave brothers are a bunch of gnc kings like okayyy!! pop off boys w your dresses, heels, skirts, n makeup!!

god can that boy sing

idc he listens to vocaloid and his favourites are vflower and rin kagamine

also listens to emo songs (ofc) and cartoon songs

prefers rock band over guitar hero

one time he smacked vylad in the back of the head with a rock band drumstick and he felt so bad he ran off and cried

boy is the most fuck-ugly crier

secretly steals stuff from people he cares about as keepsakes (like, little things: garroth's old gameboy, vylad's old sketchbook, aph's other half of a pair of lost earrings, nana's ribbons and pastry wrappers)

actually has pretty high metabolism, and one time he gloated abt it to aph and accidentally made a joke in poor taste, and she kicked his ass. so, he just lets her call him a lil fat boy as his eternal penance for being an asshole

okay this isn't a headcanon but sort of is but, why were him and dante like Tightrope-walking that fucking incel line as teenagers. like they were one wrong step from falling into an incel category. thank god their brothers would NOT have had that from their baby brothers anyway bc Wtf

anyway

honestly, he doesn't feel as cold toward vylad as he used to as a teen, and kind of wishes he had the strength to show that and reach out and ease the tension between them. but, he's afraid of making it worse by being awkward, so he wants to wait and hope that vylad makes the first move, if he ever does. (and if not, he'll probably ask garroth to do it for them)

has rejection sensitive dysphoria, made even worse by a rejection complex from: garte's blatant favouritism, bullying and rejection in school, and isolation as an adult. it's part of why he became so attached and possessive of aph. but, he's safer now

he was a harry potter kid. garroth was the percy jackson one, and vylad was warrior cats.

he always thought he was a slytherin but i think he's more of a hufflepuff than he realizes (nana on the other hand.)

he has a lot of sanrio merchandise. more than he will ever admit. his pony merchandise does outweigh it, though, of course

yes, his main comfort character and obsession lies with pinkie pie cake. but, the rainbow dash backpack Objectively fucks

you can get him to eat anything, so long as it's candied or chocolate covered. this means if you hand him one of those candied roaches, he won't think twice about gnashing down on one of those suckers

has a plushie collection of really, really soft and sweet-looking animals. and all of them have punk-like accessories (safety pin piercings, spikes, black ribbons, black laces, etc)

the only plush that doesn't have anything on it is an old brown teddy bear with garroth's faded name on the tag

likes to make snapcube sonic fandub references and will just drop random shadow, the devil, and memphis tennessee quotes

[wereh0gz]

Hello, I’m one of the contestants of the AU Sonic Smackdown, @delightrolls, the creator of the Sonic Thunderstorm AU. I was trying to decide who to vote for between you and @eloaholiveira, but the decision is proving to be difficult. Would you kindly tell me more about your Old Man Sonic AU? Anything and everything you feel comfortable sharing about your outstanding story! And if you want some more specific questions I would like to ask:

Why has Eggman Nega returned to Sonic’s Dimension?

How did Eggman Nega learn that Sonic is immortal?

If Eggman Nega is present, is Eggman also present and if so, what does he do?

Where and how does your Sonic respawn?

What is Omega like in this AU? Has he managed to destroy all Eggman robots? If so, what is he doing now?

What is Chip like in this AU? If Chip is present, is Dark Gaia as well?

How did Sonic, Tails, and Shadow handle the deaths of their other friends?

Was Tails born as a Kitsune or did something make him like that? If some made him like that what happened? If he was born like that, are there other Kitsune?

Can Tails still fly despite the greater number of tails?

And one just out of curiosity, what would happen if your Sonic were to be killed while all the Chaos Energy in his body has been neutralized? Would he find a different way to come back or would he actually die? I ask because after my Sonic, Duality, gets corrupted by the End in Sonic Frontiers they gain the ability Chaos Cancel from the End’s Absence Energy which allows them to neutralize all Chaos Energy in a certain range though that energy will eventually come back. Could my Sonic theoretically kill your Sonic?

Thank you for your time and regardless of whether you win or lose I think your story is outstanding :)

OH WOW THAT'S A LOT OF QUESTIONS

I'd be happy to answer them all for you :]

(Answers under the cut bc this got really long lol)

1. Why has Eggman Nega returned to Sonic's dimension?

From my understanding, Nega has some conflicting lore about his origins, so in this AU he's actually just Eggman's descendent from Silver's future and not from another dimension entirely.

2. How did Eggman Nega learn that Sonic is immortal?

It actually took a while to figure out, since Sonic keeps to himself a lot more than he used to, and he's really slippery and hard to capture or kill. He wasn't even sure if that old blue hedgehog getting in his way was actually Sonic for a pretty long time.

He did kill him once, though. Managed to stab him through the head with one of his mechs in a fight, basically lobotomized him. You see that scar under his floppy ear? Yeah.

Shadow, Omega, Silver, and Tails got Nega to retreat, but he was sure Sonic was gone for good. Turns out he was wrong, as Sonic came back months later to foil his plans for world domination again, quieter and much, much angrier than before.

This leads to Nega looking into his past in as much detail as possible, as well as trying to capture Sonic and study him to find some way to get rid of him for good. And that one death would not be the last caused by him.

3. If Eggman Nega is present, is Eggman also present and if so, what does he do?

Eggman is long dead by this point, as this AU takes place 200 in the future from when most Sonic games take place. Can't do much when you're six feet under lol.

4. Where and how does you Sonic respawn?

He doesn't really *respawn* so to speak, he regenerates from whatever is left of his body after dying. I guess you could call it respawning if he's reduced to atoms, as he would technically have to come back from nothing, but that (thankfully) has never happened.

Whenever he dies, he's usually taken to one of Tails' workshops by Shadow so that Tails can oversee his regeneration/recovery. He's built machines that help speed up the regeneration process using Chaos Energy. They're like special beds that blast him with high amounts of energy until he can come back to life and recover from his injuries on his own.

He can regenerate without the machines if needed, but it takes a lot longer and he doesn't like it. He hates the feeling of a "restless death", as he calls it, and would rather come back as fast as possible even if he wakes up scarred and in pain.

5. What is Omega like in this AU? Has he managed to destroy all Eggman robots? If so, what is he doing now?

Omega is pretty similar to how he is in canon. Still very much the rage-filled lover of extreme violence and destruction we all know and love, but he's ever so slightly more open to showing affection to his friends now (even calls them his friends outright sometimes!)

He's destroyed as many of Eggman robots as he possibly could, which, as far as he's aware, is all of them, so he's satisfied on that front. However, he does have the newfound goal of destroying all of Eggman *Nega's* robots, too, ensuring Eggman's legacy is wiped out completely. So he joins Shadow and Silver in fighting Nega whenever he can.

Achieving this new goal gets progressively more difficult as his body becomes harder and harder to repair, though, but he won't give up until his job is done (or until he finally kicks the bucket).

6. What is Chip like in this AU? If Chip is present, is Dark Gaia as well?

Chip actually comes in later on in whatever semblance of a cohesive story I have in my head, after Nega's properly defeated. They'd basically be the focus of the second major arc in this story.

They actually fused with Dark Gaia after their premature release from the planet's core, seeking to embrace each other and end the cycle they were a part of, reforming into "True Gaia". After some time, their seal eventually weakened again, which led to parts of them escaping back into the surface and forming a new physical body.

He struggles a lot with his identity and guilt as both Light and Dark Gaia's identities and memories suddenly merged into one. It's hard to tell where Chip ends and Dark Gaia begins. He's still kind and curious, like he was when Sonic first met him years ago, but he can also be prone to mood swings and even act animalistic and feral sometimes. The most notable change, though, is that he is very sleepy all the time.

It would travel the world with Sonic and Tails to energy "hotspots" scattered around the planet in order to absorb the parts of it still sealed inside the core, all while helping Sonic connect with the current world in the process.

7. How did Sonic, Tails, and Shadow handle the deaths of their other friends?

Shadow had time to come to terms with the fact that he would outlive his friends. He'd known he was immortal for much longer than Sonic or Tails, so he could at least try to prepare for it long before it happened. Of course, it still hurt when they eventually passed away, but he continues to move forward.

He looks back at the times they shared fondly and keeps their memory alive in a series of journals he's written.

Tails didn't have as much time to prepare himself like Shadow did, but he handled it alright. He misses them a lot, but he lives on because it's what they would've wanted. He often regrets not having spent more time with them, though.

He keeps a database of all the information (both public and private) he could possibly have about them, including biographies, images, videos, even things like chat logs in a cloud network he created to ensure they'd never be forgotten.

Sonic... didn't take it so well. It's like he never really processed that he would outlive his friends at all. He never thought about it, never *wanted* to think about it, despite the fact that he learned of his immortality well before that time came. So when it eventually happened, and he had to watch his friends eventually die one after another, it hit him *hard*.

He isolated himself and started hoarding anything and everything that reminded him of them, from gifts he was given years ago to pictures that had begun to fade. He avoided facing that grief head on for as long as he could, but he eventually began to forget what they were like, and was forced to move on.

He still grieves them, but now it feels like he's grieving phantoms instead of actual people. He hates it.

8. Was Tails born as a Kitsune or did something make him like that? If something made him like that what happened? If he was born like that, are there other Kitsune?

He was born a kitsune! There are others like him, but they're extremely rare and only really heard of in legends, so he's the only one we would actually see in this AU.

9. Can Tails still fly despite the greater number of tails?

Yes! He can fly without having to spin his tails now, too, but still does it out of habit.

10. What would happen if your Sonic were to be killed while all the Chaos Energy in his body has been neutralized? Would he find a different way to come back or would he actually die?

Sonic cannot truly die unless his soul is destroyed, which is nigh impossible as the forces of Chaos themselves forbid that from happening.

Neutralizing the Chaos Energy inside him would temporarily halt his regeneration, though, so he wouldn't be able to heal at all as long as the neutralization effect is active. Since that effect is temporary and his soul is (I assume) still intact, he will eventually come back.

-

Thanks for asking about my AU!! I love thinking abt him and The Horrors he's gone through <3

[nighttimeebony]

My personal headcanons/interpretations of the physical differences between Wei Wuxian's original body and Mo Xuanyu's body.

Wei Wuxian's original body:

Tall, broad shoulders, and a very athletic build with a lot of toned muscle

Fine, wavy hair texture

Ink-black hair

Black eyes

Sharp facial features with high cheekbones and cat-like eyes

Long fingers

More of a tanned skin tone because of all the sun he gets at Lotus Pier

Scars on his hands, wrists, and fingers from getting bitten by dogs when he would take food from them

I imagine that wwx would have a lot of little scars from playing rough as a kid, tiny thin slashes of silver scattered throughout his body

WWX's body was built for strength, but not necessarily for endurance

An inhumanly high pain tolerance

Has a chipped tooth near the back of his mouth that you could only see when he smiled wide enough

Dimples

Freckles that become more prominent when he gets more sun, but are especially concentrated on his shoulders and the back of his neck

Mo Xuanyu's body:

Short and skinny from malnutrition; probably has like 50 different kinds of vitamin deficiencies

Paler complexion, almost pasty

Thicker hair texture, which makes it look fluffier, and more unruly; it's a pain in the ass to take care of; #1 in the world for worst bed-head, gets tangled like you wouldn't believe

Delicate, more "feminine"-looking facial features, like wider eyes, Cupid's bow lips, and an overall softer-looking face

Gray eyes

Dark brown hair

Much more flexible, can probably twist himself into a pretzel whenever he gets bored

Prone to undereye shadows from poor sleep

Body better built for stamina once it gets better trained; even when he does get more muscles, it's more wirey than shredded; slender and lean

Low pain tolerance

Poor circulation and is more prone to get cold

Lightweight drinker, much to his dismay

Nose is crooked from getting broken at least once

Probably has anemia; bruises very easily

Has a couple moles scattered along his body

MXY definitely has the better ass

Both wwx and mxy have a complicated relationship with food and hunger, but mxy's body especially has gotten so used to running on little food that wwx (in mxy's body) has a hard time recognizing when he's hungry until he nearly passes out from lack of energy. I imagine that thanks to being adopted by the Jiangs and being taken care of by his siblings, over time, wwx's body was able to recover from running on starvation mode 24/7, while mxy was never able to have that recovery period, so his body is still accustomed to operating on little to no food.

I imagine that wwx and mxy are like two different kinds of goth; different shades of creepy, and beautiful in different ways. wwx would be more like a vampire, while mxy would channel antique haunted doll; sharp and powerful vs soft and delicate. wwx in his original body is the danger you expect, the danger you run from on sight, while wei ying in mxy's body is underestimated, unexpected, the kind of danger you would never see coming until it's too late.

If you're like me and also enjoy stories that involve Wei Ying adjusting to life in his new body, then here are some fics with that exact premise:

Saw My Life in a Stranger's Face

the soft animal

Notes on a Resurrection

we are here

[yunessa]

Fanfiction Work-In-Progress Guessing Game: "remember"

Some spoilers for Yunessa's story. But you're getting close to them. I'll link the chapters where the chapters relate to this and post the wip below a spoiler, as it's very spoiler-ey.

(Chapters 23: Your first funeral isn't always your last & 24: Surprisingly not dead and 34: The third time isn't the charm)

Thank you for the ask! @dujour13 It's fun to post wips!

 I know the Gods can be generous. Sometimes fate can be as well. But I am unsure what to make of this. Yunessa sat in Neatherholme, watching deformed shadows between slumped houses as firelight chased them away. Anevia and Seelah didn’t recognize me. Neither does Wendaug, Horgus, or any of the other Mongrels. 

Yunessa checked their bracelet. The stone still looked dull, but it was functioning. I haven’t lost my mind or the stone would be darkly coloured and out of charge. I haven’t lost my mind.  Their eyes watched the firelight play with the shadows. This feels real. The cold stone I’m sitting on. The cold air brought in by the river still smells like chalk, as dark as pitch with its blind fish swimming beneath the water.  The fire they sat by warmed their cold hands and Yunessa sourly eyed the stack of firewood. Dried mushrooms weren’t normally something that was good to burn, but whatever kind of mushrooms grew down here seemed able to be a passable substitute.

I can feel myself breathe. I see. I feel tired, hungry. Is there such a thing as a second chance or am I having a dream?  One of the many things Yunessa had heard of death was that you relived your life if Pharasma was deciding where to send your soul and had trouble finalizing their choice.  But if I was standing before the Lady of Graves surely I’d be standing before her and not reliving this memory. I went almost the same as the first time. It wouldn’t deviate either. Yunessa hadn’t claimed any visions from Desna this time and it had been easier to default to how they had acted the first time.

The angel sword remains. Yunessa felt it when their mind turned towards it and as they closed their hand around an invisible hilt, they knew it would come if they called for it. That much they felt was true. The sword remains and so does this.  They took off the necklace they had strung Daeran’s ring on. The scratched silver ring looked no different  than before with some of its fine gems missing or chipped. Not even the initials of Daeran’s ring had changed.

“I’m sorry.” They told the ring. Daeran couldn’t hear them.  I’m not sure why my thoughts keep moving to you. Perhaps it’s that you’re stuck in a party again with a killer and it bothers me. It’s not like I won’t save you again.

 Something about that thought made them pause. Was it worth it to go through Kenabres again? They could recall it all. From meeting their other companions to the corpses in the street. The rain and chill. 

Ember singing children’s rhymes as she splashed through the puddles. Woljif chained in the Defender’s Heart basement, stuck there as Keresmei wanted to (rightfully) blame him for theft. Finnean stuck beneath a bookcase, crying for help.  Ramien stubbornly refusing to leave the city even as Hulrun wanted his head on a pike.  Anevia would still have a limp.Galfrey standing in the tent and calling them knight Commander. 

But would any of them be able to get through the Shield maze if Yunessa left Kenabres? Would Daeran survive the serial killer at his party? Or would Ublrig wake up in the library at all if they hadn’t gone poking around there? Would Aravashinal survive the streets of Kenabres? Would Lann survive Wendaug? Defender’s Heart Inn might survive. Might.But the citizens Yunessa had saved wouldn’t survive.

So many questions. So many possibilities that Yunessa just being there had changed just by existing in the right moment. The longer Yunessa stared at the fire, the more it gnawed at them. The answer was obvious. As much as they wanted to slip through the shield maze and leave Kenabres right now, there was no question what they’d do next.

One of them tried to grab at me when the gargoyle plucked me from the ground. Woljif put his hands over my throat as I bled out. Without thinking about it, Yunessa felt themself rise up from their seat. 

“Once more.” They told the fire. “Ignoring all this other business. One more time.”  My friends are waiting and there’s people that need me. The choice was made and they could almost feel the wheel of fate creak in the back of their mind. “Even if nobody remembers me or maybe I'm insane. There's no other choice here.”

What other choice is there to make for my friends besides this?

[hopepaigeturner]

Villainous Benophie AU: Part 3

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

Check out Part 2 here.

It is almost three months since that night when he spots the silver dress again. It weaves around masked people at a secret auction. And once more she takes Benedict’s breath away. He follows her like a shadow, as she herself lingers in the shadows seemingly eavesdropping on the guests before ending her night with an impressive round at the tables. She plays a delicate game of winning and losing her eyes more shrewd and her skills flawless—she has learnt since that first night. Benedict does not want to consider how.

When she finally retires he corners her and finally they are face to face. And all the little evidences of time's fingerprint's come to the fore; how the silver of the dress is worn with little stitches and patches skilfully covered; her hair is shorter, her face wan and her figure slimmer—very slim. So slim it makes his hands curl into fists.

They pick up that delicate dance of conversation before his ire causes it to crack and demand answers from her. And he uses his whole height, his whole demeanour, the hidden darkness that he can unleash in one look. (Years later when he knows of it all, not just the depths of his heart but the depths of Sophie's pain, the memory of this night will haunt him). And although there is a slight tremor in her fingers she explains.

She has been staying at a rundown boarding house within the slums, and on nights when it is unbearable she seeks shelter with a modiste friend of hers. She has spent the last months travelling from club to club to ensure that her cardsharp reputation does not spread until she is adept enough to cover her tracks. And when she is not trading chips for cash, she is trading secrets for much larger sums for the infamous gossip sheet—Lady Whistledown. Among such hunts she pieced together who he was.

She does not talk about that moonlight night, not even when he asks in veiled words (in a moment of rashness that feels like something much more dangerous) whether she has been able to have another cigarette without thinking of his lips.

One word.

No.

And Benedict inspects her for any discrepancy in the perfect mask that cloaks her body similar to the silver one on her face. Yet there, in her eye he spots it. A look that sparks something inside of him, (he dismisses the little voice that whispers hope—hope doesn’t exists in the world, only opportunity).

He knows that look, he has glanced and studied it in the mirror every morning. She wants to play the game. And Benedict will more than happily oblige—after all he is the master of games.

Cardsharp against cardsharp. Force of will against force of will. Heart against heart. Game on.

The conversation spins again as she refuses to be his mistress—he does not worry for there are many different ways to win the game. So, he spins her into a corner, playing on the explicit details that mark her privileged upbringing. He knows she can bare a life of dirt—but that doesn’t mean she would not jump at the chance for a life with cleaner hands. And so he offers her a beautifully wrapped proposition:

Do not be a mistress be a governess. Three meals, a roof over her head and three young charges to care for during the day, leaving the nights open for her more clandestine ventures.

Finally, he adds an extra bow: full protection under the Bridgerton name. As safe a barricade as those surrounding Buckingham Palace—perhaps more so.

Sophie stays silent, those beguiling eyes calculating moves. Yet, as he expected, she is not so proud as to forfeit her safety for a victory. So, she concedes and agrees to take the position.

He insists on accompanying her home at which point she finally takes off her mask.

Benedict is struck by the fizzing sensation once more as he takes in the soft curve of her face, and the true colour of her eyes—brown, brown like the deepest wood in the forest. The places rumoured that only fae frequent.

As she shuts the door behind her she finally tells him her name.

Sophie.

The carriage rolls away.

He must have her. He is not worthy of her, fairies and beautiful maidens do not fall in love with those who have washed reams of blood down the drain or take dark delight in ruthless vengeance. She will never love a man like him—love? (When did he start thinking of such superfluous things? Like that whispering voice he crushes it under his fist). He needs her in whatever capacity he can grasp.

NEXT

[sam-glade]

Find the Words Tag

Tagged by the incredible @iced-ginger-tea here @charlesjosephwrites here. Thank you💜

I'll pass it gently onto: @void-botanist @sarahlizziewrites @sunset-a-story. Your words are: lonely, silent, happy, sad.

From @iced-ginger-tea daylight, cheer, sunset, dress

DAYLIGHT ❌ I'll look for: SUNLIGHT

The woods were dense. There was something growing in every available bit of space. The largest trees - oaks and ashes - were so large that five men would have trouble joining hands when standing around them. Moss covered every last bit of their bark. Between them younger trees and bushes formed the understory, birches, silver firs, hornbeams, aspens… Below them, ferns created a dense layer, mixed with various berry bushes. Clumps of hazels stuck out in places. Closer to the fallen tree Lissan could see patches of the forest floor, with snake grass, blooming violets, and colourful mushrooms. Everything was growing, fighting for space and sunlight.

CHEER

Katya the Catnip crept up on him like a cat. He turned to face her, forcing a smile. He felt drained.

She looked like he remembered her - short and a little chubby, with a mop of very curly auburn hair surrounding a round bronze face. She grinned at him. One of her upper front teeth was chipped; that was new.

“A little birdie told me that you need someone to cheer you up,” she said as a greeting.

“I’m pretty sure it was a squirrel,” Lissan retorted, shaking her wrist.

SUNSET

Nikols wielded a Djerid, a short javelin-like weapon, more popular across the Sunset Strait, kept in a quiver at his hip. Ianim supposed that at a distance it could be mistaken for a fanciful sheath for a short sword, but he knew the truth.

DRESS

Reinforcements came in the form of Artio and his Bear. The Colonel of the Heavy Infantry was in dress uniform and clean shaven, having come straight from the parade. The Bear's fur was brushed, although it was now covered in black ash. That was still the neatest the Lissan had seen them.

~*~

From @charlesjosephwrites thought, find, paper, light, and reach

THOUGHT (a little longer, but so worth it)

“Master Lissander, this was not Leshy. This was a creature known to charm people and lead them to their death,” Claren pointed out with exasperation. "Surely you know that nymphs take on the most alluring forms…"

"Master Claren. If she really wanted to charm me, she would take on a man's form.”

"…Oh."

Lissan frowned at him, going over the encounter in his head. Master Claren chased the nymph away only once Lissan started asking for details, but he looked wary from the beginning. Not charmed.

"It didn't look like it worked on you either, Master Claren," Lissan observed carefully.  

"I do not believe that there is a form a nymph can take that would charm me," the teacher informed him, now calm and focused.

Oh, Lissan's thoughts echoed Claren's reaction.

FIND (talking about Lissan, of course)

“You mean to tell me that there is a thing he can find intimidating about a person?” Ianim said with a hint of amusement.

Claren laughed and quipped lightly:

“I merely suggested that he has more tact than you give him credit for, Princekin.”

PAPER

“Lissan?” A hand on his shoulder stopped him. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked a few times before turning to face Gullin. Gullin looked tired and in a rush. He was holding a thin paper folder in his other hand, clearly on the way to the upstairs offices. Lissan bit his lip, reminding himself that the Lieutenant General was on duty and very busy. Anthea’s voice echoed in his head. A mature person does not allow emotions to interfere with their duty.

He should tell Gullin that he was on his way out and that Gullin didn’t need to worry about him, but no words could squeeze through his clenched throat.

LIGHT (FYI, 100 occurrences in Gifts of Fate, 154 in The Prince's Shadow, 155 in Prodigal Children, excluding 'lightly' or 'lighter')

Not a minute later Anthea climbed the stairs to the gallery, Mikkel following a few steps behind her. He took the bay nearest the stairs, sitting with his back towards Erya and sipping red wine in silence. Anthea stopped in front of the spymaster.

Erya stared. Without the crowd and all other sorts of distractions, she could finally appreciate how breathtaking Anthea looked that evening, in the wine-red dress with silver embroidery, with a sabre and her Sword in matching scabbards at her side, with her braids coiled at the back of her head in complex patterns. In the dim light, she seemed more like a nymph or an apparition, too beautiful.

REACH

With an angry sigh, he returned to his chore. He did his best to concentrate on chopping wood. The axe felt primitive and soulless. Dead. It wasn’t a weapon, just a tool. He swung it again and watched two pieces of wood fall off a stump. Lifeless.

His Sword lay safe near his bunk, in the room he shared with Marta. He tended to leave it there when he was working around the household. He reached out to it with his thoughts, and the spirit of the blade stirred. The large She-Wolf appeared to be napping. She did it a lot recently, while he couldn’t sit still.

[cursed-cuckoo-wasp]

Hybrids of Hope or Hell

Chapter Five : Pitcher Plant

☽༺♰༻☾

Freezing in terror, the booming voice echoed off of the uneven walls of the cavern. Two foreboding large shadows had cast the frightened little dragons into darkness. Sandy gravel crunched unpleasantly under Eclipse's talons as she whipped around to face the owner of the projective voice. Chipped white fangs contrasted against dark scales as she opened her muzzle to speak, however a smooth, sultry voice abruptly interrupted Eclipse.

"It looks like we have a pair of little...visitors." Two figures ominously materialised out of the grasping shadows around Eclipse and Cuckoowasp. One of the sandwings was significantly smaller than the other, her revealing herself as the one who had previously spoke. Her low tone continuing, "isn't that just...thrilling?"

Nervously casting a quick glance to Eclipse, Cuckoowasp hesitantly turned around, "I'm sorry but we just fell into a hole and ended up here, we will get out of your scales right away if you could just tell us how to leave?" They anxiously rambled, praying that the sandwing pair would just let them go.

One of the figures chuckled darkly, stepping a little closer so that the lone flickering torch illuminated the pair in an uneasy golden glow. "Oh, you really are just adorable, aren't you?"

The other sandwing, who towered over Eclipse and Cuckoowasp just the same as her partner, decided to speak up, "you say you fell down here, hm? All by yourself into this hidden cave?" her voice was unnaturally patronising, her tone making the little dragons feel sickly.

"Yeah there was a...sinkhole I think. And we had to squeeze into here to escape it, you can see it just through that hole right there." Pointing towards the shadows, Cuckoowasp gestured to the doorway like rock formation.

Glancing towards the opening, then back to the nightwing and hivewing, the smaller one tilted their head to the side. Examining the shaken looking young dragons with narrowed eyes, she spoke with her seductive tone once more, "Ah, a sinkhole..how...unfortunate."

Drawing frantic eyes to herself again, the larger sandwing opened her fatal looking mouth. "And you just...happened to end up here? In this secluded secret system of tunnels, hm? Doesn't sound too likely does it?"

Looking towards Eclipse, Cuckoowasp felt concern as they saw the former still frozen with fear, not even able to meet the sandwing's gazes, let alone reply. "Yeah, you should really check it out incase it engulfs the whole cave system."

Laughing sinisterly the smaller female took another step closer, "oh, how thoughtful of you to warn us."

To Cuckoowasp's relief, the two dragoness' circled them and then steered off towards the hole in the rock. The smaller one entered the room, posting the larger one outside to keep a keen watch on the pair. The sound of rocks sliding over one another echoed throughout the tunnels followed by a shrill yelp. Almost snagging her horns on the uneven rock wall, the larger sandwing hastily darted into the room, urgency evident in her worried expression.

Seeing the opportunity, the green dragon took Eclipse by the claws and bolted as quick as they possibly could in the opposite direction of the villainous sandwing couple. A small cry of surprise slipped on Eclipse's tongue as she quickly launched into the air behind Cuckoowasp.

Rapidly recovering, the nightwing beat her silver lined wings fiercely as the pair shot down a tunnel. Twisting and writhing like a dying animal, the long hallways of darkness made it difficult to navigate their escape. However, the furious cries and yells of the dragoness' faded from earshot, providing at least a little hope to the terrified dragons.

Risking a look back into the daunting dark tunnels, fear that Cuckoowasp would see the couple bounding around the corner urged their wings to flap faster. The beckoning blackness of the caves remained undisturbed as the hivewing's insectoid wings decelerated slightly to search for an exit.

The vicious sound of wings thrashing lessened as Eclipse followed in suite, "I think... I think we got away..." she sputtered quietly, fear and exhaustion lacing her heaving breaths.

"I hope so, but let's not bet on it." They responded, continuing to limp hastily in the direction they had picked. As the pair tried to tread carefully, a question presented itself in Cuckoowasp's mind, "why is your name Eclipse? I mean nightwings usually have two word names like; Morrowseer, Deathbringer, Starflight, Fatespeaker..."

Glancing over at Cuckoowasp as she walked, a slight smile formed on her face, "yeah, most nightwings have two word names but there are some exceptions, and I happen to be one of them. My parents named me Eclipse cause I was born during a triple solar eclipse. They thought it was special or something, honestly I never questioned it myself."

"Fair enough, do you get any special powers for being born on an eclipse? You know with all the moon stuff with nightwings?"

Chuckling lightly, Eclipse pondered for a moment, "well, normal nightwing powers are there like reading minds and prophecy. But as far as special powers? I guess I can change the temperature of any room I'm in, but I don't know if that's real though."

"Woah! That's like super cool!" Cuckoowasp exclaimed as they finally managed to stumble upon the opening of the caves. Stretching their wings, they tried to roll off the ache in their bones as they readied themselves to take off once more. Looking back towards Eclipse, they made sure they were ready for flight-

An infuriated shout shook the sandy ground.

"Now where do you think you're going?!"

☽༺♰༻☾

[badtasteaquarium]

I know it's midnight but I'm having. A head full many thoughts moment

What if when egg man recovers shadow he's half blown to pieces...but the black arms dna is causing him to grow back his extremities in twisted alien ways...he sees his severed limbs in some places and is horrified...would it be easier to let him die? He is barely alive as it is...

Maybe he does try to put him in stasis to observe the growth, but it's far too slow. In the meantime he draws schematics and starts to fashion his android. He uses metal sonic as a template and goes from there. He just gets carried away with it all.

Like he gets to the point where he performs surgery, with his spinal cord and brain on ice, and is able to transplant, and also siphons most of his blood. He can't get the artificial heart to start at first though. Until one day in the stasis tube it does. There are things happening beyond his control and he observed it all until GUN shuts it down. I wonder if rouge finds him?

He doesn't want shadow to die. The only reason he gives him up is under the assumption that he will live. Otherwise the eggman army WILL have a word. Rouge gives him her word

Anyway the rest we know. GUN works on him for a couple more years and gets him up and running. Controls him with the chips in his brain. But his will remains, gets the emeralds, fully regains control and is able to be the shadow we know and love today

Now. I have more thoughts pertaining to the present

Upon reacquainting himself with amy, he decided to get the whole sa2 gang back together again and formally announce he's not dead. Really only tails is the one who's out of the loop, but knuckles also hasn't seen him properly. It's basically also to tell sonic "hey I'm not a secret anymore" since it's been very hard for him not to blab for like. 3 years. ADHD forgetfullness has saved his bacon

Amy and shadow on a date, and shadow reveals that he was engaged. To maria! Unfortunately while he helped cure her nids she was still heavily immunocompromised and became ill again. This time shadow could not donate his blood for science as it's been mixed with synthetic fluid. She's been passed for 1-2 years since present day

Still working on the timeline for all of this tbh

Amy gets cream and big together to have a girls sleepover and gossip about shadow. Very excited about her new boyfriend. I'm claiming Big as one of the girls in this case. He's a drag queen

I still want to write the sonic/shadow parallel tryst situation. Sonic texts shadow "greetings from soleanna!" And shad is like "looks nice. Maria and I are going out today" and have a sonelise meet cute parallel shadow and marias date. They both fuck of course

I did a bunch of B universe sketches, including shadria. The vibe is way different--keeping maria alive here too as "dr. M" and he looks much more robotnik like. But with perfectly coiffed blond hair. Shadow is a 6'7" lizard alien woman and the contrast is very good.

I gave b!sonic a lesbian mullet because she deserves it. I need to give knux both city looks and emerald guardian looks. A!knux is more of a recluse, but I think b!knux gets out more. It's the sonic influence

B!Amy is a tgirl because I said so. I can do so much more with girlish intuition than just the straight genderbend with her. I did bend rouge and blaze though. Rouge will be fun. He's kinda like a thancred. Similar roles between the verses

A!blaze is from silvers bad future, but b!blaze is a prince; I think he'll replace Elise in soleanna for that kinda vibe. A!silver is still hunting for sonic, but b!silver is here to warn about shadow and the black arms invasion. She's too late of course!

I feel like the most clever person in the world when I sink into these AUs. Mad with power over humanized sonics

[exxactsportsusa]

Unmasking the Power of Apple iPhone 11 PRO: A Stunning Evolution in Technology

The Apple iPhone 11 Pro is the latest in smartphone technology, taking us into a new era of innovation and modern design. This phone packs an impressive array of features that make it a must-have for tech users everywhere. With a stainless steel design, top-of-the-line camera and video capabilities, an ultra-fast A13 Bionic chip, extended battery life and wireless charging compatibility, the iPhone 11 Pro has undoubtedly set the bar high for mobile devices. In this article, we will explore all of these features in detail to uncover how the iPhone 11 Pro can provide you with an ultimate smartphone experience.

Exploring the iPhone 11 Pro design and features

The iPhone 11 Pro is a revolutionary step forward in smartphone technology. With its sleek stainless steel frame and glass back, it stands out like no other device on the market. The three colors available – Space Gray, Silver and Gold – make it easy to find the perfect fit for your own style. Its 6.5-inch Super Retina XDR OLED display offers an impressive resolution of 2688 x 1242 pixels that will make images and videos look incredible.

The triple 12MP cameras provide users with Ultra Wide, Wide, and Telephoto options for capturing high-quality shots from any angle or distance. Not only does this phone have exceptional photo capabilities, but it is also water resistant up to 4 meters for up to 30 minutes – meaning you can take your phone anywhere without worrying about exposure to water damage.

One of the most impressive features of the iPhone 11 Pro is its A13 Bionic chip – one of the fastest chips ever in a smartphone – which offers lightning-fast speeds that are sure to please even the most demanding power user. With extended battery life and wireless charging compatibility, this phone has all of the features necessary for an ultimate smartphone experience.

Impressive camera and video capabilities

The iPhone 11 Pro is an impressive piece of technology, offering a suite of features that make it the perfect device for capturing stunning images and videos. It boasts three 12-megapixel cameras—ultra wide, wide, and telephoto—which work together to provide high-quality images in any lighting situation. The next-generation Smart HDR feature creates photos with more highlight and shadow detail than ever before, while 4K video recording at 24 fps, 30 fps, or 60 fps allows for incredibly smooth videos. Additionally, cinematic stabilization gives you even smoother video capture capabilities and time-lapse video recording is also available.

The front camera on the iPhone 11 Pro doesn’t disappoint either! Equipped with a 12-megapixel TrueDepth camera, users can enjoy clear selfies and FaceTime HD video calls. This camera has been designed to be super responsive when taking pictures in low light conditions as well as in bright sunlight. With automatic image stabilization applied to both stills and videos captured on the front camera, you can rest assured that your photos will come out looking great every time!

Overall, the iPhone 11 Pro offers an incredible package of features that makes it stand out from other devices on the market. With its triple 12MP cameras working together to provide beautiful images in any lighting condition, 4K video recording capabilities for capturing amazing videos at 24fps or higher, cinematic stabilization for even smoother video capture capabilities and time-lapse mode for creating unique videos; this device is sure to please tech users everywhere! Whether you’re capturing stills or videos on your iPhone 11 Pro – you can be sure they will look amazing every time!

State-of-the-art performance with A13 Bionic chip

The Apple iPhone 11 Pro's A13 Bionic chip is a revolutionary processor that sets it apart from other devices on the market. This cutting-edge chip contains 8.5 billion transistors, providing incredible power and efficiency, and is the first of its kind to use machine learning to optimize power and performance. With the A13 Bionic chip, users can experience faster Face ID unlock times, improved augmented reality experiences, improved gaming performance, and extended battery life of up to 20%.

The A13 Bionic chip is capable of performing complex tasks quickly and efficiently thanks to its Neural Engine. This engine enables advanced image processing capabilities such as auto white balance features and enhanced noise reduction. Additionally, with the A13 Bionic chip’s powerful CPU, GPU, and Neural Engine combination, users can take advantage of ARKit 3 for interactive augmented reality experiences that weren't possible before.

For gamers who are looking for an immersive experience on their device, the A13 Bionic chip delivers top-notch performance that allows them to enjoy their favorite games like never before. The powerful processor provides smooth framerates even when playing graphically intensive games at high settings. Additionally, with its extended battery life technology, gamers can play longer without having to worry about draining their battery too quickly.

Finally, with its improved Face ID capabilities powered by the A13 Bionic chip’s Neural Engine processors working together with Apple’s Secure Enclave technology in tandem with TrueDepth camera system unlocks your phone in seconds while keeping your data secure from malicious attacks or intrusions. All these features combined make the Apple iPhone 11 Pro powered by the revolutionary A13 Bionic Chip one of the most powerful phones available today.

Extended battery life and wireless charging compatibility

The Apple iPhone 11 Pro provides users with an impressive battery life and wireless charging compatibility for added convenience. The phone has up to 5 hours of additional usage time compared to the iPhone XS, allowing users to enjoy extended use without running out of power. To make life even easier, the phone is Qi-certified and compatible with wireless chargers, meaning you don’t have to worry about plugging in your device when it needs a top-up.

The phone also features an 18W fast charger for quick top-ups; it can last up to 11 hours of streaming video on a single charge. Furthermore, the phone supports up to 18W fast charging and allows users to get 50% charge in just 30 minutes. This means you don’t have to wait too long between uses or be caught out with a low battery when you need it most.

These features combine together to create an impressive battery life that is sure to please tech users everywhere. With its extended battery life and wireless charging capability, the Apple iPhone 11 Pro is sure to be one of the most sought after devices on the market today.

The ultimate smartphone experience

The iPhone 11 Pro offers an unbeatable smartphone experience for tech users everywhere. Its combination of powerful features, cutting-edge technology, and sleek design make it the ideal device for capturing stunning images and videos. With its extended battery life, wireless charging compatibility, and A13 Bionic chip, the iPhone 11 Pro provides a reliable and advanced experience for users.

The 6.5-inch Super Retina XDR OLED display is one of the most impressive features of the iPhone 11 Pro. This screen offers clear visuals with vibrant colors and true blacks that provide an immersive visual experience while watching movies or playing games. The ultra-wide camera also offers a unique way to capture stunning images in any environment with its 120-degree field of view.

Other impressive features include Face ID, Dark Mode, AR capabilities, haptic feedback for more immersive experiences in some apps, and improved gaming performance due to the A13 Bionic chip's 8.5 billion transistors. This allows users to enjoy their favorite games without worrying about framerate drops or slowdowns due to inadequate processing power. The water-resistant design makes it possible to use your phone even when it rains or you accidentally drop it in a puddle without damaging the device's internals as long as it remains within its IP68 rating limits.

Overall, the Apple iPhone 11 Pro offers an unparalleled smartphone experience with its array of features designed to enhance usability and extend battery life while providing a powerful platform for capturing stunning images and videos as well as enjoying interactive augmented reality experiences like never before!

[sapphicneige]

Never Tear Us Apart - Chapter 1: All these nightmares used to be daydreams

Summary: The town of Belobog is a nightmarish place to live. Mistrust is sewn into the culture, everyone keeps to themselves, and most of the buildings lie abandoned. It makes sense that the Silvermane Coven would have chosen it as a place to make their home. Having been overlooked for years, it's only thanks to their new leader Bronya Rand that people are starting to take the coven seriously.

The Wildfire, a group of vampire hunters have decided to turn their attention towards the Silvermane Coven, hiring one of their best, Seele, to take out the leader.

But no job is ever easy, and Seele is about to face her biggest obstacle yet...

Words: 2,936 Main Relationships: Bronya/Seele Rating: E

Notes: So uh... I have probably been playing way too much Star Rail since its release, but these two have been living rent-free in my mind for pretty much the entire time I've been playing. I literally wrote and edited this all in the span of like 5 hours and I just have so many ideas for where this will go (so you can expect to see it updated fairly frequently).

I really recommend you listen to the Fic Playlist as you read as it really helps set the tone for the fic, especially as the chapters will go on. The title of the fic is from Never Tear Us Apart by Bishop Briggs and the title for this chapter is taken from blindfolded by Against The Current, both songs will be found on the playlist.

And that's everything I wanted to say, I hope you all enjoy!

Fic:

The tavern has seen better days. Its dimly-lit windows are boarded up and the wooden door is worn and weathered. The sign hanging above the entrance creaks in the wind, the faded lettering nearly illegible. 

Seele grits her teeth. There’s nothing she can do but press on.

Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of stale ale and damp wood. The walls are stained and cracked, and the few lanterns flickering on the tables cast eerie shadows that dance along the rough-hewn floors.

The patrons seem to keep to themselves, huddled in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. Some wear tattered cloaks or hooded robes, their faces obscured in shadow. Others keep their heads down, avoiding eye contact. The barkeep, a gruff-looking man with a scruffy beard, wipes down a chipped wooden counter with a ragged cloth.

In the corner, a lone figure sits hunched over a mug of dark liquid, their features obscured by a hood. Despite this fact, Seele can tell that the figure’s eyes are trained entirely on her.

Pretending to ignore them, Seele makes her way to the bar. “I’ll take a whiskey.” Her senses are turned outward, always listening for anyone–or anything–that could be trying to sneak up on her. “Neat.”

The barkeep waits for a few seconds, before nodding. “Very well.” He grabs a glass from below the bar, setting it down on the bar with enough force to turn a few heads. As he begins to pour, he looks up at her. “We don’t get many new people here. What brings you?”

Seele waits till he’s finished pouring, placing a couple of silver coins down on the counter before picking up the glass and downing the drink in one go. “Business.” She flashes the man a smirk before stepping away from the counter.

She knows he’ll know better than to ask any further questions. Everyone does. 

Seele takes a final swig of her whiskey, relishing the warmth that spreads through her body. As she sets the glass down on the counter, she catches the eye of the hooded figure in the corner once more. Something about their gaze sends a shiver down her spine, and she knows she can't stay here any longer. Without another word to the barkeep, she strides purposefully towards the figure, her steps echoing on the creaky floorboards. As she takes a seat opposite them, she can feel their eyes boring into her, but she refuses to flinch. This is business, and she has no time for distractions.

Now that she’s closer, she can spy a few strands of dark green hair in the flickering candlelight and a pair of red eyes that seem to pierce into her soul.

“Hello, Natasha,” Seele says confidently. “I hope you have something useful for me.”

“Straight to the point again I see, Seele?” Natasha lets out a sigh. “I was hoping we’d have at least a little time to catch up before we get to business.”

“What’s the point?” Seele rolls her eyes, beginning to tap her fingers impatiently on the table. “The less time I waste here, the quicker I can progress with my actual work.”

Continued on Ao3...

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

So, I got this scenario in my mind where Leona is like Maahes, the Egyptian lion-headed god of war, protection and justice and he falls in love with a mortal woman who is his temple priestess because she loves him not just as a god, but also a person. Make it super fluffy, please? Thanks!

Hi there! So first off, either Tumblr glitched (what else is new?) or you sent this ask three times. If it was a glitch, no worries! But if it was sent multiple times to make sure I saw it, please only send the ask once and I will get to it when I can.

While this is an interesting idea, if you look back at the pinned post on my blog, it states that I’ve already got a set “role” for the types of deities that each character is (but hey, if you want Leona to be the God of War, Protection, and Justice in your AU then that's totally up to you! These are just my ideas and headcanons based on aspects and characteristics of what we know about each of the characters in game). I also realize that I don’t think I was clear on how the deities were viewed or the type of timeline or “age” the story is set in, so I’ll go ahead and touch up on that before moving on to the scenario!

///

Centuries ago, the deities were once revered and feared by mortals. When “The Great Darkness” nearly destroyed the balance of the world, the Old Gods commanded they cease interactions with mortals. Shrines and temples were abandoned over time in favor of vast towns and glimmering cities of silver and glass, though the presence of the gods did not fade. Though they are spoken of as legends and fables, there is no doubt that there is something out there—someone hidden watching over sacred sites, blessing a boon to those they deem worthy of such a gift.

///

Okay, so that’s the basic premise behind why the gods are “hidden”, though I’ll be developing a much more detailed idea behind it all down the road once I figure out how to phrase things. XD In the meantime though, I will be elaborating a little more on Leona in this AU and touching up on his brother! All shall become clear in no time, but just know there’s a method to my madness. UvU Oh, and yes, there is someone else that is already the God of War, but it’s not one of the students. >3>

Also sorry if this is more angsty than fluffy, but I wanted to touch up on what would have caught his attention in this day and age when the Gods and Goddesses must remain hidden (which eventually leads to more fluffy soft scenarios and ideas).

Used she/her pronouns since that is what was requested, but I will also do he/him and they/them pronouns if requested too!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lost.

Forgotten.

Lesser.

These words swam through Leona’s mind for thousands of years, chipping away at him like a hammer to the wall. How could they not when he was the “other” God of the Sun? When mortals began to focus on his elder brother Farena, revering him as the only God of the Sun and praising his gifts of Creation and Compassion while he…he was known for his gift of Destruction. Not for the times he raised the sun while his brother would rest, or the light he created to aid the growth of crops for the mortals…nothing.

“Why am I here?” he would wonder. “What purpose does it serve to have two gods doing the same job if mortals are only going to worship one of us?”

Yet he would always receive the same answer: “The Old Gods wouldn’t have created us if we did not serve a purpose, brother. We all serve the balance—and I know you too will find your place within its circle.”

‘Right…how can I when you cast a shadow black as night?’ he thought, watching the scrying orb as the colors swirled and faded from gorgeous landscapes to towering landscapes. At this point it was the only thing that kept his interest these days—observing the world of mortals and listening to their prayers and wishes. Prayers for rain, prayers for fame and fortune, prayers for love, prayers for a bountiful harvest…so many asking for the same thing, their voices fading in and out of focus. ‘Fickle…mortals always ask for more and more, yet there’s no power behind these prayers…no heart...’

Still, he continued watching, listening and scowling when he hears his brother’s name mixed in with the prayers. Each time he felt the eldest’s shadow grow darker and darker over him, stretching so far he couldn’t see the end anymore. How much longer must he wait to find his purpose? How long must he go on pretending to be unphased by the blatant love and praise his brother received when mortals look towards the sun for warmth and comfort? How much longer must he hold on to that hope…that tiny, foolish speck of hope…that he might hear a prayer for him…?

“…I must be going mad,” he muttered softly, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his temple. “I am nothing more than the God of Destruction to these worthless bugs…couldn’t even be bothered to scrawl my name anywhere in their texts.”

Just as he was about to wave his hand over the orb to stop the flow of voices…he stopped. Had he imagined it? No…he couldn’t have…no mortal has spoken his name in generations. He was a lesser god in their eyes…

The orb changed color, revealing a small shop filled with old, dusty books and an elderly human speaking to a younger one holding a book.

“I’m surprised to see someone your age invested in the gods of old,” the store owner said, voice worn with age as he set a large tome on the counter. “Now, which of the gods did you say you wanted information on?”

“Leona,” the younger human answered, her eyes bright and curious as he could almost feel the excitement shining as bright as the sun. “He’s one of the few I haven’t been able to find much information on, so I was wondering if you had any old books that talked about him.”

“Ah, the God of Destruction,” the elder said, and once more Leona felt a twinge in his chest at the title.

“Actually, sir, one of the books I found mentioned him also being a God of the Sun with his brother Farena, though it didn’t go into much detail about it. That’s why I want to learn more. Just seems a little unfair that he does the same thing as his brother but doesn’t get any attention, don’t you think?”

…what?

“Oh, I see. Well then, let me take a look and see what else I have in store. I can’t guarantee I’ll find much, but if you’d like I can ask one of my fellow associates in another town if they might have what you’re looking for? They have a much wider selection of rare and ancient books in their collection, so I’m certain they’ll have something worth your time. Wait right here.”

“Thank you so much! I really appreciate it,” the curious human said, a wide smile on her face as she turned to flip through the massive tome and scanning the pages.

He stared in silence for what felt like an eternity, watching as the human frowned and shook her head when a passage didn’t contain what she was looking for and continuing on. Had the God of Mischief come to trick him? Make him believe that someone actually sought to learn more about him? This couldn’t be real, and yet…

There was no mistaking it. This was not a dream—what he was seeing and hearing was real. Someone wanted to know his history. His purpose.

‘…perhaps…not all mortals are as foolish as they appear,’ he thought.

He might just have to keep an eye on this mortal…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Whew! Okay so that took a lot of brainpower, but ta-da!

To clarify in case it wasn’t clear, Leona is the God of the Sun and Destruction, whereas his brother is the God of the Sun, Creation, and Compassion. I based them both on being Sun Gods due to the fact that they’re royalty and from the Afterglow Savannah, though Leona’s “destruction” title is based around his UM King’s Roar and how it was feared by everyone.

Given we don’t know much about Farena or his UM, I wanted to go about it as him having the opposite ability/title of Leona in that his ability is “creation”, an example just for visual comparison being Farena creating an oasis versus a desert like Leona’s ability would do. The “compassion” title could also be considered mercy given he’s depicted/spoken of as being kind in Chapter 2 when Leona’s having his flashback.

Hope you guys enjoyed this, and I can’t wait to write more about this AU!

[theplushmaker]

Sonic Headcanon please

Ok, here it is! another 40 headconnons! hope you enjoy!

• Sonic has a lot of family, his first being his biological family Queen Aleena, Sonia, and Manic, his second family (aka adopted family) is Jules The Hedgehog, Bernadette The Hedgehog, and Charles The Hedgehog, (also Scourge is Bernadette and Jules' biological son, making Sonic and him brothers) and last but not least, Longclaw, she was Sonics last guardian before Eggman took over the world completely, oh! And Tails is still Sonic's little brother

• Sonic knows sign language and he considers it his first language

• Sonic likes to view himself as the oldest, even though Scourge is older by ten seconds and Shadow is physically 16 (we are not counting the 50 years he was frozen in time)

• Given the fact that Sonic basically has three moms, he's come up with a way to distinguish them when he calls, he calls Aleena - momma, Bernadette - mom, and Longclaw - ma, he refuses to call any of them "mother" saying "it's too fancy for me"

• Whenever Sonic takes on a new form, they don't just disappear. They instead end up living inside Sonic's mind until he calls them to help (I can make another post explaining this a bit more if anyone wants it)

• Sonic didn't meet Tails until he was eight, which would make Tails 1 at the time (I have a complete timeline in my head, I just need to write it out XD)

• Sonic knows how to play the guitar and would take song requests from Tails. He'll sometimes write songs for Tails as well

• Sonic can sense spirits

• During the Phantom War, when Sonic was captured, he was chained to the wall (think of snatcher from ahit) with his legs locked up (similar to the cuffs Elsa from frozen had, except both legs are in one cuff)

• During Sonic's capture, Infinite would make Sonic feel as though he lost his arms/legs/hands with the phantom ruby's power, he'd also take advantage of Sonic's Aquaphobia by making him think that he was in the middle of the ocean during a storm

• Sonic doesn't want to worry anyone about what happened in the Death Egg, so he's bottling it all up, he thinks he's sneaky, but everybody knows somethings wrong

• Sonic still has Chip's necklace/bracelet in his room on a pillow. He makes sure no dust settles on it

• Sonic may be optimistic and not take things seriously, but there are times, rare as they are, when he sits down, skips all the jokes, and be serious

• Sonic's been teaching Silver sign language. He finds it funny how Silver lights up whenever he learns a new sign

• When Sonic was rescued, he was malnourished, he had lots of injuries, and most of his muscles atrophied. He spent the first few days bedridden and two months in a wheelchair and, after some physical therapy, he upgraded to crutches. He had to stay in the med bay area so the nurses could keep a better eye on him, but either way, he didn't want anyone to see him like that, and those who did don't bring it up, for his sake

• After the Phantom War, Sonic preferred to be outside more often than before. Tails stayed by his side, working on one of his smaller projects

• Sonic considers Mighty, Ray, and Knuckles as his brothers

• Sonic knows how to use a hoverboard thanks to Manic

• Sonic kicks in his sleep if he doesn't run around when he's awake, once he accidentally woke up Tails by breaking the lamp beside his bed, so now whenever Tails knows he didn't run around that much, he moves everything away from Sonic's bed before he goes to sleep

• Sonic and Tails are roommates

• Whenever there's a thunderstorm, Sonic lets Tails sleep with him

• When Tails was younger, Sonic would read him bedtime stories, sometimes even play a few lullabies with his guitar

• Sonic gave up his childhood when he was separated from Longclaw, having to learn to take care of himself, having to fight at the age of 5, lead an army with Sonia, Manic, and Sally a year later, and ending a war at 8, along with taking care of, and raising a 1-year-old two-tailed fox, Sonic didn't have much time to not worry about what would happen next (even though he never shows it)

• Sonic learned to be positive no matter what because not only did everyone around him need the positive energy, but it was also his way of telling a crumbling world under the rule of Eggman that, no matter what he did, he will never stop fighting, and he wasn't going to be knocked down by hopelessness

• Sonic is viewed as a symbol of hope by many (^)

• Sonic loves to tell stories of his adventures to children. It was also one of the things he looked forward to during the first war (aka The Robian War)

• Sonic's quills are sharp enough to pierce metal

• Sonic is an adrenaline junkie

• When Sonic was showing Knuckles around the city for the first time, he recorded the experience. Sonic will never forget the look of curiosity and wonder on Knuckles' face

• Sonic loves to record all sorts of moments, but his favorites by far are the first-timers, like bringing Tails to his first amusement park, or secretly recording Shadow trying chili dogs for the first time, or even Silver's first time seeing rain!

• Sonic doesn't remember the events of 06

• Sonic doesn't do it as often as he used to when he was younger but he does sometimes throw concerts with his siblings

• While raising Tails, Sonic hired Vector (who would be 13 at the time) to find info on Tails parents, Sonic doesn't hear back from him until a year later (Sonic thought he ran off with the money) where he's told that Tails' dad is nothing but scrap metal and his mom was killed during the Robian War, he was also told that Tails name was Miles Prower, Sonic thanked him and paid him extra for his troubles

• During the Robian War, after Sonic was on his own, he didn't meet a lot of hedgehogs, so whenever he had a health problem, he didn't go to the doctor (mostly because the doctor at the hideout didn't know how to take care of hedgehogs and would get frustrated with Sonic) instead he would learn to take care of his health by himself, this has lead to poor decision making

• Growing up wasn't easy, especially when the people around you are afraid of getting hurt by your quills, so when Sonic had his quills bent and pushed into his back during a fight, he couldn't ask someone to help remove them, so he would simply find a waterfall, sit under it and let the water dislodge the quills, afterward he'd go home and shower

• Sonic knows how to make flower crowns thanks to Cream

• Sonic likes to visit the Chao Garden, he also has a chao he calls Indigo

• During a new years party when Sonic was 9, he introduced Mighty and Ray to Vector who, then introduced them to Espio and Charmy. Sonic took lots of pictures of them and gave copies to Vector (Charmy was only a few months old while Tails was 2, and Ray would be 5 when this happened)

• Sonic didn't know how smart Tails was until he made a TV out of paperclips at the age of 5

• once, when Sonic was 12, Sonia tried to get him to comb his quills to be more organized. Sonic learned the hard way by having her drag him by his shoes back inside the castle, but not without dragging Manic down with him since he was laughing while Sonia chased Sonic