#frontier verse

[detective-with-one-arm]

Continued from here.

The offer was certainly tempting, and she'd be lying if a good meal with some good company didn't sound enticing. It was nice to make conversation with the good folks of this city, unconventional though that was for an officer of the law. They mostly just did their jobs and then mingled once their badges were hung up, but Rachel saw the job as more than just a badge.

After all, if these people were the ones who were being governed under the law, than the arm of it should be protecting the people under it. And you'll generally be better at protecting people if you knew them, or at least treated them with respect.

It wasn't as easy to turn a blind eye and submit to human survivalist apathy if there was an emotional investment, after all. And that wasn't difficult for someone like Rachel with as tender a heart as she had. It wasn't uncommon for the more macho officers to say her heart was too soft for this to be shut up the moment actual trouble reared its head and the saw how little nonsense she put up with when the lives and safety of Detroit's citizens were on the line.

The deputy may be soft, kind, and deeply compassionate and inclined towards empathy, but she was anything but weak. Everyone who ever mistook her as such quickly regretted that mistake. "That's quite kind o' you, Six. I was plannin' on maybe rustling up some grits or score up some fresh venison from the local butcher to fry up, but I've always said a meal is best enjoyed in good company." Rachel replied, deciding to accept the man's offer for a meal as compensation. She wouldn't dare ask for his money for this, it really was the least of her troubles. "What're you offerin, if y' don't mind my askin'?"

[kumamaskart]

Casual reminder that Tails real name is “Miles Prowler” so technically the sonic franchise spoiled atsv in like 1992

[larabar]

finally finished another sketchbook good riddance🎉

[000marie198]

You guys ever think about Post Frontiers Sonic? Cuz I do. A lot.

[ben-talks-art]

What's your favorite character with claws?

[onskepa]

Sneak peek: Planet 2154

“Ok clearly we started off on the wrong foot. How about a redo, yeah?” Miles suggests as he rubs his wrists from being freed. The stranger agrees. 

“Alright, for starters, what is your name?” he asks. 

“Spider,” the stranger replies. Miles shook his head. 

“No, like your real name. Im miles” 

“Miles,” Spider says. 

“Yeah see? So, your name?” miles goes on. 

“Miles” the stranger replies. This kinda irked miles. 

“No, your real name” he pushes. 

“Miles” the stranger says as if the was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Boy are you a parrot? I said your re-” 

“Miles, I think that is his real name” Gwen intervenes. Miles looks at her, then at the new guy. 

“Your name is….miles?” he asks. 

“That's what i'm saying” the stranger says while raising his shoulders a bit. 

“You have a nickname or something?” Gwen asks. 

“Spider” the stranger replies. 

“Yeah that's not helping….” 

“I'm told I am also a ‘half Latino’...?” the stranger says. 

“That's worse” miles says while rubbing his forehead. 

“Miles, I think he is a variation of you” Gwen teases. This seemed to horrify him. 

“NO-”

[wordywarriorwrites]

Heat

Heat |  A03 | Rating: M

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: You and Frankie take the next step in your relationship.

Warnings: A/B/O. NSFW. Smut. Language.

The house smells like you.

Your scent permeates every corner, filling Frankie’s lungs and clouding his senses the moment he steps inside. The windows are wide open, welcoming in the cool, fall breeze, but the strength of the wind billowing the curtains and rushing through the house does nothing to dissipate it.

Ambrette, citrus, and ylang-ylang – he can taste it in the air. Just like a siren’s song, the urge to seek more of it is too powerful to ignore, and as soon as he sheds his coat and kicks off his boots, he lets his nose lead him past the kitchen, out of the living room, and into your shared bedroom.

The afternoon sun is high, and bright streaks of light coming in from the window above the clawfoot bathtub catch on the sweat beading your brow and along the column of your throat. Frankie wants to lap it. Savor it. Swallow it down.

Fuck, he’s so hungry for you…  

But you’ve been off for the past few weeks. Moping. Pouting. Making him sleep on the couch only to wake him in the middle of the night and insist he return to bed because you can’t sleep without him. You’ve been quick to anger and even quicker to tears, watching movies and reading books that upset you that much more. Frankie’s lost count of the number of times he’s catered to your nesting urges, and sex, once consistent and passionate, has seesawed between ferally enthusiastic or entirely absent.   

You swear it’s nothing.

But you called off work today. Now, you’re weaving on your feet, head dangling over the sink as if you may tip over at any second. Rivulets of water are streaming down the back of your neck, sliding off your mouth and chin to stop at the collar of your shirt. Your teeth are chattering, fingers curling into claws against the countertop as you groan and curse your discomfort.

It’s not nothing. It’s very much something. In fact, it’s everything.

He sends a couple of texts – one to his boss to clear his schedule for the time being, and the other to the guys, telling them to keep away until he says otherwise. Frankie doesn’t wait for responses; once the messages are out, he shuts off his phone, absentmindedly dropping it onto the nightstand and directing the entirety of his focus onto you.  

“Hermosa?” he calls, tone low and steady as he slowly approaches. “You alright?” 

“I forgot,” you breathe, furrowing your brow and pressing your hand to your lower abdomen. “I forgot how bad it hurts.” 

The distress and pain you feel – it rushes through the bonding mark so furiously, so swiftly, that it causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.  

“Y’smell good enough to eat, guapo,” you croon, voice straining and breathy.  

He chuckles and inches closer, “You should’ve called me. I would’ve come back sooner.”  

You shake your head slowly, “You were in the air. Wasn’t gonna interrupt that.”  

“You need me, you call,” Frankie barks testily. “Nothing’s more important than you.” 

You’re too stubborn for your own damn good – jutting your chin and sticking out your tongue as if it were no big deal. As if today was just another day. Frankie, on the other hand, has been preparing for this since the moment you stopped taking your suppressants and birth control over a year ago, and he’ll be damned if he’s not at home with you for every, single moment of it.  

The changes in you over the past twelve months have prompted his own, special type of metamorphosis. While not nearly as drastic or severe as what you’ve gone through, his own body, behavior, and way of thinking have significantly altered.  

Adding on extra pounds, not cutting his hair, drenching himself in your scent, and encouraging you to renew the mark you graced him with – they’re all outward displays showing he’s strong and capable of taking care of his Omega and whatever offspring he may have with you. It also proves to unmated females and other Alphas looking to court that you’re his, he’s yours, and he intends to breed you.  

The heightened aggression, the need to protect you and the home you made together, and the urge to have you beneath him at all times – they’re all indicators that your fluctuating hormones have been doing their job, and he can physically, mentally, and emotionally feel you pulling him into a rut the likes of which he hasn’t experienced since first presenting.    

Frankie’s been stocking up on essential supplies while you’ve been not-so-subtly covering the bed with endless blankets and pillows to burrow in. You’ve been wearing the same shirt – his favorite shirt – for four days, and he can’t get you to take it off, even just to wash it. He also hasn’t showered in three days because all the books say not to, as it’ll be his unaltered, natural scent that grounds you and comforts you through it.     

Your first heat together. The first time trying for young together.

“Cariño, I think it’s time,” he murmurs. 

You swallow a handful of water and let out a ragged breath, “I know.”

Frankie takes it upon himself to turn off the tap, and as the water gurgles, he reminds you that you’re safe. You’re shaking, wincing with every breath, and he reassures you that everything you need is in the bedroom. He offers you a steady hand, and you place your trembling one in his, allowing him to guide you out of the ensuite. 

“We talked about this,” Frankie whispers against your temple, fingers reaching for the snap on your jeans. “We’re ready for this, aren’t we?”

You nod. Let out a croaky, ‘yes.’ He lowers the zipper and wrangles the well-worn denim past your hips and over your knees. Kneeling at your feet, he helps you step out of your pants and slips your socks off one by one. You’re already writhing, skin clammy and hot to the touch. Your scent, combined with your arousal, is so much stronger now, making his mouth water and his cock throb.  

This isn’t his first rut, and it’s difficult to put a leash on his baser instincts, to handle you with the delicacy and patience you deserve for your first heat with him, but he manages it. He can do anything, endure anything, for you.  

Frankie swallows hard and looks up at you, “I’ll take care of you. Promise.”  

You stare down at him – lips parted and eyes dilated, chest heaving and limbs tight. A tear slips down your cheek, and your stomach jumps when he presses a gentle kiss to the freckle above your belly button.  

He rises slowly, careful not to startle you. Mouth pressed into a hard line and fingers twisted in the hem of your damp t-shirt – he takes his own steadying breath and reminds himself this moment is precious, meaningful, and not to be spoiled.  

It takes effort to peel the cotton from your body, and your bra isn’t much better, the fabric straining and digging harshly into your skin. Frankie knows you’re uncomfortable, when he releases the hooks and gently slides the straps from your shoulders, you sigh. It’s that tiny, almost inaudible sound of relief that buoys him, fills his chest with something indescribable – makes him feel like a man worthy of his woman and an Alpha capable of servicing his Omega. 

“I can’t – I keep fucking crying,” you blurt, shoulders curled, and head bent. 

“S’okay, cariño,” he sighs, rocking you gently and nuzzling your neck. “I got you.” 

You make a sound in the back of your throat that vibrates through him, giving him a headrush that makes his hindbrain lean into you, into your mating, even more. You settle enough to undress him, and Frankie watches with rapt attention as your instincts unfurl like a clenched fist.  

Each seemingly insignificant action becomes tender, almost reverent, and absolutely wondrous. The way you look at him and scent-mark him. How you carefully touch him and move with him. The need to dominate, to assert his control, to make you present yourself to him – you’re somehow channeling it, meeting it, and feeding it with your own calming nature, and it brings a new balance to his rut that he’s never felt before.  

It’s a sacred dance. Ritualistic. Sensuous. Something your kind have done since the beginning of time and will no doubt continue to do long after the two of you are dust.  

When you’re both naked and settled deeply into the nest you built, the weight of it all, the seriousness of it – it’s still there, but it becomes less of a burden and more of an honor. The two of you are as you’ve always been – bared to each other, vulnerable, but safe. Committed. Loving.  

“Te amo,” you murmur. “So much, Frankie.”

Frankie presses a kiss to your forehead, “I love you, too, hermosa.” 

The corner of your mouth quirks – a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing that gets wiped away when you cup his cheek and kiss him, and he simply melts into you, into the assurance of your touch and the comfort of your presence and the way it all just clicks into place.  

Tears return. This time, you let out great, heaving sobs of relief when he gets you off with his fingers, and his own scent surges in response to mingle with yours. Your release takes the edge off the pain and eventually gives way to even more pleasure when he puts his mouth to use to make you come until your thighs shake. 

“Papi,” you entreat, fingers tugging at his curls. “I – I need…”  

“I know querida,” he groans, licking into your mouth. “Let me give it to you, yeah?” 

His mustache is covered in your slick. Your inner thighs are littered with his teeth marks. The peak of your nipple against the flat of his tongue and the heel of your foot pressing into the meat of his ass. You’re lying on your side, and he takes you just like that – bodies slotting together like two puzzle pieces as he bottoms out in a single thrust.  

Your core is molten and saturated, fluttering and squeezing, and you hold him in an embrace that’s simultaneously tender and urgent. The soft sounds you make, the way your breath stutters, and how your tongue tastes when he sucks on it. There’s no hiding your greed, or how desperately he wants to breed you, and when you bare your teeth and demand more from him, the pleased rumble Frankie lets out is more beast than man. 

“Fuck, you feel s’good,” he grunts, digging his fingers into your thigh, allowing his hips to swing freely for a moment before slowing. “I’m tryin’ not to – I don’t wanna…”   

You nip at his chin and rake your nails down his shoulder, “M’ready. I can take it.” 

It doesn’t take much to maneuver you into place, and you fall into the presenting position with such graceful ease, with such eagerness, that something in his chest tightens.

Lazy thrusts morph into harsher snaps of his hips. You go lax, limbs supple and spine melting, and when the tears fall this time, you’re smiling – brow smoothed, looking resplendent, and entirely pleased with yourself. He slips a hand between your thighs and strokes clit, bringing forth another rush of wetness that will make the next part easier.  

When you’ve saturated his groin, Frankie finally drapes himself over your back, rocks into you as deeply as your body will allow, and digs his teeth into your scent gland until you yip out a comingled sound of submission and pleasure. 

“Tell me, mi pequeño lobo,” he pants in your ear. “Tell me you want this.”  

“I want this,” you repeat throatily. “I want you. Please, Alpha…”  

It’s as if your words are the permission he needs to give in to the instinct – to finally let go and do what needs to be done. Supporting you, protecting you, and loving you – it’s just the beginning of a story that’s still being written. Breeding you, knowing it will likely be successful, that he’ll have made you his in the most primal of ways – that’s the next chapter.  

Frankie’s orgasm is indescribably, incomparably intense. A prolonged release that feels too good, one that’s on the knife’s edge of pain, somehow bringing forth feelings of helplessness and complete control. The delirious sense of peace he feels when he knots you. And when you come again for him, and your body just takes it all – accepting everything he has to offer – it’s wonderous in the extreme. 

Spooning you to keep you close, to supply comfort, to keep you warm, and to ensure nothing is lost or wasted – it’s as natural as breathing. Eyes welling. Pride surging. Frankie’s seen you safely through the first wave, and again, it’s your sigh and contentment coming through the bond that lets him know he’s done everything right.  

“We’re ready for this,” you tell him, voice full of excitement and certainty. 

“Si, mi corazón,” he agrees, your echoing of his earlier words renewing his own conviction and joy. “We’re ready for this.” 

[cephalosaur]

i stumbled across a video for drawing in the splatoon style, got some splat brushes, as they're labeled, so I was thinking about that and went ahead with this. 

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

Donation Writing

Inspired by @spnyuri's amazing work, I'm offering 100 words per dollar donated to one of the Palestinian families represented in , or one of these organizations:

Operation Olive Branch

Sudanese American Physicians' Organization

Crips for eSims for Gaza

Action Kivu (DRC)

PCRF

Help Sudan Tarada Initiative 

You can DM or askbox proof of donations (with names blacked out) with your prompt.

I'm in an Avatar (movies) phrase rn, but have also written for TMNT and DC, along with a long list of other fandoms and original work (you can see my writing and on ao3 here, I'll put as many of the fandoms I've written for in the tags as I can) If you've got a fandom not on the list send me a description of characters and I'll se what I can do.

I don't have any personal limits on dead dove stuff (as long as the recipient isn't a minor), but I will also happily write gen. Thank you for reading!

Tagging some people who might be interested--if you've already donated and/or can't donate, please consider spreading this around!

@mayfriend @kayjaydee17 @bl00dw1tch @ibenholt @midnight1404 @freshairforrabbits @crow-dog @taishenkai @alcorian @honeyhobi @makitesuli @pleasesendfrogs @birdgeon

Edit: I've already gotten proof of multiple donations because of this and I am so grateful.

[speedbooster]

Egg's Gatekeeper

[plotted starter for @sylviareviar]

"Whew... So far so good-"

He was speeding around the Death Egg, having just escaped Eggman's prison after being held captive for six months. He was putting on a front, acting the same as he always did, but in reality this whole thing really messed with his head.

He'd lost. Badly. And while the physical torture he was put through was nothing he couldn't handle (Eggman thankfully didn't have the stomach for much in that department), being shown what was happening down on the planet below... that got to him. He knew his friends were still fighting, but he had no idea how many were left, or if things really were as dire as the doc had made them seem.

It didn't really matter. All that mattered was getting back home, and maybe freeing some of the prisoners he came across along the way.

He was in the home stretch now, just outside the hanger bay and speeding down the catwalk after having jumped off a fighter craft. If he could smash through the security measures here, there'd be nothing stopping him or any of the other escapees from taking a shuttle and getting out of there.

Though of course, things were rarely that simple.

He skidded to a stop about a dozen meters away from the end, where there was a rather large superbadnik waiting for him. It was simple in its design, same as all the other scrap bots he'd been running into this time around. What made it unique was the large capsule shaped piece in the center, glowing with a strange, yet familiar energy that pulsed through its body.

"... Yeah, I suppose I should've expected Egghead to have someone to usher me out."

He started stretching as he slowly approached the big bruiser. Something told him this thing was going to be more of a challenge than Zavok and his dumb bee bot.

"Alright, fair warning. I've blitzed through everything else in this place, and I doubt you'll be any different. So, you wanna get out of the way so I can free your captives, or am I gonna have to scrap you too?"

He sounded cockier than he felt. The truth was he was a bit out of practice after all his time imprisoned here. And while he was still confident he'd win, he doubted he could get through unscathed.

Still... nothing's stopped him so far-

[frontiermemories]

Continuing from here: x || @papilio-anima

The farmer took a few moments to catch his breath, wiping sweat off of his brow, and resting his hands on his knees while he tried to regain composure. He took great care to enter the building in a calm, respectful manner, but rushing over from Mondstadt was finally catching up to him.

"S- Sorry for barging in at this hour. But, um... sensitive topic?"

Perhaps, somewhere down the line of doing this back-and-forth, the farmer managed to forget, or become downright desensitized to how unordinary it was to just frequent such an establishment. The look on his face reflected this, being somewhat oblivious to the implications of rushing into the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, in the dead of night, looking disheveled as though he were in a great rush.

"Did I come at a bad time...?"

That's all he could think of to say. After all, he had nothing to spill on his part. So, maybe this was one of those cases where he had to 'read between the lines'? Well, this gave him enough time to stand up properly, gathering a last couple of large breaths.

"I just needed to ask you something- It's about ghost food. But if you need to be alone right now, I'll come back later."

[webbedphantom]

"Happy "I went Super Saiyan and fought God-like Shido to save Christmas" Day!!"

You're never going to let that go, are you?

"How the hell could I?? It's literally the coolest thing I've ever done, and probably will ever do!"

It wasn't exactly a super form, you just... borrowed all your teammates powers through a symbiote.

"True... but it sounds cooler my way."

... that it does, yes-

[shujubeelamoglia]

Oscar Isaac

[snkts]

🛏️ - A dream that made your character want to go back to sleep so they could continue the dream 😈

He is running.

To where, from what, he does not know - but he is running far, and running fast. There is no end in sight. No walls. No bars. No chains. Just an eternal forest. Trees stretch giant and looming around him. The stars stretch over the forest, poking through the canopy, an endless sea of black covered with crystals like fresh-spilled sugar. It's reflected almost perfectly in the fresh snow that is dusting the ground, falling until it crunches under his feet. It all melts into a blur past him because he is running. He is running.

He is running...

But he is not running alone.

The stars gleam in the air around him, reflected in the dark eyes of his family. His pack. They flow out of the trees and run with him, and they are alive and happy and free. He glances to the side and sees lolling tongues and pricked ears. They brace their paws on the ground and lunge.

He is no longer running, because he is swarmed by his pack. They yip and bark joyfully, pushing wet tongues and cold noses against his face and he has to push them aside just for the space to breathe. He is laughing. He turns and buries his face in the closest ruff he can find, inhaling the scent of the wild. Their teeth scrape playfully at his skin, and they are running again, and he climbs to his feet and runs too. The oldest among them throws her head back to howl, and the rest of the pack joins in. He breathes in deep, fills his lungs-

"Hey, wild man!" A sudden voice startles him awake. He blinks in the low light of the early dawn, sniffs to clear his nose. The shackles rattle as he sits up. Another kick from the stage hand and the cart rocks. He blinks again, bleary.

"Y'know what time it is?" The stage hand flashes a gap-toothed grin. "That's right - it's almost showtime!"

...

No. He didn't want to. He was tired. He didn't want to be seen. (Wanted to go back to that dream, back to his pack, his family-)

His nerves light up in blue-white agony and he jolts upright with a startled snarl.

"That's more like it!" The stagehand crows. Through blurred eyes, he sees the stagehand leaning on some sort of box. He knew that box. He hated that box.

"Hey, Mitchel - boss said not to break his new toy! We want our beastie on his feet for the show!" Another voice. The stagehand rolls his eyes and groans.

"Always spoilin' my fun..." The stagehand mutters and walks off.

He watches the stagehand go and slowly, gingerly, crouches back down, bunching into the corner of the cage. The bars are cold. The floor is coated in a spiderweb of wires and metal and he does not understand. He is tired, but his heart is racing, keeping him up when all he wants to do is sleep. To be with his pack again, even in dreams. He cannot sleep. All he can do is crouch and wait for the spectators to arrive, wait for whatever the Ringmaster has planned.

And even though he can see the trees through the bars, the forest has never been so far away.

[trcvelers-chcsen]

"Eh. You aren't missing much, other than it gaining sapience every now and again. Mine started shooting bolts that floated up into a constellation shape once, like a year and a half ago."

"...I don't think the Vanguard ever actually figured out what that was all about, now that I think about it..."

[movedto-mastcrmarksman]

[ INBOX / accepting ] ⸻ @darehearts sent in ⸻ ❝Clint? there's something i want you to do for me.❞ (you wanted angst? i have an idea here, just you wait— ST verse obvs)

CLINT ⸺ gets him searching for Kirk, eyes looking to meet the other man's. The security officer gives a somewhat lopsided smile paired with a look of surprise in his eyes. ❝ Name anything, I'll do it. ❞ It was without question, that's the kind of loyalty that his friends got from him. It's born of years being in space together, of the things that they had been through, a handful of crises that some may sooner forget. Additionally, Clint's found a brotherhood among the friends he has made. Kirk is a brother, and so he doesn't need to know what Kirk needs from him for Clint to go any lengths he needs him to go.