#for a second i was worried i made his tail too long but actually its just perfect. yippee!

[pyrriax]

hi tumblr i. cannot get a thought out of my head so take this little wip thing....

[ Image ID: A sketchy, grey-scale comic, reading from left to right. Zenith, a lanky, thin man with fox ears and a long tail walks toward the right, having an indistinct conversation with another character who isn't visible. His ears are tilted back, and his shoulders are raised; he's nervous about where he's going. A small triangular cut out on the top right shows Zenith's expression as he stops, he's looking down at something, and looks afraid. His ears are pinned completely back, and his mouth is open slightly in shock. There's a small dialogue box between this cut out and the next, reading in shaky text, "what the...". The next cut out is a trapezoid on the bottom right, almost connecting with the top. There's an indistinct person sitting on the ground, half-leaning against the wall with their head down. Their hands are cuffed together, and their legs are splayed. They've been hit in the head. There's blood on the side of their head, dripping down their face and onto their arms, as well as blood smeared on the floor. /End ID. ]

@my-little-versaille (in case you want to reblog it for your own storage purposes :3)

[millenianthemums]

chapter 3 of my fic is up! i actually posted it a week ago, but was too tired to finish the art until now… i might not actually be able to draw for every single chapter, but i still wanna try. we’ll see.

Previous chapter

First chapter

Mabel had become best friends with Tate McGucket’s new dog in under a week. She knew she would eventually, but still, that was record time. And with all the old friends she’d been tirelessly catching up with in her first few days back in Gravity Falls, she was both proud and preemptively exhausted to have added a new friend to the list already.

It helped that Scout Cottonball McGucket was the absolute sweetest puppy she’d ever met (a puppy that was taller than her on two legs was a puppy nonetheless). She was one of those huge fluffy white dogs– a Great Pyranese, Dipper had said– and her heart was just as soft and sweet and cuddly as the rest of her. Hence “Cottonball”, the unauthorized middle name Mabel had secretly given her. The plan was to get it to stick so well that by the time Tate found out about it, it would be impossible to get rid of it.

So when she cycled by the lake and saw Tate out in the rain that afternoon, and managed to wrangle out of him that Scout was missing , of course she was going to help look. Total no-brainer. Her search-and-rescue strategy of biking along the treeline at a snail pace while whistling and calling Scout’s name wasn’t exactly sophisticated, but before long she caught a lucky break. She started hearing a weird noise through the rain, a distant but piercing screech. At first she assumed it was a red fox or maybe a mountain lion screaming its head off somewhere in the woods, and tried to steer clear of it. But then a series of powerful barks joined it– Scout’s beautiful voice!-- and Mabel’s self-preservation fled. No way was some wailing overgrown house cat gonna hurt her new friend on her watch!

She swerved toward the noise, yelling for Scout, and soon a shape barrelled toward her out of the darkness. She was only terrified for a split second, but then she saw its wagging tail and leapt off her bike to give the dog a massive hug. Scout jumped and wagged and danced around joyfully as Mabel scrubbed her hands all through her thick coat. “You’re okay!” she cheered as Scout nuzzled her face. “We were all so worried, young lady… aww, I can’t stay mad at you! Maybe just– oof–” she shoved Scout’s massive paws off her shoulders and tried to wipe the muddy pawprints off her sweater before they soaked into the wool. “Maybe just settle down a little– whoa! Hey! Oh, you’re such a silly–”

“YOU.”

She recognized the voice right away. Part of her brain had never stopped hearing it. Her head turned toward it against her will, and standing there in the woods, staring her down, was exactly what she was most afraid to see.

Bill Cipher. The triangle guy who almost killed the entire world last time she’d been here. The monster who tricked her into helping him almost tear her family apart. The thing that had almost scared her into not coming back this year, into abandoning this place and the people she loved so much, out of fear that she’d somehow mess it all up again. The single worst thing that had ever happened to her. He was standing right in front of her. The streaks of mud and bruising, bloody gashes all over his face (body? surface?) made him look like he’d just clawed his way straight out of Hell, and the look in his eye seemed to say that he’d done it just to tear her apart with his bare hands.

She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. Please, please let her be dreaming. Let her wake up…

Then he started talking, and she realized something was off.

“YYYOUUU DIDTHIISSSS,” was all she could really make out. He was saying lots more stuff, but the words were blurring together, so clumsy and slurred that it didn’t even sound like language. He started trying to walk toward her– walk , like on the ground , which she’d never seen him do in his triangle form. And he was barely managing it. Every raindrop that hit him seemed to be weighing him down as he approached, oozing blood— weird silver blood with an eye-melting rainbow sheen— from countless gashes on his arms and legs, and even between the brick things on his body/face. The finger gun he was holding out seemed like it was supposed to be aiming at her, but his whole arm was shaking more than the leaves in the summer storm. He trailed off speaking— the only other thing she’d caught was “I WON’T”— and his eye locked on her face. His eye was bloodshot, pink, shiny and sticky, like a wad of chewed gum. It looked horribly painful. Everything about him looked painful.

As she stared, his pupil shrank to a tiny point. His eye turned bright red, and the redness spread out into his bricks— scales?— like a fire burning behind drywall. For a second she thought he was about to turn into that giant crimson nightmare pyramid he’d shapeshifted into last year, and she almost turned and ran as he let out a scream and started to run at her…

…and fell on his face.

Mabel and Scout stood there, staring in silence, as Bill Cipher laid face-down and motionless in the mud. The woods were still filled with the low roar of rain, but somehow Mabel felt a heavy silence crushing her lungs.

Once her heart had stopped beating so fast, she risked a step toward him. Scout made a soft rumble of warning, but let her approach. Bill gave absolutely no sign that he knew she was there as she drew closer, until she was standing right beside him, close enough to see the gold scales on his back heaving rhythmically up and down. Slow, labored breathing. Had she ever seen him breathe before? She didn’t think he even did that. At least not normally. But from the looks of it, this was hardly a normal day for him. He really did look awful. One of his arms was a bloody mess, leather skin all ragged and torn. He probably had Scout to thank for that. She gave the dog an affectionate scratch behind her ear.

But the torn-up arm was far from his only injury. And she didn’t know how to tell health from illness in… whatever he was… but she was pretty sure he was usually a much brighter shade of yellow than this. He looked drained of color.

After several seconds of nothing happening, she noticed a big, durable-looking stick lying at the base of a nearby tree. She retrieved it, and after a few deep breaths and a bit of hyping herself up– “if he was gonna jump up and grab you he could have done it by now” -- she held out the stick and gave him a slight but purposeful nudge.

Nothing. He just barely twitched enough to show he was still alive. He was totally out cold.

She was getting concerned. That was a new experience, feeling concern for Bill. He’d done so much terrible stuff, but still… was she watching a man die? Or a triangle, rather? Was she about to see a triangle die?

A voice in the distance cut through the rain. Mabel jumped back and held the stick like a baseball bat on reflex. Then she recognized it, just as Scout’s tail started wagging. It was Tate McGucket’s voice. “Mabel? Scout? Is that you out there?”

“It’s us! Hi!” Mabel chirped, then realized her mistake. Leading Tate toward Bill would almost definitely end with somebody dying. And whoever it ended up being, she just really didn’t want to see that. With a few more quick, anxious nudges, she managed to shove Bill most of the way under a nearby bush just as Tate’s flashlight beam swept through the trees to find them. Scout took off running toward it and Mabel quickly followed, snagging the handlebars of her bike along the way. She arrived in time to see Tate grinning and ruffling Scout’s furry face as she stood with her paws on his chest. He looked up to see Mabel and quickly shoved the dog off him. “I keep tellin’ you not to jump like that, girl!” he said sternly.

“She must’ve run off chasing something,” Mabel offered as casually as possible. “But she ran up as soon as she heard me! She’s a good puppy!”

“Wish she minded me half that well,” he grumbled, patting Scout on the head. “Good on you for findin’ her, Mabel. I really can’t thank you enough–”

“You don’t have to thank me!” Mabel said, shooing the thought away with her hands. “I’m always happy to help out a friend!” Scout gave a quiet, appreciative “boof” as she scratched her ear.

“Let me drive you back home, then,” Tate said. “You shouldn’t be biking in this rain anyway. ‘Specially once it gets dark.”

Mabel shot an involuntary glance at the bushes behind her. If she left now, she might not find this same spot again. And if she lost track of Bill, if she went home not knowing if he was still out there somewhere, or if he might follow her…

“...Well, the others aren’t expecting me back ‘til eight,” she said slowly. That was true; she’d been out cycling well past sunset most nights since she and Dipper arrived. Ever since she’d gotten really into biking in the fall, she’d been eager to try out the trails in Gravity Falls, and now she was getting as much use out of them as she could. The Grunkles were cool with it. They both figured a girl who’d helped fight off a paranormal apocalypse could handle herself in the dark woods for an hour or two. And they were right, she thought proudly. She’d gotten really fast on her bike in the past few months. She could probably outspeed a grizzly bear with ease. Those guys were way too big and bulky to pedal well.

“Plus, I think the rain’s supposed to let up soon,” she continued. “Would it be okay if I just hung around the bait shop for a little bit, and then biked home after?”

“Sure thing,” Tate said, looking grateful for something to offer. “I’ll tell the missus to put some tea on. Scout, heel.” He clicked his fingers, and Scout followed close beside him as he headed back to the house.

Mabel waited until his back was turned. Then she picked up the stick again and drove it hard into the ground, at the base of the bush that hid Bill. Backing up a bit, making sure it would stay upright, she nodded to herself. It would work well enough as a landmark.

“I’ll come back later,” she whispered under her breath as she trailed behind Tate and Scout. “If he’s gone, I’ll run home and tell Dipper and the Grunkles. And if he’s dead, then… problem solved. I think.”

And if this is all a trick? Some cynical part of her brain piped up. If he’s luring you back into some kind of trap, then what? You gonna fall for it like last time?

“No,” she whispered back through gritted teeth. “Not again.”

One hand wandered to the cupholder on her bike that held her grappling hook. Fingers resting on its handle, she followed the others out of the woods.

The sun had fully hidden behind the horizon by the time Mabel left. The rain had lightened to a gentle mist, barely noticeable really, and she hadn’t wanted to stay out too late. So once she’d finished her tea (augmented with all the spare sugar packets Mrs. McGucket had claimed to own), she’d said goodbye to Scout and her humans and set out for home. She sent a quick text to Dipper on the way out, letting him know she’d be a little bit late getting back. Just got sidetracked, sorry, nothing to worry about.

But there was something to worry about. She saw the stick loom out of the darkness as she cycled up. The rain had almost washed it out of the ground, leaving it standing crooked. The sharp, jutting angle reminded her of that picture Dipper showed her once of a nuclear waste dump or something, where they’d put some scary black spikes in a desert to try and scare people away. “This place is best shunned and left uninhabited”.

She shouldn’t be doing this. This was so stupid. It didn’t make any sense to get closer.

But she was already standing over the bush. She wrenched the stick out of the ground and gripped it like a sword. She held it at arm’s length and pushed aside the foliage, reaching back for the grappling hook in her pocket with her other hand.

The dim light glinted off something shiny and yellow. She drew back a step, instinctive, but the shape didn’t jump at her. It didn’t move at all. Bill Cipher was still exactly where she’d left him.

Did he actually die? She felt her chest tighten, which was stupid. It was good if he was dead. He was already supposed to be dead. She should be thrilled to think he might have died under that bush, all his threats left unfulfilled.

Did I just walk away while he was dying?

Her hand was shaking. She tried to draw the stick back, but it bumped against one of his arms as it went.

It twitched. The fist clenched and drew back in toward the body. Mabel almost bit through her tongue from flinching too hard, but there was no further movement.

He was alive. Barely.

Mabel’s chest was so tight, it felt like she couldn’t breathe. This was the worst case scenario. He wasn’t gone somewhere. He didn’t jump up and scare her and at least provide some clue about what was going on. And he wasn’t dead. But he probably would be in a few hours. And there was nobody in the world who would ever possibly help. Nobody who even could, except her.

This was so STUPID. You already helped him once, Mabel. Remember? You helped him almost kill your whole family. You really wanna go another round?

But thinking about just walking away made her feel sick. She’d never just walked away from something that was dying before. How many wasps had she fished out of pools in her life? How many times had her parents scolded her for bringing wounded squirrels and raccoons inside? Those were bad ideas too. “Trash the house and get stung” ideas. But the wasps and squirrels and raccoons all lived. If she hadn’t done that stupid thing, they would have died. Not helping had never even felt like an option.

“He already died once before,” she whispered to the angry voice in her head. “He might come back again, someplace else, and cause a bunch more problems we don’t even know about until it’s too late.��� She popped open the little wicker trunk on the back of her bike and pulled out her emergency picnic blanket. “Maybe if I, like, put him somewhere secure. And keep a good close eye on him. And then when he wakes up, I can get some answers here.”

The angry voice wasn’t convinced by her rationalizations. It kept yelling about how stupid she was as she draped the blanket over Bill, then gingerly lifted him, using the blanket like gloves, too scared to touch him directly. He weighed practically nothing; about the same as a large picture frame. The voice kept berating her as she shoved him into the bike’s front basket– no way was she putting him in the trunk and pedaling all the way home with her back to him. The front basket was just big enough that, with the blanket over him, he looked like a misshapen, mostly unsuspicious lump. She biked along the side of the road, eyes flickering back and forth between the basket and the pavement ahead, for the whole ride home. The voice was still at it by the time she leaned her bike against the wall of the Mystery Shack, but the louder and meaner it got, the less inclined she felt to listen to its advice. She knew this was a dumb idea. But she’d come this far, and there were no other good options.

They’d discovered, like, six new secret rooms since Grunkle Ford first made it back home. Some of them even he had forgotten about. There was one in the basement that she and Dipper had taken to calling “Gay Baby Jail”, because they’d started a habit of banishing defeated board game opponents down there. Also because it was small, cramped, almost empty, and only had one tiny, high window into the backyard, which for some reason had bars on it.

For all these reasons, it was the perfect habitat for Bill. There was a bathroom in the back, and they’d spruced the room up with a beanbag chair and one of those empty wooden chests from the gift shop, just to tie the room together. He’d be fine in there. Probably.

It was easy to sneak in the back door and down to the basement. Dipper, Stan and Ford were all chatting in the kitchen, working on dinner. It smelled like something was on fire, but she still really wished she was in there with them. This was to keep them safe, she reminded herself as she eased open the door to Gay Baby Jail.

She turned the blanket bundle upside down and dumped Bill out onto the beanbag chair. He was still out cold, lying there in a pile of noodly limbs, but at least he was still breathing. She dropped the blanket on top of him and backed away.

Looking him over, she frowned. A small bite wound on his arm was still oozing silver blood. It would ruin the beanbag chair pretty soon. She sighed and started digging through her pockets.

Gingerly, with as few fingers as possible, she pressed a sky blue band-aid over the wound. “You didn’t earn that,” she whispered. “That’s for practical reasons only.”

With one last look around the room, she jabbed a finger at him. “I’ll be back,” she said, practicing her Interrogation Voice. “And when you wake up, I want answers, Geometry Boy.”

Bill stayed asleep. Mabel shut the door, locked it, tested the lock. It held strong.

She took a deep breath and straightened up, switching from Serious Mode back to Mabel Mode. Then she snuck back outside, knocked on the front door, and joined her family for dinner.

[hypnoneghoul]

Rain eating Dewdrop pussy and not coming up for air what…. Need more pls. Elaborate??

i will never not elaborate on gill stuff

also what doja cat said about noses... yk

Dewdrop feels like he’s dying.

He might be, actually, but if so, then that would possibly be the best way to die.

He’s lost count of how many times Rain has made him cum already—though the water ghoul himself most definitely is keeping count and will proudly share the number with him later—and it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on stopping anytime soon. He’s been buried in his mate’s cunt for what not only felt, but, in fact, was hours.

He’s been down there for his own enjoyment, really. Pleasuring Dewdrop is a nice bonus, but when Rain gets lost in pussy, he does it mostly for himself.

With his gills unglamored it isn’t hard to do so.

His fingers are digging into the fire ghoul’s skinny thighs that are framing his head—holding him down. He had doubts about fully sitting on Rain’s face, but now he’s all but a sack of potatoes; he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up even if he wanted to.

“R–Rain, oh, fuck, shit,” Dewdrop moans as the water ghoul pushes him over the edge once again and does not resurface. The smaller ghoul above him shakes like a leaf, gripping onto the headboard of their bed in front of him for dear life.

Dewdrop feels air escaping Rain’s gills on his legs when he hums into his cunt. He whines in overstimulation again and the water ghoul is merciful enough to move back and lick over and into his rim for a moment to give Dewdrop’s sensitive pussy a little break.

His ass is as wet with both spit and slick as his cunt—with how long they’ve been at it—and Rain’s method of basically fucking Dewdrop with his nose as he makes out with his other hole is definitely not helping the fire ghoul’s sanity.

He moans loud and high and curses his own body for giving in to his mate’s ministrations so easily. It hurts and yet his hips grind down against Rain’s drenched face even more. At least they don’t have to worry about him suffocating.

Beard burn on the delicate skin of Dewdrop’s thighs and all around his cunt is a bigger worry. Rain will lick him there, too, later.

In apology and thanks.

Not yet, though. He digs his fingers further into the fire ghoul’s legs and squeezes twice—asking for permission to go on. He doesn’t want to pull back even for a second to ask out loud.

Dewdrop breathes heavily and his tail seems to have a mind of its own when it squeezes Rain’s arm twice in return—in affirmation. He doesn’t have time to prepare for when the water ghoul’s unglamored tongue plunges deep into his asshole as he pulls his hips and pushes his cunt further down onto his nose.

[nisuna]

Hi hello everyone<3 I'm so sorry for disappearing for a whole two months 🥲 Some of you may have seen the post about me breaking my tail bone ha ha..

I was just feeling so deflated and uninspired... HOWEVER, the love for my cult!leader!Geto x non!sorcerer!f!reader AU won after all!!! I just have to release everything I have planned for this timeline, ehe it's so precious to me🫶🏻

I have been reading A LOT of manhwas recently, and yesterday's chapter just made me want to write again, yaaayy

So I present to you part two of the smut adventures of cult leader geto 🥰 Hope you enjoy!!

Check out the cult leader headcannons here!<3 and Part 1 here

TW: public sex, soft geto????, calling him by his first name:))), different positions, biting, unprotected sex; he still calls you pet, of course; voyeurism, 1k words

<3masterlist<3

Cult leader Geto just couldn't get enough of you. Once he got a taste, he would continue fucking you all throughout the whole day. So it was just one of those days. Having everyone watch you whimper and squirm in pleasure just spurred his excitement on impossibly more. He never considered voyeurism to be his thing, but you have opened his eyes to many new things. Most importantly, you didn't even realise how strong of a grip you actually had on him.

There was nothing unusual about today's session in front of everyone. You looked and sounded breathtaking while laying beneaty him, exposed for everyone to see while panting his name. The first time he fucked you in front of everyone you were beyond embarassed. You kept hiding and looking for reassurance that never came. But now you were letting it all out. All shame was thrown out of the window, instead replaced by pure lust. You were getting off on being watched.

"Mhhh~~ Geto-sama!!", you kept screaming while he pounded away at your sopping wet cunt.

Everyone called him Geto-sama. Hearing you moan it was nothing out of the ordinary. However, today, that name just wasn't doing it for him. But he pushed those thoughts away as swiftly as they appeared and continued with his ministrations.

Later that day you were still helplessly sobbing that darn "Geto-sama" you have been doing while getting fucked in front of his followers.

Weirdly enough, he was actually getting sick of it. Hearing his title slip through your kiss-swollen lips reminded him of all of his followers. It was getting distracting at this point, so he swiftly picked you up and sat you back down on his lap.

As he was bottoming out, another trembling chant of his name made its way out of your mouth.

"AH- Geto-sama" you mumbled, back arching and nails digging into his firm back.

"Enough of that, pet!", he he raised his voice in annoyance while squeezing your cheeks between his long fingers. You were definitely caught off guard, shrieking in fear. "Did-I do anyfing -rong?? 'Msory Geto-sa- ow", you slurred, eyes trembling with fear but couldn't finish as his grip on your jaw only tightened. He was starting to hurt you, but you were too scared to resist.

He kept a fist-full of your face while pulling your face in front of his. He kept you in his grasp for what felt like forever burning holes into you with his sharp eyes. You stayed silent throughout.

After minutes of silence, he finally let go of you. You could feel the burning sensation his fingerprints left on your face but didn't dare to move despite the pain. You've learned the hard way to never pull away from him.

"Try Suguru.", he said monotonously, but you swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch up in amusement for a split second.

You looked at him with a confused stare, mumbling "Sugu-", before you could finish, you slapped a hand over your mouth with a loud gasp. That was his first name. "Geto-sama, I couldn't possibly, that's too -"

Your distressed voice did arouse him, but it also made him want to soothe your worried expression. Another eye-opening experience he's never had with his followers before meeting you, compassion. He didn't dwell on it for long, though, and just interrupted.

"Do it for me. I wish to hear you say it.", his voice sounded awfully soft and genuine all of a sudden. Like he was desperately yearning for you to say it.

Has he gone mad? How could you call him by his first name? What would the others think? No. But before you could speak again, he added, "But only in the bedroom, this is between you and me only."

Between you and him only? Over the time you stayed with him, you did start feeling his demeanour soften around you. He was letting you see much more than anyone else. But you kept pushing these thoughts away. They were ridiculous, Geto-sama seeing you as something special? No way.

Yes way.

You hesitated. You swore to obey his every word. You couldn't just push his request aside. You mustered all the courage you had as he grabbed your hips in excitement.

"I-if you wish so, I will try. S-suguru..sama."

You didn't expect to see him grin as widely and toothy as he did in this exact moment.

"Atta girl, such a good pet you are. Good girls like you", he whispered, leaning in while nibbling up your neck. "deserve a reward. Now, on all fours."

-----

The next few times he fucked you in front of the others you actually had to concentrate on calling him Geto-sama. Oddly enough you grew accustomed to calling him Suguru during sex way to easily.

So one day, while your legs were thrown over his shoulders, kimono ripped open to expose your plush breasts, you almost slipped and fell.

You kept begging him to please slow down, but his tempo was relentless, stamina seemingly never ending during today's session. You tried getting used to it and calming down, but you just couldn't hold it in any longer at one point.

"Mhh.. Sugu~~", you moaned out before you could comprehend what you have just done. You just dumbly pressed your soft tits against his firm chest.

You froze as his hips came to a halt completely. He was staring at you with wide eyes. Oh you're fucked. But to your surprise a punishment didn't follow, instead he leaned down and whispered.

"If you can't control your words, you can bite my shoulder to calm down. Here.", he whispered gently.

You were definitely going to take him up on that offer when he was being so kind right now.

You gave him a nod, opening your mouth. He smiled before sensually rocking his hips into yours. He was as gentle as the night you shared your first kiss.

The reassurance you had been looking for finally came in the form of his soft gaze. You felt at ease, but when you finally bit down, you almost screamed at his growl and how he picked up his speed. The soothing rhythm from before was long forgotten. With the way his cock was bullying itself inside your gummy walls so aggressively, calming down wasn't an option. Seems like his plan backfired. The bite was making him lose his mind.

Oh well, better keep biting that shoulder, girl, or you won't be able to stop yourself from screaming his (first) name. ;)

-----

Hope to see you very soon with more stuff!!<3 Stay tuned and thank you for all of the support even while I was gone🙆🏻‍♀️ Confession or mirror sex next??? or maybe first time ehe lmk what I should cook 😈

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Jane, Medical Technician

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry I’m late doctor, this ship is huge.” Jane hadn’t realized until she got on board that her quarters were halfway across the ship and a full deck up from her work station in the Med Bay. She was going to have to fabricate some more sensible shoes at this rate. She wished she could have her own synthetic tree put into the med bay, just roll outta the hammock and get straight to work, but those perks belonged to the head doctor on the ship.

“It’s fine, it’s just day one,” said Doctor Huhuma, brushing it off with a wave of her furred hand. “I think I can trust these people to go at least a week without almost dying.”

While Jane Shaw was a doctor in her own right, the head physician on board the Noah was Doctor Huhuma, an Indoprime, something akin to the moneys on E24 in the Terran system, locally called Earth. They were so similar in fact that multiple ongoing studies were being conducted to see if they had any common genetic ancestry. Indoprimes stood just as tall as humans on two legs, with two arms that hung down to their torsos. The only real difference was the fur and semi prehensile tails.

“We’ve only left the station a few hours ago, what could have happened? I think today will be quiet at least,” Jane joked. As if the universe heard her and quietly whispered ‘bet’, the door to Med Bay hissed opened and in walked one of the engineers with a thin length of pipe all the way through their arm. Their green blood was a stark contrast to their gray skin and jumpsuit, and their face was turning ashen.

“Oh for- why?” Doctor Huhuma rushed over to the fresh patient. “Thanks for that, Jinxed Jane. Grab a kit, I’ll get him on the table. You had to say the Q-word, huh?”

God damnit, Jane thought. Hours into a first shift and the nickname has already come up. Jinxed Jane had followed her all throughout her residency on Earth and apparently it’d made its way into her GAIL file too.

You accidentally bump a few nurses during surgery and they never let you forget it, she thought miserly. There was a reason she was trying to get away from people who knew her. Jinxed Jane was one of them.

She grabbed a kit from the shelves and brought it to the table, handing the med scanner to the doctor.

“Thank you…sorry. For the-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jane didn’t want to think about it.

The little gray guy on the table was breathing hard. His life wasn’t in any danger, thankfully, but the pipe was only a half inch thinner than his arm. Jane recognized his species from the crew list, he was one of the Gally. Apparently they’d been to earth a ton of times in the past, abducting cattle and occasionally leaving crop circles as a joke. They’d actually shown up so often that the Gally were the default for ‘Alien’ in pop culture in the Terran System. Throughout the Galaxy and especially the GAIL member planets, the Gally were known to be obnoxious pranksters of the highest order.

“Oouuuch,” said the Gally, wincing at the pain.

“Get him a shot of something good for the pain, this’ll take a second.” The med scanner wasn’t done compiling.

“On it.” Jane grabbed a dose of multi-species painkiller from the kit, took the cap off with her teeth, and jabbed it into his thigh. Almost immediately the Gally relaxed.

“Laser wave scalpel, please,” Doctor Huhuma asked.

“Here.” Jane handed her the tool quickly, a short cylinder tapered on one end. The doctor clicked it on and a red beam several centimeters long sprouted from the tip.

“Cover his eyes for me, this might throw sparks.”

“Got it, Doc.”

Jane grabbed a surgical mask and slipped it on the Gally’s face, then took a stainless steel tray and used it to shield their eyes. Huhuma leaned down and with one hand covering her eyes, she used the laser saw to cut the pipe as close to the skin as possible. The Gally flinched at first so Jane put her hand on his shoulder to comfort him as best she could.

The pipe fell, one end red hot, and Huhuma caught it with her tail before it hit the floor.

“Okay,” the doctor said, “easy part is done, this is where it will probably be awful for you.”

“How?” The Gally asked, speaking for the first time other than slight groans of pain.

“Why don’t you tell us your name so we can get this filed away after we’re done?”

“I’m an engineer below decks, my name is Simms of the Gall-”

Huhuma pulled the pipe out the other side of his arm, causing Simms to break off his introduction for a yelp of pain. The doctor quickly took the tissue regenerator, commonly called a Patch Box, and started closing up the wound.

“Well, Simms of the Gally, my name is Doctor Huhuma, and this is Doctor Shaw. You’re our very first patient on this ship, and let me tell you, I wasn’t expecting anything to happen before we left the system, so while I go start the paperwork, Doctor Shaw is going to finish up for me.”

Huhuma handed over the device before walking calmly into her office. Jane wasn’t sure but she thought she heard a long sigh before the door closed, but that could’ve just been the door’s hydraulics.

“I don’t believe she likes me,” Simms said.

“Oh you’re fine, she’s just…settling into the ship, I suppose. So yeah, like she said, I’m Doctor Jane Shaw, and I suppose I’ll be your doctor now, so it’s nice to meet you, though I’m wondering how you got a pipe through your arm.”

“Oh, that.” Apparently it was possible for people with gray skin to blush. They just got a little darker in the cheeks.

“I kinda deserved it. One of the other humans in engineering, Thomas I think, was doing something weird with the drone he picked up, and we thought it’d be funny to prank him.”

“What was he doing?”

“Well it’s a service drone, it shouldn’t even be active right now right? He’s got one of the ones that crawls into maintenance channels and fixes the wiring, and he’s got it playing one of your human’s game things, and he’s just talking to it like a person, for hours!”

“And what did you do?”

“Well, we thought about cabling his shoes to the catwalk but I, uhh, slipped and fell into some exposed pipping.”

“Hence the arm.”

“Yes, hence my arm.”

“So you could say if you hadn’t been being a jerk, this could’ve been avoided. Can’t wait to tell your primary care giver that her crew are idiots and jerks. Leave the guy alone, if he’s not hurting anything then it doesn’t matter.”

“What, do you know the guy? He your friend or something?”

Jane didn’t particularly like the tone of the conversation anymore, but wanted to be professional.

“Never met the guy, but if you keep coming in here for pointless procedures like this, the chances of you getting the wrong doses are gonna get pretty high.”

Professional. Right.

“Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend the humans, we’ll leave him alone, okay?” Simms seemed way more afraid than Jane figured he should be, but rolled with it.

“Good. Now, how would you rate your care today?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aside from the rough start, the day in the Med Bay went by relatively easily. Jane met the nurses and other support staff she’d be working with, and they all seemed very nice. A couple of the senior officers came down to introduce themselves to Doctor Huhuma and herself, and the 3 other Indoprime came down to have lunch together in the office, primarily fruits and such. Jane went to the mess hall and enjoyed small talk with a delightful short haired alien that she almost immediately forgot the name of.

It wasn’t until she was coming back to the Med Bay that things took a turn. Rounding the corner, Jane saw the door to Med Bay open and a very suspicious looking Simms the Gally come out, looking both ways down the hall before practically jogging down to the corner and out of sight.

Jane sped up and ducked her head into the clinic. There was a giant string of crop circles on the wall drawn in what looked like an oil paint.

Now, she wasn’t sure when she started sprinting, but before she knew it, Jane was already within 20 yards of Simms the Gally.

“YOU LITTLE FUCKER!”

Simms spun around, eyes wide.

“Oh shit what the fu-”

That was as far as he got before she tackled him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doctor Huhuma watched the door while Doctor Jane Shaw watched the gray alien known as Simms the Gally sponge wash the crop circles off the Med Bay wall.

“So when in this big plan of yours did you think it was a good idea to piss off your doctors?” Jane asked, arms crossed.

“When I thought you’d still be in the mess hall for another 30 seconds.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Huhuma laughed, the sound coming from deep in her chest. Jane smiled at her. It was a good, hearty kind of laugh. It suited her.

“So are you guys gonna tell the captain about this?”

Jane thought for a second, then turned to Huhuma and shrugged.

“Your call boss.”

“I think if you just clean this place up…once a week, till we tell you otherwise, we could keep this to ourselves.”

Simms the Gally groaned, but kept scrubbing.

Jane the human laughed.

Huhuma the Indoprime smiled at her.

Liking the new job so far, Jane thought. This’ll be fun.

[queer-here-and-in-fear]

remember (to call back)

A03 link

description:

Stanford Pines swayed in the wind, carelessly perched on the cabin. More relaxed and still then Fiddleford could remember him ever being. Icicles clung to his glasses, his lips were tinted blue. The sight made Fiddleford’s heart jump into his throat. OR Fiddleford McGucket (and Stanley Pines) are both deadset on keeping Stanford from killing himself. Something he is not trying to do.

notes:

i am so happy to finally have this out!! @anonymous-chicken-was-taken and @kitkatcatmeow (both @ tumblr) were my beta readers and were AMAZING HELP, a million thanks to them!! i hope its a good read!!

Gravity Falls winter winds were darned vicious; they fought and kicked like any wild hog. It was as if the weather itself was trying to keep him away from that cabin, and Fiddleford reckoned his boots would be scuffed like shit after this. 

He couldn’t call it in now, though. He just couldn’t. The cabin - the hole to hell Ford had dug himself with his bare hands, the monument to all the terrible and wonderful and deadly parts of Stanford Pines, every single mistake of the last years, - it had what he needed. The memory gun.

Cause Fiddleford could not go on remembering.

He was sure that there was nothing on this earth or another that would soothe his thoughts as long as he remembered. He would go back there - just this once, to sleep again, spend his nights without any of his kickin’. Once he had the gun in his hand, he could move on. No more weight around his neck. No more restless nights.

By the time he could make out the cabin, the winds were finally letting up on him. It would only be two shakes of a lambs tail before he was in and out. Yet, as he made his way closer to the dim light in the snow, his legs stopped moving, and it was far harder to keep himself standing than it ever had been in the wind. Not for any reason but what he saw. What his eyes were locked onto on the roof above.

A figure stood on the roof. No, wait. Ford. Stanford Pines swayed in the wind, carelessly perched on the cabin. More relaxed and still then Fiddleford could remember him ever being. Icicles clung to his glasses, his lips were tinted blue. 

The sight made Fiddleford’s heart jump into his throat. He reckoned- it-it must’ve been hours Ford had been up there, then. Hours on the roof, staring ahead, near unseeing. He sure didn’t see F, anyway. 

The south wasn’t known for it’s stunning mental health - or whatever it were called, anyway. Fiddleford surely picked that up, any courses starting with a psy mostly got slept through, but he learned some things anyway. That uncle that ain’t allowed near razors, or the unexplainable boot marks he found on the edge of the roof, that no one would explain. Fiddleford knew what this meant.

There was a part of him - a terrible little part, that told him to let Ford choose his own path and just get what he came for. God knows McGucket didn’t exactly have a good track record in convincing the stubborn idiot. What was the point in trying to talk him down if he’d just jump anyway? The snow was too thick for the fall to work, that was clear enough. Maybe a few broken bones would set him straight. 

.. Of course, that weren’t the part of him that he were raised to listen to. No, if he listened to that part of him, he might actually have a good life. Instead, here he was. If Ford jumped - the impact might not kill him, but the hypothermia would get him anyway - and McGucket could still feel that debt to him heavy on his heart. His mind was made up from the second he saw him. 

“Oh Ford.” The words didn’t carry the resentment he intended. They just sounded worried. Exhausted, but worried.

He caught his eyes back on Ford and steadied himself. His vision was clearer now. Ford's eyes - behind the fog and icicles - were wide with a strange mania. His entire body shook from the cold, but more notably his breathing hitched as if he was sobbing.. or laughing. He couldn’t make out what the thin noise was in the wind. Either way, it made him choke back vomit rising in his throat.

He bit back all those feelings until he was just left with focus. That was enough. He pushed his sleeves up his arms and stared ahead. One of the good things he learned from the country was the ability to get places quick. The human body was an amazing machine when used right - and he didn’t need no ladders or reasonable safety equipment to get up that roof. Just himself, his mind, and thank god he still had that if nothing else.

He traced his eyes up the path. He dug his boots into the snow until he hit the dirt. He dropped the bag he brought into the snow, supplies be damned. Not once did he breathe. Finally, finally, he sucked in a deep breath, rubbed his palms together, and bolted like the devil was fast after him. 

The moment could’ve only been six, seven seconds in all. Running like hell. Clambering up the snow bank that built up every year desperately. Feeling it implode under his weight right as he threw himself forward - and barely managed to haul himself onto the roof.

The roof creaked under his weight, but there was no reaction from Ford. Looking up from where he was, those manic eyes didn’t look wide anymore, but.. thin. Elongated, like something had pinched the edges of his pupils and stretched.. He weren’t gonna think too hard on it. It wasn’t his business, not anymore. He shook himself back to the task at hand, trying to get his bearings. His only business was keeping him alive.

Climbing up the roof wasn’t easy, but it weren’t impossible either. It took a focus, sure, but it became a rhythm eventually. Catching his boots and hands on the shingles that were dry enough to grasp, and pulling himself up as quietly as he could. His hand was inches away from Ford's ankle in seconds. As he pulled himself forward to grasp, though, his boot caught on a faulty shingle with too much confidence. He yelped like a kicked dog and started to slip, but-

But a hand caught him. A six fingered, ice cold hand wrapped around his wrist. Loose enough to make him feel like he was about to drop. Tight enough to hurt. He froze. The hand pulled him up, and he clambered along with, pliant under the touch. He was met with a wide eyed grin. 

“Sup, Specs!” Fiddleford stiffened hearing the words. That didn’t sound anything like his Ford, it was wrong. All wrong wrong wrong. 

“You know, I really should’ve predicted you coming on a rescue mission for Brainiac here.” The third person rung strange. “You’ve always loved a good pet project. You started out fixing up old defective washing machines in the back yard. Now, you got a whole defective person!” 

Fiddleford gaped. He hadn’t ever told Ford that.. had he? 

A choked noise was forced out of when the grip on his wrist tightened painfully. Ford only grinned at the look on his face. “Sudden organ failure at a hundred and eight doesn’t sound too hot, does it Fiddler? How about I avoid that for you, by killing you NOW?”

Ford let go of his wrist, and instead got a death grip along his collar. Fiddleford's knees crumpled under him, but Ford's grip held him up. He choked as the collar pulled against his neck, and tried so hard to speak, to ask him why, to talk him down, to say I’m sorry. None of it came out. Ford dangled him over the edge of the cabin, and leaned in to whisper, hot wet breath on his ear. “By the way, nice hologram theory Specs. Realllyyy liked that one.”

Fiddleford turned to look at him, and he spat chewing tobacco in his eyes.

There was a scream, and next thing he knew he was gripping on to the edges of a vest and dragging someone down with him. He held onto Ford for dear fucking life as they fell. They slammed into the ground, snow biting at any exposed skin. Fiddleford's head was cushioned by the body under him. Ford's head hit the hard ground with a thunk. His stomach dropped, and his hands scrambled up to check his heart rate.

There was a beat of silence before his hands found the spot, and he felt the steady beat underneath. The relief was immense, but god the skin was ice cold, stinging to the touch. His hands wandered up naturally, and Ford leaned into the touch desperately in his unconscious state. 

The sight was jarring, because- Ford had tried to kill him. No concern in his eyes. No second thoughts. Really, truly, tried to kill him.. Had Ford gone mad in his absence, or was he always like this? Fiddleford hated that he wasn’t confident in either answer. He hated more that it didn’t make him reconsider anything he would do next.

He had to get him inside, after all. He was relieved to find all four limbs still functioning, if a little worse for wear, as he pulled himself off Ford. It took a few minutes to shake his hands till they weren’t numb, but then he hauled Ford up by the armpits. 

It was damn hard, of course, but.. easier than he expected. His hands poked into ribs, and he absently wondered if Ford had been eating enough in his absence.. He doubted it. Doubted even more so that he could do anything about it. 

It didn’t matter. Ford wasn’t his responsibility. He was only here to get the memory gun, and babysit him until he could pass him onto Blubbs and Durland, so they could get some family to come and get him. Ford wasn’t his responsibility, and he’d be damn fine without his help. Even if he wasn’t, Fiddleford couldn’t fix him if he didn’t want to be fixed.

(Though, of course, what family would help him? The father that Ford's middle name was after, the same middle name he’s always wanted to change? The father that couldn’t ever be bothered to pick the damn phone? The father Ford could name scars for? Would he care for him?

What about the mother that answered the phone, but Fiddleford could hear the alcohol on her breath through the call every damn time, in her ramblings? The one who always left Ford shaken after calling? Would she care for him?

Or the brother that Ford hated, the conman and salesman that ruined his life. Would he care? Even if he could, even if he did, would his best attempt even be close to enough? Would Ford let him?

What family did Ford have left but him?)

He dragged him across the snow and up the porch. It was a damn good stretch on the muscles, fire alighting under his skin as he pulled. Yet, even as he knocked him against the porch steps (he was trying to be gentle, he swore) Ford wasn’t roused. He was dead to the world, and when looking at the eyebags, it was obvious as to why. Fiddleford elbowed the door open, and stepped in the doorway.

Three senses hit him simultaneously when he entered the cabin. A sudden burst of warmth, the thick but friendly smell of fire smoke, and.. music. Sweet dreams are made of this, rung through the house. There was nothing wrong with the scene, but it all felt off to Fiddleford. It was easier to move Ford over the carpet, at least. He set him by the burning fire, watched the shivering start to ease before he turned to face the room. It..

It looked like a threat set out. How a serial killer would set the room to mock a domestic family. The barely started chess game, the polaroids carelessly strewn about, the still steaming mug and the running record player all felt so visceral. Fiddleford picked up one and palmed it in his hand. The words Puppet Hour hung over Ford's head. His eyes were.. wrong. There was something deeply wrong. He let it drop to the floor.

Fiddleford picked up the tape that had been left on the floor. This scene had been set out for someone.. but who? It couldn’t’a been him, he hadn’t told Ford he was comin. The.. towns police? Those two would’ve found him sooner or later, if he had.. gone through with it. The scene was set up like it’d be found quick, though. The burning fire and hot tea made that point. Something was still wrong though. Very, very wrong.

Against his better judgment, Fiddleford pushed the tape into the cassette player. The video unfolded before him. Maybe, if this was another man, he could’a laughed. He didn’t. 

Every single scene made him burn with second-hand humiliation, a mountain of concern, and admittedly a good bit of pity. Had the isolation driven Ford this mad? This fast? 

It didn’t make sense though. None of it made sense. Even as the video ended, the slow turn to the camera after Ford made the call felt nonsensical. It didn’t even go through, so this couldn’t be for Stanley. Who was being threatened here? LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME MAKE YOU DO. The words were- Wait- GO DOWNSTAIRS AND TURN THE PORTAL ON. Fiddleford choked in a breath. Wait, oh god, wait. 

Those were not Ford's eyes staring back at him. 

Without his own conscious input, he re-round the tape. The second watch was horrible with the context in mind. Every single thing that Bill did in Ford's body wasn’t just Ford losing it. It was a threat, a punishment. A reminder for Ford that he should behave himself. That’s what him jumping would’ve been too, if McGucket hadn’t intervened. He pulled the tape out of the cassette player and threw it across the floor. He couldn’t handle it anymore.

Fiddleford felt too much and nothing all at once. He felt fucking sick, he felt deathly relieved that Ford had stopped on the portal, he felt an all consuming dread and pure blood curdling rage. At that thing in Ford's body, at Ford for not telling him and himself for not noticing because dammit, dammit he could’ve helped. More than anything, though, he felt horror. He knew how possession worked. Ford had trusted the thing at some point, let it in. “Ford,” he pressed a shaking hand to his lips, “ya didn’t.”

“Fiddleford, I promise I can explain.” Fiddleford spun around to find Ford sitting up, looking sick and shaky and sounding desperate. Ford reached out. Against his first instinct, Fiddleford pulled back - because god, was it Ford? His glasses were fogged. He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t see his eyes. He couldn’t, he couldn’t take the risk, he-

Fiddleford, without warning, jumped at him. “Ford” (Who was it? Who was it? Who was it?) yelped pathetically and tried to kick him off. Despite their size difference, Fiddleford was wrangling him like a hog with ease, and it was only a few minutes of wrestling until “Ford” was pinned under his knee, hands pressed under his back. 

“Who are ya?” Fiddleford growled, shifting to get a better grip on him. The thing underneath him pressed itself against the floor, muscles shaking as the body tried to hold itself still. Fiddlefords voice broke, “why are you in his body, god-dunnit?”

Ford- It- The body stopped fighting him. “Fiddleford, it’s me. My glasses are fogged, I know, but-” It’s voice broke off with a choked sound. The chest underneath his knee struggled for breath, and Fiddleford begrudgingly let up some of the pressure.

There was a gasp. “I-If you get the glasses off and look into my eyes you’ll see my pupils are round, not elongated. I am not Bill. O-Okay?” The voice sounded afraid, terrified actually. Fiddleford's face softened, his feral exterior so easy to crack. Dammit. Okay. He reached up, watching for the slightest movement as his hands met the glasses frames. He pushed them off.

.. Completely normal and round and utterly terrified brown eyes met his. Shit.

Painstakingly, he got off Ford. Ford didn’t move an inch the entire time, just closing his eyes and pulling in deep breaths once the knee was off his chest. Once Fiddleford was off him, he gathered himself up, pulling his glasses back on and pushing himself into the far corner of the room. 

“.. Nice seeing you too, partner,” if Ford intended there to be any venom in the words, it didn’t come through. It just sounded a little bitter.

Fiddleford sat down across from him, and let an uncomfortable silence settle over the both of them. His eyes were locked on Ford, trying to piece together what he was seeing and the Ford from weeks ago, and Ford looked anywhere but. It grated at them, until something snapped. Fiddleford took a deep breath in.

“.. You ain’t workin’ on the portal anymore, I gather.” He broke the silence, and without response he added, “.. somethin named Bill want’s ya to, though. He’s real mad that you ain’t. You’re scared of what he’ll do, but you know the consequences if you listen are worse.” 

Ford was stunned. The secret was so close kept, how did he figure it out? Fiddleford stared at him, and then cleared his throat when he didn’t get a response. “How close am I?” He added, tone slightly impatient.

“.. Closer than you could ever know,” Ford answered finally, pulling at the loose strings in his sweater, “but thats not even the half of it.” He sighed, shaking his head. 

“Fiddleford, I thank you for.. your concern,” Ford finally landed on, feeling indebted but unsure why, “but for your sake, you should go. Earlier, when you left, I- I was angry, surely-” Ford took a deep breath, “but in retrospect, you made the right choice. I have gone places no man wants to be, and I don’t want to drag you down with me. I’ll handle my own demons.”

The expression Ford was met with when he looked up was pointedly unimpressed. “I left cause you were deadset on a crazy damn plan that was gonna destroy the world. You didn’t listen to common sense or reason. You were a selfish damn fool, and I knew I couldn't convince ya’ if you weren’t willing, stubborn ass...” 

Ford flinched with shame.

 “.. But you figured it out, and you’re trying to fix yer mistakes. So, no matter what ya say, I’m staying. I don’t got any reason to leave now.” Fiddleford only smiled at him, exasperated but fond to the bone.

Ford stuttered on air a few times before responding. “You can’t even understand the gravity of this, Fiddleford,” he tried to argue, but the resolve was already breaking in him.

Fiddleford shrugged. He shifted himself until he was settled beside Ford instead of across from him, leaning on him a settling a warm hand on his shoulder. The touch melted any arguments Ford might’ve had. “Yup, I don’t. Try to fill me in though, will ya? I can’t help without knowing what’s going on, after all. Even if I won’t fully understand, I can get pretty darn close, I think.”

Ford took a deep breath, “Ok. I can do that,” he agreed. He straightened his back before starting. “I found an inscription, with instructions to summon-”

[kaledya]

Exactly ! This is why I use the three-boss phases fight metaphor and I think this is almost an obligation because both Constantine and Lolicia are a mess with emotions but not in the same way... ah ! I can't wait ! But its not for now !

_

Good to know! I'm happy you like the idea. It will help the character grow but it will come also later. I think it will be in the middle of the second boss phases slowburn of Constantine and Lolicia... I think end of season 2 or 3 ? Because Serenity come in season 2 ! Will see but its in the back of my head for sure 🌸

_

I like the idea of Constantine and Serenity bounding over something the others (the most important people for them) don't know about. Like a well cared secret.

And i know it can be tricky to do with only the point of vue I have right now BUT ! (Héhé) BUT between the episode 3 and 4 I will make a special editions of short stories that happened meanwhile episode 1 and 2 and some of the past of characters who are not main like (Azrael, Abaddon (my OC), the Vees, the pets, Constantine, Serenity and Eve/Roo)  it will help open new horizons ! Because its a collection of short stories it will help me to well prepared the episode 4  and dont rush things ! We love nice developped characters! And some songs some musical perhaps and inspiration from your animatics!

_

I'm not made for games but I saw a playthroughs with a bard its great. My favorite character are female Drow cause Drow lore is amazing ! Ah ! Love it.

Don't worry for what Gale said ! He said a lot of things anyways !

_

I'm so very excited to see all the drawings en scenes en everything you will draw about the fanfic!! But exams first. Me and my fanfic will go nowhere, I'm patient and I'm not expecting you to do anything at first, I'm just enjoying when you say you will.

But. Exams. First. Exams have a due date not me. Ahah.

And dont worry, writing is literally my air and passion. My rhythm is exactly as I like and I actually don't look at the numbers but I'm happy people read it. A bunch of faithful readers is always nice to have even if its not plenty. Don't worry for anything !

_

Also the meal I've been served !! I made it ! I made the Constantine/Serenity/Lolicia drawings ! 🌸 I was just like, "i need to do this". I really hope I didn't screw it because I always struggle with colors in general and I didn't want to destroy the faces of your OCs. I was looking at the references like crazy

"This is the shape of his horns ? Okay. Is it yellow, green, red ? So about the tail... OMG LONG HAIR" that was me. Ahah.

I hope the picture is nice quality enough, its not tell me and I will make another or larger or something. I didn't put my watermark cause its yours, you can do what you like with it!

_

Thank you ! Will write well !🌸🌸🌸 _

Ahah ! I'm happy you like Narrator ! I didn't expect you do ! He's just t so... so him ahah. But I love him too. But he is insane. I have a short story with him and Constantine and they talk about anatomy and names. It will be funny ! I'm just so excited to see the drawings you will have with him ! And yes the Kilij, ah ! Turks peoples have so many beautiful weapons with jewelry on it its just *kiss* perfect !  And Narrator loves jewellery so I was like "it's an opportunity !"

_

I'm glad you liked the songs !!! Ah your comments are always worth it.

The editing of the song with Charlie and Alastor made me want to die but I liked writing it ! I will enjoy seeing the scene you will draw of them! And the Precious was a must !

_

And yes Vittorio and Alastor's shadow are kind of the undertone of every conversation Lolicia and Alastor have with each others. If they fight its because the tone of the conversation is a bit sarcastic,if they're are calm, everything is more normal !

_

YES SERENITY CAMEO ! Oh I loved write when she took her coat and hat ! Hopefully I remember you draw her Misfortune/Overlord outfit! And the little vignette in your storyboard too. I saw it in my mind !

_

Lolicia isn't really an Overlord, I mean she is very strong but she doesn't want the title. But don't worry, I've already make up something for her to come at the meeting with Overlords !

Thank you very much ! And I think you are a talented artist (the new design of Eve/Roo is SLAY!) with nice eye for the lights effects and storytelling through characters and little scenes, that make my mind boiled so thank you, it doesn't arrive often 🌸

I can already see that it will definitely be worth the wait😌

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I'm already so excited to see how you plan the themes for the seasons!

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I'm so glad to hear this, I seriously can't wait to see the short stories! And I'm so excited to meet Abaddon.And certainly the more developed the characters are, the better.

I read Serenity's short story and they were beautiful.I think you handled their encounter with Alastor beautifully, I really liked it.And the detail that Alastor was more egoist and bloodthirsty during his prime time in hell was also very nice!

I seriously think the short stories are a great idea, can't wait to see more!

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And yes, it was definitely great to play drow. And I seriously think the background of the drows is very interesting and beautiful.In terms of gameplay, you start with a lot of prejudice as every race hates them rather than other races, But on the other hand, there is no need to fight in some places because the enemy thinks you are one of them.

And yes, my dear nuclear bomb wizard who smells like an old library talks too much, it is impossible to memorizeal of his dialogues.

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Thank you for your patience!

I have now passed the 1st exam, now I need to pass the real boss, the ART exam and I'm really bad at on paper /realistic drawing but with enough work everything can happen! But If I lose my entrance to the animation university,then I will have to restart my career as a villain. Lmao

Today is my day off, so I'll be making a lot of doodles, get ready for new fanart!

And if you ask me, you really deserve more, you are a very talented writer!

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Destroy face my OC's what????

You drew him so beautifully that when I looked at Constantine I said, "damnnn, you drew him so handsomely!" Seriously, the drawings of all the characters were very nice and I think he used colors well.

And don't worry, I can't draw Constantine's horns properly either, so I made up an excuse ✨he's a shapeshifter✨In other words, the shape of his horns can change according to its whim.

Serenity and Lolicia were so cute

And Constantine and Lolicia looked so cool! I can't wait to see their interactions!

And I love how you draw Lolicia's clothes, they're true fashion icon.

Thank you so much for blessing my eyes with your drawings!

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And of course, I will love him ! 1 he's character created by you 2 I always have a special corner in my heart for crazy showmens. And yes! When Charlie told the Narrator that they had known each other for almost 200 years, I realized that there was a long history between them.I can't wait to see his interactions with Constantine!

And yes, old Turk's weapons are perfect for him. I saw similar swords and guns when I visited a museum.They were full of jewels, inch by inch. I'm not exactly sure, but I think they were gifts for the sultan or things he had made for himself. Apart from them, I saw a really huge sword. I would like to see the soldier who could lift it. It looked like the sword that in Berserk that used by Guts.

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And seriously that song was amazing, a complete masterpiece! If only I could make music, I would bring that song to life! And the descriptions, everything was great!

And the overall scene was so fun to read!

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And I can't wait to see Lolicia's role already, it's so exciting!

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And thank you so much for your kind words, and I'm so glad you love the Roo/eve design!❤️❤️❤️

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First of all, Charlie and Vaggie's part was very sweet and beautiful, and the song you wrote was also great. I really loved it!

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Lolica's song was a masterpiece, I really think it was a very well written and detailed song. Lolicia's outfit and Vittori accompanying her was really perfect! And I think having Alastor help her disguise was a really nice touch! It was a great choice that the song was inspired by liquid gold.

(I Love lackdaisy so much)

In short, I think the song is perfect and it fits the character very well. 10/10 *chef Kiss*

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The part where the team reacted when they won the semi-final was so beautiful! And finally an arc is over!

And Serenity's story was very nice and the encounter with Alastor at the end was interesting, but the most important thing is that Alastor is after Lolicia. I wonder how those events ended?

---

To make a long story short, every chapter you have made is really great and I enjoy reading it very much. I think you are a great writer. I am very excited to see your future works!❤️❤️❤️

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Day 8: Reunion/Friends

While she was frantically moving the files to her USB drive, Reporter kept giving worried looks to the door.

It was locked. Everyone was at the Socialite’s reception downstairs, no one had any reason to give alarm, but still, if she was caught...the computer was not helping things. Like every computer, it was a freaking liar. “Only less than sixty seconds left”, it was announcing since at least five minutes. She tapped on the desk nervously, struggling against her impulse to just rip off the drive and run away like hell was on her tail. Not that the office was especially threatening, with its light walls and the pictures drawn by children exposed everywhere. But- well. If that were the inside that counted, then what was on the computer was enough to wanting to flee to another country. She jumped at every furniture creaking – and maybe it was her own nerves, but they were creaking a little too much. She had looked for cameras, and she was sure she had deactivated all of them, but she felt observed. While the computer was still working – now it announced two minutes left, the traitor – the door opened. Reporter opened her mouth, a smile plastered on her face, ready to find an explanation, any explanation – but the hallway was empty. She sighed in relief, her heart pounding.

Then something pressed against her mouth, preventing her to scream. Her legs buckled. For a few seconds, she felt she was going to faint, but then she squinted and threw her elbow behind her. There was a groan of pain and a voice sounded in her ear:

“What are you doing, dumbass?”

Her eyes widened:

“Hero?” she whispered.

He relapsed her grip on her, and she turned to face him. Now she could see him, his annoyed expression, and his stomach that he was massaging.

“What are you-” she began.

“Let’s get out before getting caught.”

She let him grab her hand while they went off - as long as she didn’t let go, she’d be just as invisible as him. They stayed silent during their runaway, but when he led her to the rooftop, she risked a:

“Are you really sure we should go up?”

“It’s the safest way. ”

And true enough, although there was no guard there, the roof next to the building was close enough to jump. Reporter landed on both her feet. She glared at the roof, at the city, and at her clenched fist that was still holding the flash drive.

“I repeat,” said Hero. “What the hell were you doing?”

“You got nerve! You were snooping too.”

“I wasn’t, actually. I volunteered to play the wardens, to make sure there’s no problem during the party.”

She gave him a disgusted look:

“So you could lick the boots of this guy? What, does the Hero Agency needs a couple of millions for pocket change?”

“So I can look around and notice anything suspicious, dummy. Ever learned of working undercover?”

He stuck out her tongue at her, like he did ten years ago when he was upset with her, and she made a face in answer. It had been a while. Somewhere buried in their phone, the two of them had the same photo of two teens wearing the same silly hat and drawn mustache. Years of birthdays, parties and diploma celebrations flashed through both their minds. Neither of them smiled. Reporter frowned, snorting:

“Oh, and it’s the Hero agency who asked you that?”

“No,” he acknowledged. “What about you ? Did you enter legally or did you break in?”

“Oh no, the richest man in the city just let me waltz in his private office all the time - take a wild guess.”

He sighed. She crossed her arms, staring at him.

“Are you going to arrest me, then?”

He shook her head, rolling his eyes:

“You know that proof that are found illegally wouldn’t help in a tribunal.”

“I know my job,” she replied dryly. “Whose notes did you copy when you were “sick” at the university?”

For the first time, Hero smiled. That was a tired, small smile, but a smile nevertheless.

“That was a simpler life,” he said.

Reporter gripped her elbows, as if a cold wind suddenly blew:

“But not better”, she said. “Your mother was sick, I had to take care of my sister- We were already overwhelmed by- by everything.”

“Ah, but we got a lot drunker together.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. He lightly punched her shoulder and she did the same.

“What are you doing to do with it?”

“Well, read it first. Information is power. And then, use it to catch him red-handed.”

“All by yourself?”

“Do I have a choice? Everyone loves that guy. Including your bosses. Why are you suspicious of him?”

“Made my own research. You’re right. Several employees died this last month. Someone here is up to something;”

There was a silence before adding quietly:

“Villain is terrified of him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I should interview them.”

Hero’s laugh died on his lips when he realized she said that stone-faced.

“What? No! Why would you take that risk instead of-”

“Instead of?”

He waved at himself vehemently:

“Teaming up with me, obviously! Look, I know it’s been years, but you - we were friends! We were best friends! Are you going to resent me forever because I became a Hero?”

“I know why you did it. You needed the money for your mother, and you wanted to control your invisibility power.”

“But you stopped talking to me like I made a bargain with the devil.”

“I don’t trust the Agency.”

“Me neither. I don’t ask you to. But I want a second chance.”

Reporter looked at him, at the big guy in the cheap costume, and saw a teen with a goofy smile. Come to think of it….yeah, come to think of it, she missed him too. She bit her lip and held out her hand. He hugged her in relief.

“I’m still going to interview Villain,” she said after a moment. “Alone or with you, that’s your choice.”

“Oh, dammit ! Fine.”

*

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

[daboyau]

@tmntstorycomp

@boots-with-the-fur-club

here, have some Massy meeting the Leave au boys again. :)

The next time they see him, Massy is up a tree. 

He is lounging against one of the branches, one leg dangling off of it while the other is propped up, acting as a makeshift table to lean the notebook he’s flipping through against. He is frowning with enough force that Four can see the way his mask creases with the furrow of his brow from all the way on the ground. 

In the library, his presence had seemed almost overwhelming. It had felt like every book and shelf was orbiting around him even when they were standing still. A tiny sun, or maybe a black hole, pulling everything in with the force of its gravity. 

Here, he just looks small. Lonely. It makes Four sad for him. Makes his chest ache a little bit, because he knows what that’s like. He knows it hurts in a way physical injuries never do. At least if the gash is bleeding, it will heal. The hurt that’s inside is a lot harder to get rid of. 

Luckily, he knows what makes it better! 

“Hiiiii!” he calls, lifting one hand and waving when Massy’s head snaps up. Three jerks forward to slap a hand over his mouth, but he’s too late. His brothers’ groans and worried grumbles fill the air around them, and Three’s claws dig into his cheeks just a little too hard before his hand lifts away. Four’s a little sad he didn’t slobber on his brother’s palm while he had the chance; at least then Three would actually have something that made sense to be upset about! He’s worrying for nothing. Massy hadn’t hurt them last time they ran into him, so it all stood to reason that they’d be fine this time, too! 

Yellow eyes lock onto them, glowing unsettlingly bright in the dappled shadows of the forest. A grin splits his face, something showy and full of the kind of menace and mischief that Four’s only really seen on the goblins locked away in Draxum’s lab before they try to stage a jailbreak. One’s told him it never ends well for them, but they keep trying anyway. 

“Hiiii,” he croons back, shifting to crouch on his branch. The markings on his body seem to bleed, leaking down his scales and into the air around him, like blots of ink spilled across paper. They’re spreading slowly, like they’re trying to swallow up the world. Or maybe just swallow Massy, bit by bit. 

With his brothers hovering around him and their mysterious host grinning down at them, and with a goal in mind, Four marches forward. He hears his brothers all hiss out their complaints and warnings, but he ignores them. Predictably, they follow close on his heels. Massy watches them approach, head cocked almost too far to be natural. 

Though he can’t put his finger on why, Four can’t help but think that the black masked turtle seems so…sad. When he looks at him, Four can’t see an enemy or even a potential threat anymore. What’s before them is just a kid, hurt and afraid and alone. Just like them, in so many ways. 

He gets to the base of the tree and tips his head back, searching through the branches and leaves for a pair of bright yellow eyes. Massy has flipped himself over and is dangling from the branch by his knees now, necklace and mask tails swaying slowly below him, grinning impishly down at Four. 

“Can I come up?” he calls, and watches Massy swing slowly back and forth for a few long seconds before he shrugs. 

“I don’t see why not,” he calls back, and Four feels his smile grow. He places one hand on the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark beneath his palm with all the wonder of discovery. There is precious little flora in the Hidden City, and even less in the lava fields surrounding Draxum’s fortress. He’s never actually been this close to a real tree before!

Before he can do much more than marvel at the novelty of it, he feels a pair of hands wrap around his waist and pluck him away. He slouches, trying to make himself heavy enough to give One at least a little trouble, but it doesn’t do much more than make him chuff out a fond little laugh. Typical. Four crosses his arms and pouts once his feet are back firmly on the leaf strewn ground. 

“Guyyysss,” he whines, sad and pleading, and he feels One shuffle uncomfortably beside him. 

“No, Fourster. Absolutely not,” Three snaps, already knowing what he’s about to say. Four sticks his tongue out at him, then turns his gaze upon One. Massy’s eyes are back to watching them all again, his face all screwed up in confusion as he watches their interactions. The dim glow of his eyes cuts through the haziness of this liminal place trapped between impossibly tall trees and slowly shifting shadows.

“Pleeeease?” he asks, tugging at their biggest brother’s hands, forcing him to unfold his arms from where they’re crossed almost protectively across his plastron. One frowns, but his eyes dart between Four and Massy, like he’s trying to draw connections between the two of them. Massy gives a playful little wiggle of his fingers, still swinging upside down, and One’s face goes all soft like it sometimes does when he’s reminded of how things were before their training with Draxum started. He sighs, shoulders slumping, and Four knows he’s won. Going by the way Three and Two are hissing to each other, they know it, too. 

“Fine,” he sighs, massaging the bridge of his snout and squeezing his eyes briefly shut. “Do what you want. We’re not climbing up there after you if you get stuck…or get into any other trouble.” 

That’s a lie, and they all know it. His brothers will be up the tree faster than you can say begin if he so much as sniffles! Four giggles at the thought, a bright grin quickly replacing his previous pout. 

He darts forward to squeeze One in a tight hug, tosses Three and Two’s worried faces a smug grin, and darts back towards the tree Massy’s in. He’s never climbed one before, but he has scaled the walls of the fortress, so it’s probably not that different, right? He’s totally got this! 

One hand after the other, he slowly begins to climb. The lower branches are still a little out of reach, so he resorts to digging his claws into the oddly soft bark. He feels cool wetness trickle from it, and when he pauses long enough to investigate, he finds that beneath the bark there is only black ink. It runs in messy rivulets down the bark, and Four stares entranced for a few seconds before shaking himself and continuing his slow climb upwards. His heart is in his throat, but he forces himself to continue, not wanting this to be for nothing. Ink handprints trail in his wake, and the tree continues to weep until black is pooling at the base of the trunk, refusing to sink into the ground and disappear. 

Four pauses on the branch below Massy’s, staying just out of reach of those dangling hands. He swallows heavily, eyes darting between Massy’s inkblot markings and the blackness that stains his own hands. The other turtle looks curious, but Four’s heart is pounding heavy and painful behind his plastron as it sinks in that he’s damaged their host’s work. He swallows again, filling his lungs with a shaky breath. The air smells like Draxum’s office after a long day of paperwork, medicinal and vaguely smokey, tinged with something fresher and familiar yet completely unknown. Four tries to wipe his blackened hands off on one of the old bandages that had been wrapped around wounds that have probably healed by now. Massy’s yellow eyes follow the movement, and all Four can think of is a hard golden gaze and how angry Draxum would be with him if he damaged his hard work like this.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to squeak out around the lump in his throat, hands clenching into tight fists to hide the way they’re trembling. Massy arches a brow ridge. 

“What for?”

“I messed up your tree. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

They both fall silent, Four fighting to keep himself composed and his face empty. Massy is eyeing him thoughtfully. Maybe thinking of a proper punishment. Four very resolutely doesn’t allow his gaze to dart towards the pen and notebook that rest haphazardly on the branch above him, terrified to remind him that he has all the power in the world to do whatever he wants to them. 

From the ground below, he can hear his brothers shuffling and talking amongst themselves. He wonders if Massy will leave them out of it, if he begs well enough. They didn’t do anything wrong; the blame is all on Four! 

Before he can open his mouth to ask, he’s startled into silence when Massy barks a sharp little cackle. He sets himself to swinging again in a slow, hypnotic motion, and throws his arms out wide. 

“Look around you! There’s plenty more trees where this came from! Don’t sweat it.”

Four nods, and the steel band that had been slowly tightening around his chest finally releases its hold. He takes a deep breath and makes himself smile, embarrassed at the little slip in his control. From the ground, he hears Three call up to him, asking if he’s okay. He peaks down at them, giving a little wave he’s sure they’ll be able to see despite all the branches and leaves that lie between them. Three waves back, and then he turns his attention towards Massy again. 

“So, how did…you….” He trails off, eyes going wide as he realizes that the other turtle is nowhere to be found. His head whips around, eyes darting over the surrounding branches, before he finally spots a flash of yellow a few trees away. Massy waves, and Four waves back, too stunned to do much more than that. Then, with one final mischief filled grin, he sinks into the shadows and disappears. 

“Huh,” Four says out loud. 

“What is it?” Two asks, and when he looks, he sees that his brothers are crowded around the base of the tree. Two is riding on One’s shell to avoid the puddle of pitch colored ichor that’s still oozing from the trunk. They’re all okay. The sight makes him smile, easing the last remnants of fear from his chest. 

“He’s gone!” he calls, and Three rolls his eyes so hard his whole body sways with the movement. His mouth is moving like he’s muttering something mean, but Four’s too far away to hear it, so he won’t let it bother him! 

“Can you get down?” One calls, brow furrowed with concern as he stares up at him. Four scoffs, ready to wave off his concern, but then his smile falters. The ground seems really far away all of a sudden, and he can’t quite remember which branches he’d used to get up in the first place. The trunk is probably kind of slippery now, too, since it’s all wet.

His eyes scan the limbs around him, half hoping that maybe Massy had conjured up some rope before he’d left. No luck there, though. Grinning sheepishly, he presses his plastron against the trunk of the tree and hugs his arms around it as far as they’ll go. 

“Um, maybe one of you could come get me?” 

His words are met with a chorus of groans and one extra catty but smugly satisfied, “told you so!”

[heartofspells]

This Way We Fall

"Moony calls you Padfoot."

It's not what Sirius expects his godson to say, and he startles a little, his hand skittering, the red line of antlers he'd been curving upwards going wide and stuttering haptically. Two and a half weeks is how long it's taken for Sirius to be allowed into the inner sanctum, granted the holiest of privileges: crayons.

They're kneeling on the front stoop, the door closed in front of them, all previous drawings cleared away to make way for new ones. All except one, the black dog still in place, off to the side, animation charms steadily failing, but its tail gives a weak flutter periodically, stubborn and refusing to die just yet. After his breakfast that morning, Harry had stated it was time. Time for new pictures to replace the old, because the old ones were boring, Moony, and our door is boring, too. And Sirius had been expected to help. Demanded, really, not that he's complaining.

Studying the mess made of his antlers, Sirius is slow to pull his wand, clearing it away to start anew. He thinks there might be a metaphor in there somewhere, but he can't quite grasp it in the jumbled chaos now filling his head.

"Does he?" asks Sirius measuredly, not looking at Harry as he cleans away the red trails.

It's a name he hasn't heard in years, not from anyone. More than five, to be exact, and it pulls at something inside Sirius to hear again now, coming from a mouth that hadn't ever truly managed to form it properly the last time it had tried.

"Sometimes," says Harry, tongue peeking between his teeth as he puts the finishing touches on what Sirius thinks might be a mouse, though he can't be entirely certain. He's never seen a mouse quite that colorful before. Sirius thinks he might make the colors dance once they're finished. "But he never says it to you. Only when he's talking 'bout you."

Humming minutely, Sirius glances over his shoulder to where Remus is seated in the Adirondack chair in the grass. He's reclined back, head and face tilted towards the sky, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, eyes closed. He hasn't reacted to anything said, but Sirius knows the other man is listening because he always is, always near enough to catch every word, to intervene in any and everything he sees fit, though he never does, at least not yet.

"You call him Moony," continues Harry, and he's looking at Sirius now, large green eyes curious where they glint behind the lenses of his glasses, Sirius watching them slip down his nose. Sirius reaches out and pushes them back up, an instinct, a long-forgotten habit but not actually forgotten at all, it seems. "All the time."

"I call him Moony because you call him Moony," explains Sirius, not entirely sure what else to say, turning his gaze back to the door.

Harry is quiet for a minute, rolling a purple crayon between his fingers thoughtfully as Sirius scribbles out his own design, just for something to do.

"Did you used to call him Moony?" he asks finally, head tipping so far to the side that Sirius worries for a second it might twist off his neck and clunk to the concrete below. "Before me?"

Sirius drops his hand from the door, slow to respond before saying quietly, "Did, yeah. A lot. All the time."

"Why?"

"I made it up. I gave him the nickname. Seemed only right that I use it."

"Padfoot's your name?"

Swallowing, eyes dropping to his knees before flickering to Harry, Sirius nods. "It was, a long time ago."

"Who gave it to you?"

"It – " Sirius stops, gaze jumping to the drawings on the door, something sharp stabbing into his heart, like longing, like absence and grief and the need to touch what's never coming back again, eyes drifting to the antlers, tracing their shape, familiar like the hazy outlines made by clouds, memories too distant to fully recall clearly any longer. "Your dad gave me the name. It was his idea. Padfoot. He thought it was funny. He always found things funny that most others didn't."

Harry stares up at him for a minute, and then he exhales a breath, heavy for a six-year-old, so very heavy but somehow lighter than Sirius thinks anything in this moment should be.

"That's nice," is all he says, leaning forward to collect the crayon from Sirius' slack fingers, beginning to push the colors back into the box. "Can you make them move now?" he asks eagerly, eyes bright as he looks up at Sirius again.

When the drawings are animated once more, they watch them flutter and skitter and hobble across the wood of the painted door, Harry happy and excited from the sight. Sirius thinks he could stay this way forever, or at least a very long time, days and months, years and decades, if only given the chance, but Harry suddenly stands beside him, clutching his box of crayons protectively to his chest, like to lose them would be to lose the dearest of friends.

"Gotta take them inside 'cause they melt," informs his godson knowingly, and Sirius watches as he pushes the door open, disappearing inside as it closes in front of his face again.

Read on AO3

Gorgeous art by @drunkdumbfucker <3

[hanasnx]

this is my first time sending you something 🙈 but i saw that your anniversary is coming up (very exciting!) and the prompts you reblogged 😵‍💫 if it’s possible, i would love prompts #43 and/or #54 for han !! keep up the great work, you’re an amazing writer :) ❣️

prompt: #43

prompt list | rules

minors dni 18+

word count: 0.8k | characters: han solo x f!reader

notes:

hello and welcome! its great to have you, thank you for requesting and for enjoying my content. it took me a while to find prompts that interested me (i like to think im a bit edgier when it comes to smut) and those ones just spoke to me you know? looks like they spoke to you too

thank you so much for requesting han i never get requests for him and i love exploring him

warnings: established relationship, mention of long hair and a skirt on reader, impatient reader ordering han around and hes liking sitting back and letting you do your thing, you try to fit his cock too early and hes worried ab you,

“Hey, kid, what’s the rush?” your lover, Han, thinly veils his amusement, but you are unperturbed. You grip onto his shirt as you back him up until the backs of his knees hit a chair, and you sit him down.

“Need you so bad,” you breathe, swift to undo his belt while his hands are suspended in air, as if surrendering to you and your demands. Obediently, he shifts his hips forward, allowing you to slide his belt off and get at his pants. His heavy member, half hardened by your impatience, lay nestled in his inseam, awaiting you.

All day, all day, you’d been counting down the seconds until you could get back to him. A horrid and insatiable lust afflicting you like an illness as soon as you woke up next to him. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any time. Both of you had somewhere to be, and the entire appointment, Han made it a mission to screw with you any chance he got. Brushing your hair off your shoulder, murmuring an inherently chaste statement against your ear to run shivers down your spine, and pulling you into dark corners to kiss and feel you up. Little things that he knew drove you crazy.

Now here you are, right where he wants you, right where he expected you to be: ripping his fucking clothes apart until you uncover exactly what you need. You lick your lips, seizing the base of his shaft to help shimmy it out of his garment, feeling it grow under your touch. “Can’t wait to ride you, you have no fucking idea,” The tail end of the phrase surfacing into a whine more than anything else as you hike up your skirt. Han watches you with interest, arms remain at the rests, as you invite yourself onto him. Tucking your knees between him and the chair, and moving your panties aside. His lips part, exhaling in awe as the light catches on your glisten so beautifully.

“Wet, huh?” he inquires with a playful tone you don’t care for at all. Not when your skin is on fire and your hole is screaming at you to be filled. You can’t answer him, lining yourself up. “Hold on, sweets,” he interjects, moving to insert his hand between your bodies to grasp himself, readying to introduce it to you in increments. “I don’t doubt you can take it but let’s think about this for a second—“ In the past, if you get too wrapped up and don’t properly prep yourself, Han’s formidable cock is capable of actual damage. He’s looking out for you (not a luxury he always affords) but the fact is: you want it to hurt.

“Enough of that, give it to me. I want it, Han, right now,”

The expression on your face, the hopeless tilting of your hips, inclining into the direction of his crotch. He can’t say no to those eyes.

A pause to think it over, interrupted by your grasp on his shirt tightening. Your longing apparent in your every action. He relaxes. “You got me, princess,” he concedes, but quickly adds while holding up a single finger, “but don’t get ahead of yourself.”

There’s not a moment to waste, as soon as he directs his cock to you, you sink onto it. That stinging stretch causing a groan of sheer relief spilling from your mouth. Han tongues his top lip, gathering himself at how fucking tight you are, sheathed into you so exquisitely. Involuntarily you clench, and the breath he was holding is released in a chuff.

“Sweetheart, easy.” he warns. You’re not even halfway on him, but you’re still pushing it. His growing worry is difficult to nail down when you feel this fucking good around him. His head lulls back as he tenses his hips, inching into you and that comfortable relief within you is replaced with burning desire. The entire situation only loosens you, and when his hand seeks out your clit, thumbing it, you’re able to descend until he’s snug inside. “So warm, so soft, fuck, sweets. Could be stuck up in here all damn night.”

Without admonition, you lift yourself and he picks his head up to exchange a look with you. You’re about to do what he told you not to, but it’s not in your nature to follow his orders indefinitely. You slam down onto him, and your walls clench around him from the speed. You can’t help yourself, accelerating, and he meets your thrusts until his hand abandons your clit— to which you respond with a petulant squeak of discontent— so he can dig both sets of fingers and nails into your thighs. The pain doesn’t deter you, but his infallible strength does, wrangling you into submission, taking control of your speed. “Han—“ It seems he did not appreciate your disregard for his commands.

So he reiterates, making it clearer for you while you futilely tug off his digits. “Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” A transparent attempt to torture you still, to elongate your rapture to span the entire night, just as he forebode.

[catiecat1320]

New chapter!

It took way too long but it's here!!

Read Below🔽

“Boss?” 

Robotnik grumbled in annoyance. He thoroughly regretted ever giving his robots a voice. Or sentience, at that. Did they have to be so irritating? “I thought I told you not to bother me.” 

The bot stared up at him blankly. “There is someone at the door, boss.”

“In this weather?” There had to be a foot of snow outside, and the weather forecast predicted more later in the day. Who in their right mind would be outside, much less at his door? Had they forgotten he was an evil genius?

Curiosity won him over, and he got up from his chair with a grunt. The robot assistant trailed behind him, gears creaking with every turn of its wheel. It’d need a tune up later. Or he could replace it entirely, and attempt to make a new bot that didn’t nag him so much. He’ll decide later.

Frost had covered his camera lens, making it impossible to tell who the blob of color was. Couldn’t hurt to ask. “Who is it?”

The figure shifted, inching closer to the voice. Having spotted the iced over camera, they struggled to wipe it clean. Through the mic, Robotnik could hear heavy breathing.

“Oh, for Chaos sake, just tell me what you’re here for. I don’t bite,” he grumbled impatiently.

“Yes you do.” A child’s voice rang out. A second later, they backed up from the camera, now clear enough to see, revealing a little fox.

Robotnik gasped. “You!” He’d seen the kit running around with his newly christened nemesis, but he still had no idea where he came from. He had tried and failed to use the fox as leverage, though. Scanning the surroundings outside, he noticed a strange absence. “Where’s the blue rodent?”

The question made the kit seize. “I… he… he’s sick and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor, you know. Why don’t you take it to someone else?”

“You’re the only adult I know… the only adult that’s close enough.” The fox mumbled, barely loud enough for the mic to pick up. 

Robotnik raised an eyebrow, and upon realizing that the boy couldn’t see through walls, opened the door to look at him. “No adults at home?”

He got a head shake in return, the kit folding his double tails around himself apprehensively. “Well. Ok then. What is it that you want me to do about this?”

No response.

“Ugh. Where is he? I’ll send one of my bots to get him.” Robotnik sighed. Why was he helping again? 

…Same reason he opened the door, he supposed. Sympathy, tch. They were children, he reasoned, scientifically they were proven to evoke compassion. They were lucky he had enough heart to bother.

“I think that's a bad idea,” the boy breathed, shaking his head vigorously. “Uh, no offense, but he’ll probably destroy it.”

The doctor rubbed his temples. Admittedly, the fox was right. “I really didn’t want to go outside today,” he hisses between gritted teeth, kicking his robot assistant to attention. “Get me the Eggmobile.”

Within a minute, the rotund aircraft came hovering down the hall. Grumbling incoherently, Robotnik hops in, turning to the kit expectantly. He hadn’t moved a muscle. “Well?”

Baby blue eyes scanned him in confusion. “What…?”

“Are you coming or not, boy?”

“My name is Miles Prower,” he insisted, “and I can fly, y’know.”

Robotnik rolled his eyes. “Well, Miles. Lead the way then.”

......................................................

He… expected different.

The red plane he saw the two children flying peeked out from under a snow laden tarp, sloppily creating a tent. Miles lifted a flap and scurried in hastily.

Robotnik wasn’t built for this. Gosh, did they actually expect him to crawl under there? He wasn’t getting out of his Eggmobile. Nuh uh.

The kit wins the battle when he pops his head out, worry pooling in his wide eyes, likely wondering why the doctor hadn’t made a move. Fine.

They owed him one for this. 

It was far from cozy in the tent. The chill penetrated the plastic tarp easily, likely the cause of illness. The second he entered, emerald eyes fixed on him, a stuttering growl coming from their owner. Quills raised, and would be rather threatening if they had any strength to them. 

“Sonic, it’s okay,” Miles muttered, nudging the sick hedgehog in a manner definitely not advised. “I brought him here to help.”

He was skeptical, Robotnik could tell. But he seemed to trust his companion’s judgment and begrudgingly relaxed.

It took some work to get him out. The Eggmobile wasn’t built to carry two in the cockpit, and Robotnik refused to be that close to the sick boy regardless. So they had to improvise.

After reassuring Miles many times that they would return for his biplane, they hoisted ‘Sonic’ onto the makeshift carrier crafted from the tarp and flew off, the kit carefully balancing the thing to make sure their patient wouldn’t fall off. It wasn’t the best solution, but Robotnik wasn’t exactly pressed about that.

By the time they returned to the base, Sonic had fallen asleep. A hand to his forehead quickly alerted a high fever, likely brought on by prolonged exposure to the harsh conditions outside. He probably got a cold, Robotnik reasoned. Cold weather weakening his immune system and causing him to succumb to a virus of some sort.

But again, he wasn’t a medical doctor. So he’ll leave it to his bots.

He kicked his assistant to attention. “Get me the Aidbot,” he ordered. “And make it snappy.” Looking back at Miles, the kit was attempting to find a place to put Sonic, yet he emitted a nervous energy as he scanned his imminent surroundings.

Robotnik sighed. Did he have to look so pitiful? “You. Come with me. And bring him along.”

It wasn’t a guest room by any means, but it’s not like the doctor had expected guests in his lair. Just a space that was meant to be storage for more personal things. Like his secret plushie collection (they were irresistible, okay?). 

Miles set Sonic down on a folded blanket, eyeing everything with barely concealed amusement. “Say one word and I kick you both out, understood?” the doctor growled, though it was a rather empty threat. The assistant and Aidbot came rolling in a second later, and Robotnik sent the latter to work on Sonic.

It confirmed what he'd suspected. Nothing too serious, just a cold. The assistant fetched some warm tea for the children, and Aidbot woke the hedgehog up to give him medication. Then both bots left, leaving just the three of them.

Sonic’s head lulled as he sipped from his mug, clearly fighting for consciousness, trying his best to focus on the doctor sitting a little ways away. “What is it, hedgehog?”

His face twitched, gaze shifting to Miles before waving his hand. 

“He doesn’t trust you,” the kit translated hesitantly, as if it were offensive… Well, it was kind of offensive. But distrust was logical. After all, this was his nemesis.

“If I wanted to hurt you or your little partner here, I would’ve done it already.” Robotnik stated plainly. “I’m not that evil, hedgehog. You’re sick. Unable to give a fair fight. We can butt heads after you’re better.”

Sonic blinked, hugging his tea a little closer, then tapped his chin in a swift gesture. “He says thank you,” Miles piped.

“Hmph.” The doctor waved it off. “Something wrong with your voice, boy? Why don’t you talk?”

“He’s always been like this,” Miles supplied in his stead. “I think he’s mute.” Sonic nodded, taking the last sip from his mug before yawning.

“Mutism… interesting,” Robotnik muttered. Standing up, he brushed himself off before walking over to the door. “Well, you two can stay until the snow blows over. Poor little Sonic clearly isn’t equipped to handle the cold.” Said hedgehog perked in mock offense, the lack of speech doing nothing to dampen his ability of expression. “You know it’s true, pincushion. Now get some rest. Both of you.”

Sonic smirked, saluting a silent ‘Aye, aye’ as the doctor turned away. Robotnik made his way across the base to clear a space for Miles’ plane in the hangar, glasses hiding a roll of his eyes.

Kids.

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

Stormy Weather

Summary: While you’re struggling to get home from a month-long mission, Jeff and Natasha seek comfort from missing you.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1408

Warnings: None

A/N: Hiii, sorry I know I haven’t been posting much lately. I’ve had so many ideas, but I can’t seem to get them written in a way I actually like. Plus, my motivation to write only ever seems to come when I’m at work and can’t write 😭 I’ll try my best to start posting more regularly again but no promises, thank you all for sticking around :) comments and reblogs are much appreciated :)

This was also based on an ao3 comment from a fic MONTHS ago, that I just got round to actually writing 😭

Part of The Jeff Fictional Universe (you don’t need to read the others to understand)

—————————————————

Natasha rubbed her eyes harshly. Staring at the screen day after day was taking its toll. 30 days this would be; 30 days since you had gone on a mission that should have only been two weeks.

There were complications, and she knew you didn't have the time or the means to contact her directly. But she was exhausted, barely sleeping, needing to be there in case you *did* manage to get in contact. 

Natasha knew she couldn't have gone with you. No matter how much it would have alleviated her worries, she had other priorities. Working on the desk side of the same mission would be enough for her.

Patters of rain made Natasha jerk her head up. No light came through the window, but the circles of water indicated that the predicted storm was on its way. Natasha sighed; she'd been far too engrossed in work to even notice nightfall. She hoped Jeff had been okay with her absence.

After a sigh and a stretch, the door to the home office opened, and Natasha stepped out. A break was necessary, and some company would do her and Jeff some good.

—————————————————

Natasha reached the living room entrance before she paused, staying quiet to see a scene of innocence play out.

Jeff had padded right past her; the Blahaj he carried acted as blinders for his peripheral and even blocked some of his front-facing vision. Natasha watched as Jeff shuffled and hopped to see over his stuffed shark, before the sofa blocked her view. 

Natasha watched Blahaj’s tail slowly disappear before she followed. Jeff had been working longer than she’d seen, as pillows and blankets lined the sofa, along with a few stuffed animals you had bought for him. 

Jeff froze when he noticed Natasha was watching. The two stared, unblinking, for seconds that seemed to stretch. Then Jeff flopped, his back legs dropping into a seated position and his head bowing.

“Is that Y/N’s t-shirt?” Natasha asked gently, pointing at the white shirt half pulled over the Blahaj’s head. 

Jeff followed his nod with a dejected “mrrr”. Natasha knelt in front of him; she noticed tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Miss,” Jeff signed. 

The rain was getting heavier against the window, and Natasha knew the thunder and lightning were soon to begin. Jeff would need her comfort. 

“I miss Y/N too; it’s been just us for a while, huh?”

“Mrrr.” Jeff nodded again.

“Let me help you with this then,” Natasha stated, finally catching Jeff’s attention when she pulled Blahaj between them. Jeff pushed under Natasha’s outstretched arms to take a position on her lap, reaching out to pull the shirt on properly. 

Natasha’s expression softened; she could see how much Jeff missed you, yet all she could do was sit and wait with him. She hardly knew more about your whereabouts than the land shark, but at least he had the bliss that came with ignorance, lacking knowledge that you would ever be in danger. 

“Mrrr,” Jeff hummed, grabbing and stretching to wrap his arms around more than just the shirt. It pulled Natasha out of her thoughts, her focus returning to the room. A stuffed toy in her hands, the weight of the land shark on her lap, the sound of the rain and a distant rumble of thunder outside-

Jeff repeated his whine. Natasha bent her arms until Jeff could cling onto his plushie, wrapping his limbs around it as much as he could and squeezing it tight.

In turn, Natasha drew Jeff closer. Her hidden hand kept Blåhaj upright, knowing Jeff would reject the help but tumble off her lap without it.

Their peace was interrupted by the first - sudden - rumble of thunder. Natasha and Jeff reacted immediately; the Black Widow startled at the sound but reflexively pulled Jeff closer. Meanwhile, the land shark squeezed Blahaj tight and buried himself in Natasha’s lap.

“That was loud.”

“Mrrr.”

“Are you okay, Jeff?”

“Mrrr.” He shook his head, face still pressed firmly into the soft plushie. 

“The thunder is scary, I know-”

“Mrrr!”

“-but it can’t hurt you here. I’m with you. Why don’t we finish what you started? Turn all these pillows and blankets into the best fort we can make. How does that sound?”

“Mrrr.”

—————————————————

One month away from this warmth. One month away from your fiancee and your land shark. The need to find them filled your mind; there was nothing you wanted more, to finally be able to while the evening away, to do nothing but bask in their companionship. As suddenly as quiet settled in your surroundings, so too did the thoughts in your mind, trailing away until you felt at peace. The mission report could wait.

Flashes of the mission ran through your mind, of mess-ups, mistakes, twists and turns, of constantly battling to just get home. You hardly even noticed the pouring rain, too caught up in your thought; even on your way back, the weather revolted against you. A long sigh left you when the door clicked shut.

A cosy quiet came with it. Appliances and radiators hummed throughout the house, while the noises of the thunder and rain diminished the second the door shut. With the quiet, even your brain began to relax, focusing on the warmth and safety you had spent a long month missing.

One month away from this, away from your land shark. Away from your fiancée. Did they know you were returning? Natasha would be greeting you if she'd seen the mission success, but then again, data had been patchy on the field, and you weren't even sure it had been sent. 

And Jeff would be barrelling in to greet you if he'd heard the door shut.

It seemed, for once, you had the element of surprise upon your return. 

As quietly as you could manage, you shed your outer layer of clothes and hung them up to dry. Jeff would always be excited to see you, but you doubted Natasha’s enthusiasm if you traipsed dripping garments through the house.

Through the pattering rain, you made out the faint noises of the TV, soft voices that guided your search to the living room.

You’d missed home. Even a perfectly created mission left an absent feeling, a creeping loneliness you struggled to put your finger on. But it was this; missing the small captures of life: a scene too spontaneous to be planned and small enough to oft be overlooked. 

A dazzling fort of cushions and blankets adorned your sofa. You wouldn’t be surprised if Tony Stark himself had built it; it was a feat of engineering. However, the actual creators hadn’t strayed far. In the middle of it all lay your two loves; Natasha dozed with her arms loosely wrapped around Jeff. The pair of them held Blahaj tight against Jeff’s stomach. 

They still faced the TV, but from the look of the channel, sleep had taken hold of them far before you arrived. Orange chickens flooded the screen, seeming to be the focus of the program – Jeff’s worst nightmare. The land shark had been much more cautious around them since his encounter with Susan, the farm chicken who looked identical to those on TV. Jeff couldn’t have slept knowing his feathered foes were just a screen away.

You switched it off; just in time. Another wave of thunder rumbled, and you saw Natasha tremble in her sleep, her grip on Jeff and Blahaj tightening. Tight enough to wake the land shark.

Jeff awoke slowly; he sought comfort and warmth in Natasha’s arms while he blinked his way into full awareness. The moment he saw you was clear; his eyes and mouth widened, and his tail thumped up and down repeatedly. That is…until he remembered his situation. Very quickly, Jeff stilled, then moved a finger to his lips.

“You don’t want me to wake her?” you whispered, an estimated translation of his actions. It took a few more signs from Jeff for you to understand.

“Mother. Didn’t sleep. Tired. And scared.” 

"And you're not scared?" you signed back.

"Jeff brave."

"You’re the bravest, Jeff.” As you spoke, the thunder rumbled once again. Jeff’s fingers dug into his stuffed toy, with a slight whimper escaping that you pretended you didn’t notice. “Thank you for looking after Nat for me; you’ve done it so well.”

“Now… is there room for three in that fort? I think it’s time we napped.”

—————————————————

Jeff taglist: @unexpected-character​​ @wolferine​

[callme-aprilroseisha04]

What's some niche lore abt ur Sonic AU that you've never gotten a chance to mention? (I'm a sucker for world building). Or just anything generally Sonic related you want to talk abt but haven't.

Also I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO ASK AND THEN I FORGOT 💔💔💔💔😭😭😭

first things first, sonic and shadow are both 14! age for everyone in this au is here:

sonic- 14yrs

shadow-14yrs (kinda; it's weird cause if the 50 years thing from canon but he made at the age of 14 so that's what were going with)

tails-8yrs

amy-13yrs

knuckles-15yrs

rouge-16yrs

i personally think the fact that sonic prime is canon into the sonic universe is incredibly stupid, so im changing that which also means i can change their ages and a little bit of their backstories! the only one I actually changed up at all was shadz so here it is: grew up on the arc, most of that stuff is the same but when shadow fell he landed in green hills and GUN couldn't find him so just gave up. then, after 50yrs he wakes up and starts messing around at night, meeting rouge and omega through a series of coincidences; also accidentally making people thinks he's sonic cause fast and hedgehog, earning him the nickname faker. (i chose this cause i don't want sonic to deal with any genuinely world ending scenarios until the paradox prism stuff so it hurts extra bad)

second, sonic spends hours staring off into space now. he doesn't even fidget when he does this. tails is especially worried about this, so he's made a habit of checking the two places where he does this the most (the beach and the mountain) so he can snap sonic out of it. this is actually pretty helpful because sonic's mind can go to some.... dark places when he's alone for too long.

third, sonic covers his ears when he's nervous. its a pretty obvious tell so he tries to hide it, which only makes the thing that's making him nervous worse. cause of this, most of friends choose not to mention it, but its still kinda a problem with strangers.

fourth, sonic tends to avoid mirrors if he's not wearing his prosthetic or his jacket. he hates looking at his arm stump, and he especially hates when people ask about it. he has actually had some fun coming up with fake stories about how he lost it for extra nosy kids tho, so that's nice!

fifth, tho im not sure how it works from a technical perspective, the “voice” is supposed to be a physical-ish manifestation of Sonic’s guilt. something about the paradox prism energy or whatever, idk tbh

there’s som more u could mention, but im just gonna leave it at that!

edit: forgot to mention but also Sonic hasn’t been able to enter tail’s workshop since the paradox stuff. it’s still a lil too traumatic for him, but he has tried! the farthest he’s ever gotten was three quarters to the door.

also he’s really good at insults now. you get pretty good at targeting people’s weak spots after you’ve gotten your weak spots drilled in so bad you go insane. even accidentally! he’s had to apologize a lot.

[laundrybiscuits]

(Hanahaki AU tag)

Shops close early in Salt Lake, but they manage to find a diner that’s still open for dinner. Eddie’s used to being stared at, but the looks he gets just walking into the place are something else. 

“Get ready to take off at the crack of dawn tomorrow, Stevie,” he mutters. “I’m not staying a minute longer than we have to in this backwater shithole.”

Steve’s glancing around like he’s actually picking up on how the locals aren’t exactly thrilled to have someone like Eddie around, breathing their air and eating their food. 

“You think they…” He leans in and lowers his voice like he’s in some kind of spy movie. “Think they recognize you?”

Eddie smacks him upside the head. “They sure as hell will if you go around acting like I’m a state secret. But—no, probably not. I don’t know. I just don’t exactly fit in here, don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Steve makes a face and leans back, picking at his buffalo wings. “Yeah, I guess I’m not fitting in too well either.”

It makes Eddie pause for a second, because he’s got no idea what certified prom king All-American golden boy Steve’s talking about. Then he takes another look at the man sitting across from him, a real look: takes in the raised scar tissue on his neck and the untrimmed scruff, the Sabbath t-shirt he must’ve nicked from Eddie at some point, the worn brown leather jacket, the hair grown long enough to tangle at his collar. 

He looks like he could be dangerous. He looks like he could be wild. 

“Sure,” says Eddie, taking a sip of his milkshake to cover how hard he has to swallow. “Life on the road has corrupted you, Steve Harrington.”

———

They head south towards red rock country. It’s a lot more open land than Eddie’s used to, all stunted gray-green bushes clustering low around the highway, broken up by the occasional stand of cottonwoods cropping up where the road cuts closer to the river.

They stop at a pull-off a little after noon, on the outskirts of Arches where the sandstone formations are starting to stack up high, to stretch their legs and scarf down some of the snacks they’ve been hoarding in the back of the van. It’s probably (definitely) not healthy, but Eddie’s made the executive decision not to care about health anymore. There’s got to be some upsides to all of this. He can live on grease and salt and weed for however long he’s got left.

It’s been pretty bad lately. Eddie’s started to do a thing where he coughs flowers up into his mouth and then swallows them back down when Steve’s around. It means they just come up again bigger and worse later, but so far he’s been able to time it so that he can hunch over a filthy gas station toilet when he really has to puke up the botanical equivalent of a hairball. 

There’s been more blood coming out, too. At first it’d been just a drop or two at the edges when he’d spit to clear his mouth afterwards, but now there’s actual streaks on the petals, damning dark russet smeared across that hideous sunshine yellow. 

He can’t fucking stand the sight of flowers anymore. Any of ‘em. He pops another Dorito into his mouth and twists a pale half-unfurled blossom off a nearby prickly pear, squatting in the shadow of a red standstone outcrop to take the flower apart, petal by petal. It feels a little soothing to rip it apart like this, but he knows he’s probably making things worse by letting his brain dwell like this. Just, sometimes his brain’s like a terrier that wants to chase down rats, and if he doesn’t give it enough rats to chase it’ll start gnawing on its own tail. 

Steve comes to lean against the rock by Eddie. “Got a grudge there, man?”

Eddie shrugs, fingers still worrying at the sepals, shredding petals into confetti. “Told you I was dramatic.”

“Y’know, I always wondered if you could like, plant the stuff people throw up with normal flowers. Think they’d survive?”

“Why on earth would you want to do something like that, Harrington?” 

“Well, like—if somebody had the bloom, and then they told the other person and it all worked out, it might be nice to have some kind of memento. Like, living proof that it’s true love. Don’t you think?”

“I think it’s selfish,” says Eddie. “I mean, telling someone you bloomed for them, even if it works out. It’s manipulative. You’re kinda saying: if you break up with me I might literally die.”

“So what, people like that can’t ever be in love?”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts. “They can be in love. They should just have the fuckin’ dignity to perish from it the first time round, save everyone a lot of time.”

“That what you’re doing? Saving time?”

Eddie stops breathing. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, man,” says Steve. “But you’re not that sneaky.”

[helpful-hardware]

crushed (like a bug in the ground)

Nine leaving gave Sonic a bitter realization of how much he had bungled things even from the start. Shadow is left witnessing it all.

prime shadow and sonic h/c! its honestly surprised me how many takes of that idea there are, but hey we all see it. sonic needs to cry after all of that fr

read my take on ao3 or below the fold!

Of course this had to happen. Of course Sonic thinks of that fox as if he were Tails, as if he were Sonic’s brother. But he never was. He’s Nine, a different person with a different upbringing and beliefs. Desires that Sonic just couldn’t see. Feelings that were assumed about the mechanist all because he looks like someone else.

Shadow had hoped that the hero would see all of this, that he would at least see the variants as different people from his friends. The kitsune’s outburst showed that was certainly not the case. Watching it unfold, seeing the consequences of Sonic’s foolish naivete bite everyone in the collective ass made him livid. A seething fury enveloped him as Nine walked into a portal, taking all the shards that they’d worked so hard to secure away from them.

For a few moments, the “fastest thing alive” was rooted to the spot in the middle of the cave, which only felt even more empty. No quips, no instinct to run after the fox somehow, Sonic merely stood there, as if all of this took him by complete surprise. As if he never considered what Shadow had said at all.

The black hedgehog just felt completely fed up, leaping down from the entrance of the cave and hoping that Sonic would at least get all of this through his thick skull for once. Shadow started to speak, letting his rage calmly seep through his words. “Sonic-”

“I KNOW!!”

The hedgehog had turned around, catching Shadow off-guard and giving him a glimpse of how he was really taking all of this. His heart was racing, his breathing followed suit, his hands were trembling. He looked completely exhausted… and angry. Not just at Shadow, but at himself. Oh dear.

Shadow felt his body tense up and his ears drooping at the sudden yell, and it didn’t take too long for him to take in the scene, and think that perhaps he was a bit too aggressive. After a second of terse silence he tried to interject, but never got a chance before Sonic launched into a rant.

“I know.. that I should have listened to you. I know that I shouldn't have gotten so carried away with thinking those people were my friends! B-but that’s exactly what I did and…”

Shadow thought maybe he heard a sniffle just then. Yeah, he has to try and bring things down. He kept slowly walking closer to Sonic, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh that took some of the outright anger out of him. “It’s not over. There can still be a way to fix this-”

“You don’t get it, you-” A frustrated growl left Sonic’s mouth, his arms still shaking as he looked around as if looking for something, which he then found still sitting on the backs of his hands. He ripped the tech, the technology given by someone he thought he could trust just like Tails, straight off of his gloves and kicks, and threw them with a grunt at Shadow’s feet. “Take them. You know how to fix this? Then go.”

“Sonic, you know I-”

“You’ll do a better job than me? Exactly! All I’ve done is just mess this up! The shards are gone, Nine won’t trust me anymore, I’m probably never going to actually see my friends again and it’s ALL! MY! FAULT!” Through that bout of yelling, Sonic noticed the tears starting to appear at the edge of his vision, and how Shadow was still standing nearby with the sort of expression that just doesn’t fit on his face.

Said expression was of intense worry, for of all the times Sonic had faced insurmountable odds, all the times where things seemed completely hopeless, or where he and his friends were inches away from death… He still had that spirit about him. He never really gave up because that wasn’t how he ‘ran’ so to speak. So for him to be now on the brink of crying, hugging his knees in tight and wanting Shadow to take the reins?

He never really thought that Sonic could be so affected by all of this. It honestly made him feel genuinely concerned about the idiot for once. He moved to sit down next to the shivering blue teen, all while there were whimpers: “Leave me alone… I can’t do this…”

“Sonic, please just… listen.”

Listen. The one thing Sonic should have been doing from the start, the thing he especially should have been doing now… Even after everything he still didn’t listen. That fact was all it took for what was left of his resolve to completely crumble. Hands were brought up to his face to catch the new flow of tears, sobs escaping his mouth as he could not think of anything else to say. Oh, how pathetic he looks to Shadow right now… He curls himself tighter as his cries just don’t seem to stop. All the guilt he feels for letting Shadow down, letting his friends down, betraying Nine’s trust? It feels immensely strong, crushing even.

But then it isn’t the only thing he feels. Against all judgment, Shadow lets his hand gently run through Sonic’s quills. He never thought he’d let himself be close in this manner, but remembering the cocky smile that should be on the hero’s face in place of him being a wailing, shaking mess… It’s tough to admit to himself, but Shadow somewhat missed that. Besides, when he was struggling at his lowest moments Sonic still found reason to be there for him. Returning the favor was only fair, he supposed.

He continued petting the broken hero as he cried like he had never got a chance to before. (Had he?) Sobs slowly simmered down and although he was still whimpering, Sonic was at least a little bit more calm than he was before. Shadow thought to retract his hand, but the light whine Sonic let out when he tried created this pang in his heart, and a feeling that the hedgehog would collapse even further if he weren’t there.

So the two remained like this in the cave for a while. Shadow kept himself closeby with a relatively calm expression, even if on the inside he was worried sick over Sonic in a way he never thought could be possible. The other hedgehog could only feel miserable still, his gloves stained and muzzle matted from all of the tears he had shed. With time, they had stopped dripping down his face, and the two hedgehogs sat in a rather somber silence together, broken up only by the occasional sniff from Sonic.

“I’m… sorry,” he started after a minute, the tone of his voice lacking its usual charm, “for everything. I didn’t… I didn’t want things to end up this bad. I should have listened to you and Tails way back when we had a home, but I never did. And I’ve been going so fast that it never occurred to me that I should have, until it’s too late. I’m sorry, Shadow. You can hate me all you want now. You know I deserve it.”

That was the moment Shadow felt his heart shatter. Thinking back, he didn’t think he was being so harsh with Sonic, he just wanted him to take a break from being annoying and just think. Through all of that he must have just forgotten that this hero is a person, somehow. He had to at least attempt to make this right now.

“I don’t hate you, Sonic. I do think you have been…,” he hesitates a moment, “a little bit annoying, and incredibly naive. But you’ve not given me any true reason to hate you. I realize now that I may have been… too strong in the past. I never intended to needlessly hurt you, but clearly I did. For that, I’m sorry.”

That didn’t appear to make Sonic’s dour look noticeably change, apart from a bitter chuckle he let out. “Maybe if you’d punched me just a little bit harder, everything would have clicked.”

Shadow let out a somber sigh. “You don’t deserve that. What you do deserve however, is another chance.” Sonic’s ears perked up slightly.

“W-What do you mean?”

“There’s still a way to right all of this. If you keep your wits about you, and learn from your mistakes.”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“I know, Sonic. I know.”

Silence falls over them once more, and they take in a sort of calm while they both figure what they could say next. Sonic on his part is actually kind of grateful that Shadow hadn’t just left him to wallow in his misery by himself. He finds himself enjoying the others’ presence here, even though they were at each other’s throats many times in the past. This abstract feeling he’s getting right now, with Shadow sitting to the right and his hand resting on top of the hero’s… It’s strange, yet reassuring.

Shadow admittedly feels something similar, as he takes a moment to look at the other hedgehog. Details like his damp fur, light cuts adorning his skin, and the bags under his eyes all stick out. Details he didn’t think he’d make too much of a deal of or even notice before, but things have changed quickly, haven’t they? It’s almost… it’s almost like he cares about Sonic. Like, actually cares about him and his well being. Shadow feels a bit too tired to really dig into the implications of that now. Which reminds him…

“We should rest. Plans can wait until you’re in better condition.”

Sonic doesn’t feel like he can argue anymore, and lets himself lay out on the stone floor of the mountain alcove. It’s not the most comfortable thing ever, and the chill of the wind blowing in doesn’t exactly help, but after everything does he really have the energy to go out and down to the grass outside? No, not really. So he tosses and turns trying to get in an optimal position to sleep, but nothing quite works.

…At least until he ends up rolling into Shadow. In this sort of dazed state, his soft fur and body heat feel like everything he needs right now. Shadow, of course, is surprised by this, but it’s not like he can really push the faker away now. Besides, laying next to Sonic feels a bit comforting too.

The two hold each other close, their warmth persisting inside the rather cold cave they lay in. Sonic drifts off first, and the sight is fairly calming. Shadow reflects back on everything that led up to this situation, all the fights and bickering, the faults of them both, and whispers out a small wish before his consciousness fades too.

“We’ll make our way through this. I promise.”