#i want nothing NOTHING to do with that game OR its fandom AND YET.

[carnographix]

Bizarre overlap I have noticed between TSP and DT fans. What on Earth

[seonghwacore]

be real honest. which member of your favorite group whose personality is actually similar to you? are they your bias or not?

[goblin-enjoyer]

I swear why are half the things i like/fandoms im in made of mostly younger people while the other half are mostly older people? what are the zoggin odds with that?

How it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 30-40 somethings.

VS how it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 14-17 somethings.

like am do i just have extremely odd luck with things i like or is this just what being 20 is like?

[lisianthoma]

i miss a hat in time

[http-shield]

whatever you say, old man- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: post endgame but no one is dead and life is good, think 2012 Avengers fandom where clint is in the vents yeah that is where I'm at, established friendships, pining, yearning, bucky is not used to new age dating rituals, explicit language, sexual tension ~ wc: 2.6k ~ not proofread

You: Hey, are we still on for tonight? Rita’s at 7?

Him: ye

“So you’re telling me this is normal?” Bucky’s tone is judgemental as he quickly reads over the words on your screen.

You nod, wordlessly confirming that situatuonships are a staple part of the modern dating scene.

Bucky’s brows furrow, eyes flicking from the lack of effort text message to your face as you lean over the bed, phone gripped between expertly manicured fingers. He blinks once, twice, as if taking the time to formulate a response that will rebuke your earlier confirmation without hurting your feelings. This is new for him. A habit he has only recently picked up upon developing his friendship with you. He usually isn't as careful with his words, not caring enough about the recipient's opinion or emotional well-being to warrant enough time and consideration when responding, but with you. It was another ball game entirely. Bucky doesn't want to hurt your feelings, to see you frown because of something he has said; in fact, he wants the opposite. To see you smile and laugh and blush because of him. For you to want to talk to him about anything and everything, share thoughts about your day and how things make you feel. Bucky wants to know everything that happens in that pretty little brain of yours, even if he doesn't necessarily agree with it. Normally he would take the time to sugarcoat his words, sweeten his tone and make it easy for you to swallow but this is a situation where he couldn't, doesn't, want to mince his words.

“There is no world where that is normal.” He stares at you, expression bored and a little annoyed. At you? Never. At the man on the other side of the phone? Incredibly so.

You groan at his very true statement and pull away, slipping the phone into the pocket of your cargos as you turn towards your open closet.

He’s right. You know he is.

There is nothing remotely normal about two grown adults being in a relationship that is defined by the amount of time the other left the first one on read, or how much emotional vulnerability there could be put on the table before the other got too scared and ran. There is nothing normal about being in your late twenties and having a grown man introduce you to his friends as a 'buddy’ despite having an entire draw dedicated to you in his apartment but you can’t admit that, refuse to admit that you know its wrong and desperate and frankly, demeaning. If you can't own up to your own patheticness, how are you supposed to admit it to the man you are secretly interested in. There would be nothing more humiliating than confessing that the only reason you are with and putting up with bullshit efforts from this other guy is to hopefully distract yourself from the desperate need you feel for Bucky. This new guy is mediocre at worst yet attainable at best and that is something you will live with until your crush on the super soldier is dead and gone and you can finally focus on something other than him.

——

You had spoken with Natasha about Bucky last night, her voice a soothing purr over the phone as she encouraged you to disclose your concerns about pushing the boundaries on your friendship with the super soldier.

“The worst thing that can happen is he says no and then you both move on.” She croons, voice laced with comfort and reassurance.

“Wrong.” You shake your head despite being on a voice call.  “The worst thing that can happen is he says no, I lose him as a friend and then I’m stuck pining after someone who wants nothing to do with me” You place another dish in the washer before continuing with your point. “Or I push him before he is ready, again losing him as a friend, and now I’m left with the guilt of possibly taking advantage of a war veteran.”

“You take advantage of Steve all the time, how is this any different?” 

“I take advantage of Steve to get someone to carry in the groceries. I’m not trying to date Steve.”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “What if he is interested in you as well?”

Your hands stop scrubbing at the pan in the sink.

“I can find out.”

Heat fills your body, your stomach twists at the idea of having that information. It would put an end to the constant yearning you feel, but the thought of finding out he doesn’t like you that way, that he sees you as no more than a friend will destroy you, humiliate you beyond all logical reason and you would be forced to cut off the friendship out of pure self-preservation.

You shake your head again. “I’m good.” And return to scrubbing your pan. “I'll just wait out the crush and then move on.”

——

“This isn’t the 1940’s anymore.”  You sigh and completely shift your attention from Bucky to the mess that is staring back at you.

Endless outfit options are strewn about the small closet but so far none of them have come together, just single shirts, skirts, and pants all muddled in a heap of black.

“I know it's not the 40s but I doubt relationships and dating have changed that much." Bucky grumbles from behind you, the bed creaking as he shifts.

Another sigh, this one long and exaggerated as you will the frustration to leave your body. You want to turn to him and explain that you know all this, and are very aware of the fact that nothing about your current predicament is what you want. You want to be wooed with flowers and preplanned dates and soft kisses on hands and longing looks but that’s not the reality of life anymore and having to be reminded of it is getting annoying and your heart is starting to ache at the lack of effort given to you by your current choice of dating partner.

“You know if I was taking..” Bucky starts but you quickly cut him off with a whine of his name.

“James, please.” You don’t turn to face your friend, afraid to even glance at him because you know you will crumble. “I need help picking out an outfit so help me or go back to your room.”

--------

“You know if I was taking…” You don’t let Bucky finish but, God did he want to. His name on your tongue was enough to shut him up, to send a flush rushing to his face in a way that no man his age should blush, but he can’t help it. There is something about the way his name falls from your lips that has his mind racing to thoughts that should not be there, should not appear when the picture of you enters his mind.

“You know if I was taking you on a date, you’d get flowers and chocolates and champagne and those little baby dolls you like” is what he wanted to say before you shut him up with an annoyed grumble.

His intention wasn’t to display how things were different back in his day but to indicate exactly what you’d be getting were you about to go on a date with him, to explain the reason why you should go on a date with him and not some loser who couldn’t even formulate a fully fleshed out text message. How if you were to drop that kid, and say yes to Bucky he would gather the moon on string for you, pick every flower in every field, find every single little Sonny Angel there is and give them to you each and every day for the rest of your life, you would never be sat wondering why he isn’t calling or responding, if you were even going out the next day, if he even liked you. Bucky would make his feelings for you so abundantly clear that even a blind man would be able to see the signs, but you are his best friend and best friends don’t feel that way about each other. It’s all platonic hugs and hair tussles, cheeky jabs at each other over coffee, shared trauma and secrets over whatever dinner you bring to his apartment and he yours. There will be no dates, or long hugs that turn into kisses that turn into you beneath him, whimpering his name as he makes you feel oh so good.

Fuck.

Bucky’s entire body is on fire, and he needs to stop thinking about the way you would feel wrapped around him, his mouth on yours, the taste of you sweet on his tongue.

“Okay, what about this?” you announce as you walk into the bedroom from the ensuite. “Too much?”

You stand in the doorway, dressed in plain jeans and a black shirt.

“Too much?” Bucky is confused. “This is the outfit you wore to breakfast this morning.”

He is right about this too. You had worn a very similar outfit this morning, but tonight isn’t a full-on date, a semi-date, where things shouldn’t be that fancy so why shouldn’t you recycle your outfits. Bucky stands from the bed, readying himself to dig through the mountain of clothes that had formed at the entrance to the bathroom. He crosses the small space and squats before the clothing, fingers expertly rifling through the material, quickly brushing over the lace of bras and panties, before finding purchase on a black dress he thinks he has seen you in before. It might have been the dress you wore to a funeral or press conference, either way, it was not alluring in the slightest, not that you weren’t stunning in everything you wore, hell you could come out wearing a garbage bag and Bucky would be in awe of your beauty. It was just that he didn’t want your date to ogle you, to think of you the same way Bucky does so he is being a little selfish and conniving in his choice of garment.

“Where is he taking you?” His question is disguised as interest in the dress code but his real curiosity is far from an outfit.

There are two reasons why he needs to know where you will be tonight. The first is to judge whether this manchild is even worthy of a date with you, second if he knew the exact location and time, maybe he could show up and show out your date, make you realise what you deserve and how Bucky could be the one who gives it to you.

 “We’re meeting at Rita’s down the road and then might see a movie, maybe something else. I’m not sure yet.”

“He hasn’t planned anything?” Bucky whips his head around to you, finding you standing there looking incredibly embarrassed at the lack of effort. What the fuck happened in the years he was gone?

The defeated shake of your head is enough to have Bucky’s chest aching. He sits back on his haunches; the dress discarded back in the pile and gives the outfit another look as he decides on where to go from here. “Yeah, I think it’s too much.” He nods and stands up, brushing his hands as if he had just completed an excavation on some ancient site.

“Go change back into your sweats ‘cause there is no way I’m letting you go on a date with a guy who can’t even plan something.” He nods his chin towards the bathroom, more of an order than a suggestion.

He watches you tilt your head back as you groan in frustration. “I’m not going through this again, old man. This is how it works now.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to get frustrated. He takes a step towards you, hulking 6’0 frame rising to tower above you with a somewhat menacing glare, but you know he will never hurt you no matter how much you push his buttons.

“I’m not talking about what it used to be like, little girl.” The jab at your age/generational difference comes out before he can register it, but he notices how your eyes widen. “This is about getting what you deserve.”

He pushes in on the space between your bodies, now chest to chest as you square your shoulders, not ready to back down from an argument despite knowing you will not win.

“And what’s that?” you stare up at him, brows raised in anticipation of his answer. You aren’t sure where this is going. If you are going to receive another lecture or maybe even a verbal beatdown as to why your standards for men are so low, a common topic of conversation between you and Natasha, but instead you are met with a soft smile as his Vibranium hand is raised and brushes against your cheek.

“You deserve flowers and preplanned dates and wine and jewellery and everything you could ever want.” Bucky’s voice drops into a whisper, cold fingers trailing soothing lines against your heating skin. “You deserve a man worshipping you, to be on his hands and knees begging to take you on a date. Not some punk who can barely put together a sentence.”

You hold his gaze, blue eyes staring intently as you shudder in a breath. “Who’s going to do that, huh?” your voice is small, no longer filled with the same bravado you had not a minute ago. “You know anyone who wants to do that for me, you send them my way Bucko.”

His metal hand slips to your cheek to your jaw, fingers pressing into your pulse points so he can feel the speed at which your heart is racing.

“I’d do it.” He states matter-of-factly, eyes dipping to your lips. “I’d do anything for you.”

Breathing becomes a little bit too difficult as his human hand traces up your bare arm.

“Anything?”

Bucky nods and dips his head until his face is mere centimetres from yours. “You didn’t let me finish before, but I'd give you anything you’ve ever wanted.” Fingers move to cup your chin and tilt your head up. “You want flowers, I’m a florist. Moon? Stars? I’m getting Stark to build me a rocket. Anything you want, you’re getting it.”

“And if I want you on your hands and knees barking like a dog for me?” You smirk, the mental image of Bucky on his knees panting like a puppy has your stomach twisting.

“Put a collar on me and call me Spot 'cause I’m yours, doll.”

The confession has your eyes widening.

“I’m all yours, from now until whenever you’re done with me.” Bucky whispers, breathless.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?” you ask, knowing he is waiting for your permission to do just that.

Bucky crumbles, his expression falling from that of teasing into one of pleading.

“I want you to kiss me, James.” You whisper.

His resolve breaks and he presses his lips to yours. Softly and timidly, closed mouth and restrained but as your hands reach out to grip his waist, a delicate gasp slipping past your lips, does he deepen the kiss. His mouth opens over yours, lips slotting against your plush ones, tongue darting out to test to waters only to be met with your slackening jaw. Bucky’s grip on you tightens as he continues to kiss you, afraid to let you go in case this was one of the many, many dreams he had where he woke up alone and confused, but as you bite down on his bottom lip, he is brought back to reality. Your hands on his waist, pull him tighter against you, the softness of your body had Bucky’s mind wandering to places it should not be. You pull back, pupils blown wide and lips parted as you pant. Bucky is just as breathless, hands cupping your face with a gentleness he doesn’t think you’ve ever known from the way you stare up at him.

“You’re not going on that date.”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

a/n: eee this is my first avengers fanfic since like 2018 pls be nice I just need something happy to think about clint living in the airvents, thor eating poptarts era was my happy place

[moonlight-joy]

The Pray Who Got Away

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: You were Kraven’s most elusive prey—until he finally caught you. However, instead of finishing the hunt, he became fascinated by your survival instincts and cleverness. As Kraven's obsession with you deepens, he offers you a twisted choice: continue the deadly game or stay by his side willingly.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

The forest was alive with shadows, each rustle of leaves and snap of a twig sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins. You moved silently, every step calculated, every breath measured. Survival had become second nature to you. Out here, the world was stripped of pretense, reduced to predator and prey.

And you knew exactly which one you were.

The man hunting you was no ordinary predator. Sergei Kravinoff—known to the world as Kraven—was relentless. He’d tracked you through forests, mountains, and deserts, always on your heels but never quite catching you. Until now.

The clearing ahead offered no cover, only the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. You hesitated for a fraction of a second, weighing your options. That hesitation cost you.

A low growl cut through the silence, and before you could react, a hand closed around your arm, yanking you backward. You twisted, struggling, but it was no use. Kraven was impossibly strong, his grip unyielding as he pinned you against a tree.

“Caught you,” he said, his voice low and triumphant, his breath warm against your ear.

You glared up at him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “What are you waiting for?” you spat. “Do it. End this.”

But Kraven didn’t move. His amber eyes studied you intently, the predator assessing its prey. Slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’re not afraid,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve hunted warriors, beasts, creatures that defy nature… and yet you, a mere human, are the only one who’s ever eluded me.”

“I’m not your trophy,” you shot back, your voice trembling with defiance.

His smirk deepened. “No. You’re something far more intriguing.”

The tension crackled between you like a storm about to break. You waited for the killing blow, but instead, Kraven stepped back, releasing you. You stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden freedom.

“What… what are you doing?” you asked, your voice wary.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he said, his tone laced with dark amusement. “Continue the hunt… or stay.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed his words. “Stay?” you repeated incredulously. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you intrigue me,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving yours. “Your instincts, your cleverness… You’re not like the others. I want to see what you’re capable of. And perhaps, what we’re capable of together.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to get as far away from this man as possible. But there was something in his eyes, something that made you hesitate. It wasn’t just the thrill of the hunt that drove him—there was curiosity, fascination, and… something else you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re insane,” you said finally, your voice shaking.

“Perhaps,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer. “But insanity has its uses. I can teach you, protect you. Or we can keep playing this game until one of us loses. Your choice.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized the truth of your situation. This wasn’t just a game to Kraven anymore. You’d become something more than prey to him, and that terrified you almost as much as the hunt itself.

“If I stay,” you said cautiously, “what happens to me?”

He smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. “You become mine.”

The days that followed were a blur of tension and unease. True to his word, Kraven didn’t resume the hunt. Instead, he watched you, his sharp eyes missing nothing as he led you through the wilderness. He spoke little, but when he did, his words were laced with dark humor and cryptic wisdom.

“You’ve survived this long,” he said one evening as you sat by a fire he’d built. “But survival is more than instinct. It’s strategy. Control. You’ve done well on your own, but imagine what you could do with someone like me by your side.”

You scoffed, poking at the fire with a stick. “Someone like you? A man who hunts people for sport?”

Kraven chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “I hunt to understand them. To see what they’re made of. And you… you’re made of something extraordinary.”

You didn’t respond, unsure how to process his words. There was a part of you that hated him, that wanted to escape and never look back. But there was another part—a quieter, more dangerous part—that was drawn to him. To his strength, his confidence, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

One night, as you lay staring up at the stars, Kraven spoke again, his voice softer than usual.

“They’re coming for you,” he said.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Who?”

“The others,” he said, his gaze fixed on the fire. “Hunters who don’t play by the same rules I do. They’ve heard about you. They want to claim you as their prey.”

A chill ran down your spine. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I’m not letting them have you,” he said, his voice hardening. “You’re mine to protect. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver through you, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. For all his flaws, Kraven had kept his word. He hadn’t harmed you, and he’d kept the other hunters at bay. But the question lingered in your mind: at what cost?

The confrontation came sooner than you expected. A group of hunters descended upon your camp, their intentions clear in the way they moved with deadly precision. Kraven met them head-on, his movements a blur of power and grace. He fought with a ferocity that left you breathless, his focus unwavering as he protected you.

But even as he drove them back, you realized the truth. You weren’t just a pawn in some deadly game. You were the prize. And Kraven wasn’t the only one who saw your potential.

When the last hunter fell, Kraven turned to you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. “Now you see,” he said, his voice rough. “Why I couldn’t let you go.”

You met his gaze, your emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something deeper. “What happens now?”

Kraven stepped closer, his eyes burning with intensity. “Now, you decide. Will you run again? Or will you stay and face whatever comes… with me?”

Your heart pounded as you weighed his words. Freedom was within your grasp, but so was something else—something dangerous and thrilling and utterly consuming. The choice was yours.

As the days turned into weeks, you began to see glimpses of the man behind the hunter. Kraven wasn’t as invincible as he seemed. Late at night, when he thought you were asleep, you’d catch him staring into the fire, a shadow of doubt flickering across his face. You wanted to ask him what haunted him, but you weren’t sure he’d answer.

One evening, as the two of you sat in silence, you finally found the courage to speak. “Why do you do this?”

He looked at you, his expression guarded. “Do what?”

“Hunt. Chase. Live like this,” you said, gesturing to the wilderness around you. “Is it just for the thrill? Or is there something more?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, quietly, he said, “It’s all I’ve ever known. The hunt gives me purpose. Without it, I… I don’t know who I am.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and you felt a pang of something you couldn’t quite name. Compassion, maybe. Understanding. “You don’t have to do it alone,” you said softly. “You could find another purpose. Something worth living for.”

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Maybe I already have,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. And as the fire crackled softly in the darkness, you realized that the line between predator and prey had blurred beyond recognition.

Please support my work with like and comment

[the-s1lly-corner]

Crps but you're all having a sleepover

thats right baby we're returning to the 2010s creepypasta fandom for this one, where everyone lived in the slender mansion and shit obvious hc derailment from my normal posting but im feeling a little nostalgic </3 the way i portray characters is the same as i usually do it, theyre all just roommates now notes: reader is gn, platonic post really since its just talking about what everyone is doing in the mansion, admin is attempting to catch the energy of 2010s quotev/wattpad creepypasta x reader fics/quizzes... including only characters that were a "standard" for the mansion stuff, at least with the stuff i looked at! splendorman and nina are here though even though they dont fall under that, a LOT of parts are connected with each other and reference one another cws: none

SLENDERMAN

he usually doesnt like getting wrapped into the chaos that happens when everyone decides to spend the night in the common area of the mansion- and he never quite saw the appeal in sleepovers

if you need a break from the chaos inside, you can find him holed up in his office or out in the woods

if hes out in the woods and you go searching, it doesnt take you long to find him

or rather, it doesnt take him long to find you- he knew you stepped out the second your feet touched the grass

you keep each other company... its a quiet night out..

he wrongly assumes everyone is going to behave and that he doesnt need to check in on them

SPLENDORMAN

looooooves sleepovers, acts as a sort of "supervisor" to make sure no one gets hurt and nothing gets set on fire... hes... not very good at it since theres so many people and theres so much going on

attempts to orchestrate games so everyone can have fun together- and while some people do form a small group to play, most of everyone else is doing their own thing throughout the night!

hangs around you if you need a break from the chaos, talks to you to pass the time

checks in on you and everyone else to make sure everyone is having fun

he kind of gives off those "are you winning son?" dads but hes asking everyone is theyre having fun

JEFF THE KILLER

throwing knives into the fireplace trying to hit the same spot over and over, he offers you his knife to let you give it a try! nina might come by and join you two at some point!

loudly talks shit about some of the other people in the area... cough cough jane cough cough

its a miracle a fight hasnt broke out yet... but its definitely very likely

hes the one responsible for the music, and of course, its all his personal taste... but if you ask nicely and if its a good enough suggestion he might just let you play a couple songs!

at some point you two decide to go help laughing jack make snacks... more on that in his part!

JANE THE KILLER

doing her best to ignore the chaos around her as she sits with sally and plays with her... there arent many other creepypastas around that are in her age group, and jane doesnt want to make her feel left out

she does end up spending most of the night downstairs with everyone else but she does take breaks to step outside to clear her head, its way too loud and theres way too much going on

offers to let you come outside with her, if you want

you both kind of just end up talking outside on the porch before heading back inside

you try to help convince nina and sally to go upstairs to play, you both might just be successful!

wont be sleeping with everyone else downstairs, shes probably going to retreat to her room at some point to sleep

NINA THE KILLER

also sitting with sally, theyre making friendship bracelets! if you want you can join in and make some with her!

ninas an absolute pro at making bracelets, they easily outdoes everyone sitting in your group!

offers to paint your nails or experiment with some makeup on your face! doesnt push too hard though because shes all for a good time, doesnt want to make you feel uncomfortable

playing music against jeff's music, total genre clash that hardly sounds pleasant- perhaps the four of you can retreat to sallys room?

joins in on the snack making at some point in the night, and while she doesnt start a fire she does make something diabolical

think the monster and sour airhead strip thing

LAUGHING JACK

he does NOT know how to cook but he wants to give it a shot now that no one is in the kitchen

you guys probably start a small fire while trying to make popcorn, absolute chaos breaks out- jack is eating burnt kennels, you're trying to whack the flame out, jeff is cackling, and splendorman is rushing in to see whats going on and he nearly has a heart attack

prior to that jack is passing out candy and doing his own thing, you might be able to convince him to wind down and watch a movie with you and some of the others!

last one to fall asleep, if you can call what he does sleep... he... doesnt need to sleep, he just pretend sleeps

will instantly rush over if you offer him to join in on an activity youre doing, whether youre by yourself or with someone else

EYELESS JACK

pretty tame, all he's doing is streaming movies in the living room so theres something to watch- or more sound to add to the background

has enough sense to turn on subtitles so you know whats actually being said against whats going on around you

he would sneak you snacks if he had them, but he didnt think to grab anything thats friendly for you- that sort of thing doesnt cross his mind that often since he doesnt... eat normal people food

pro at tuning everyone else out, he might just end up tuning you out because hes so used to things descending into chaos

you both might end up having a conversation about anything at some point, really any topic is on the table

BEN DROWNED

one of the rare occasions where hes out and about rather than being confined to his devices- surely he will use his limited time to hang out with everyone in bulk!

right..?

you thought! sure he might come down every now and then to hang out- namely hang out with jeff or sally for a few minutes, but hes going to be spending a lot of his time in his room upstairs playing video games

and youre more than welcome to join him! just be aware that hes likely going to be using cheats and hacks!

love the idea that ben is friends with a lot of the other gaming creepypastas so theres a chance theyre also going to be playing with you guys, even if theyre not there in person

absolute insanity ensues, mostly due to all of the cheats

SALLY

wants to hang out with everyone and while shes not totally dismissed, she ends up spending her night on the floor drawing- but jane and nina do join her at some point to keep her company

over the moon when you come over and sit with her!! shes already made you a friendship bracelet, nina showed her how! in fact shes already made one for everyone!

do ghosts sleep...? if so youre probably going to have to take her to bed at some point, whether it be at her bedtime or if she simply falls asleep while you hang out

as soon as nina offers to do your hair or makeup, sally is immediately jumping up and offering to help

will probably ask for her hair to be done as well

MASKY

its either him or hoodie, but one of them is going to end up being the one to put out that fire laughing jack starts in the kitchen

cannot stand the excess noise so hes probably going to step outside to clear his head or go upstairs

its best to give him a few minutes before offering to join him, he needs that window of alone time to depressurized

basically plays babysitter next to splendorman, basically making sure nothing gets wrecked inside or outside

you guys dont really talk out on the porch, there isnt much to talk about

offers to walk with you through the woods before returning inside

you both kind of just hang around in the corner keeping an eye on everyone

one of the last ones to fall asleep as well

HOODIE

similar to masky in the "hes making sure nothing is getting too insane and nothing is being damaged", he might default to the couch with eyeless jack

switches between watching the movie thats being played and scanning the room to make sure everyone is mostly behaving

unlike ej, he did think to keep some small snacks on him and hes willing to share with you if you ask

will keep the good stuff/his favorite stuff for himself though

doesnt sleep in the living room, will eventually go back up to his room at some point to go to bed... with the exception of characters who outright dont sleep, hoodies 100% the one staying up the longest

asks you about the movie when it ends, if you know sign or have some way for him to communicate with you

TICCI TOBY

probably gets caught up in the energy- in multiple ways! i do think at some point hes going to get overstimulated and need a step back but for a while hes hanging around with everyone else and kind of leaning into the chaos

briefly joins jeff in the "weapon throwing" activity, naturally wants to use his hatchets

at some point you both kind of just sit on the floor in a corner and just talk about- literally anything

you look through stuff on your phone, probably leads to introducing him to a lot of internet stuff... he uh... isnt on the internet all that much

oh you guys are definitely taking random quizzes and stuff

nina might join you guys for a bit at some point- leads to you guys taking quotev quizzes and things get more... silly

[archduchessgortash]

Unpopular Opinion

An 'evil power couple ruling Toril together' ending for Durge and Gortash is a horrible idea, and I'm glad that it doesn't happen in Baldur's Gate 3. If it ever did, it would not be a happy ending for either of them.

If that's your kink... cool. It's such a popular ask in the fandom that I'm sure someone already wrote it months and months ago.

My kink is redemption, but hardly anyone seems to want that for Gortash, and it makes me sad. I really think it should have been an option.

Here's why I don't want Durge and Gortash ruling Toril:

Durge and Gortash have both been abused, manipulated, and treated like complete shit by their families, their caregivers, and their gods. Bane's treatment of Gortash isn't exactly clear except that he tortures his soul for failure even though Gortash did everything he possibly could to succeed in the Absolute plot. By the time we meet him in-game, Gortash has become as bad, if not worse, than his abusers. Pre-tadpole Durge was a piece of work, too, although Sceleritas does mention that they struggled to stay the course that Bhaal had set them upon even before their lobotomy.

We know that one of the themes in Baldur's Gate 3 revolves around cycles of abuse. Even when the victim-turned-abuser isn't arguably 'as bad' as the one who hurt them, if they choose the same sort of path, they lose everything they were ever really fighting for: themselves.

I know Ascended Astarion stans will stomp their feet and say he hasn't become Cazador 2.0. To them, I say: 'You're right. He hasn't... yet.' However, he has eternity now and a delusional slave of his very own to bring out the worst in him. There's a reason that spawn Astarion mentions how he felt everything he'd learned since meeting his new friend/partner slipping away when he thanks them for stopping his ascension. Because that is what ascension does to him. Astarion loses. Cazador wins. Even dead, he has won. That the fandom doesn't get that boggles my mind.

Some fans like the idea of evil Durge and Gortash taking out Bhaal and Bane, becoming gods themselves. In my opinion, this is so much worse. Killing or torturing their abusers as revenge isn't 'finally showing them' or proving their strength. It is, in fact, a mirror of their abuser's own weakness manifested in their victim. Gortash has already crossed this line. Dravo Flymm is effectively dead, animated only by his tadpole. This is another reason I wish Karlach had the option to forgive Gortash--not for him--but for her.

Gortash intellectualized his own abuse so hard that he actually thinks he was helping Karlach by giving her to Zariel. He has not truly dealt with anything that was done to him. He projects it onto the people around him and makes his own problems into everyone else's. I believe this is why there's no ending in which he survives. That, and running out of time and money to do him and Wyll justice with their storylines.

I don't like Durge and Gortash becoming worse together. A history of abuse does not excuse its continuation. I don't want to watch them be overtaken by their own weakness, to weep as I gaze upon the manifestation of their inescapable cowardice.

I want to see them win, but my definition of winning is not ruling. My definition of winning is choosing to no longer emulate their abusers, to become what tiny glimpses into their back stories show us they once had the potential to be.

The idea of Durge and Gortash enslaving the world and ruling it brings to mind a line from one of my all-time favorite songs: Veteran of the Psychic Wars by Blue Öyster Cult.

'Did I hear you say that THIS is victory?!'

Well... it is. Just not theirs.

Repeating the cycle of abuse is nothing short of ensuring the legacy of the abuser.

Like I said... I want Durge and Gortash to win.

[dr-spectre]

Ok... is it safe to talk about Sonic Movie 3 spoilers yet? The movie is out on digital and it's been over a month.

Idk. Anyways.

I am both curious and utterly terrified on how they are gonna write Metal Sonic and Amy for Sonic Movie 4.

I will start off with my boy Metal first.

Metal Sonic to me is a very interesting character due to his goals and motivation. His goal to prove that he is the REAL Sonic and that he's better than the "fake" one. The way that he acts is a near perfect replication of Sonic's attitude, from the finger wagging to the poses he does in Sonic CD and the OVA, he is all about proving that he is Sonic the Hedgehog.

Metal Sonic is just not a simple robotic clone, he has depth to him and they expand upon GREATLY when he becomes Neo Metal Sonic and becomes SO OBSESSED with proving that he's the real Sonic by turning into a monster and trying to rule over everything, just so he can finally kill Sonic.

EVEN EGGMAN IS LIKE "Yeah naw dude we're fucked, we NEED the chaos emeralds to have a chance at beating him."

After his Heroes appearance, he became nothing more than a robotic clone used in spinoff games and in terrible mainline games like Sonic 4 and Forces. He only had splashes of depth to him in the IDW comics with this phenomenal scene.

So when i see Metal Sonic and a whole army of him in the post credit scene of Sonic Movie 3, i can't help but feel VERY WORRIED on what they are gonna do with him.

I mean don't get me wrong, the design is nearly on par with the game version, aside that fucking mouth piece thing, it looks AWFUL!!!! I HATE ITTTT!!

WHAT IS THIS!?!? WHY DOES HE HAVE AN ANGRY MOUTH!? ITS NOT SCARY AT ALL LMAO!

But now I'm just wondering, will they give Metal Sonic that depth he used to have? Will we actually see Neo Metal Sonic or will the main Metal Sonic be the coloured one we saw?

I don't want Metal Sonic to be like his appearances in Sonic 4 Episode 2 and Forces. I want it to rival his appearance in the OVA and Heroes dude. I want a fucking great antagonist, not a cheap robot that shoots out energy blasts.

I want a god damn intimidating robot Sonic.

Now... Amy Rose.

As some of you probably know, i like a character wrapped in pink, is hyperactive, wields a giant melee weapon and is always mischaracterized in the fandom they are from. When i was younger, i used to dismiss her or think she was just funny and move on. But as i've gotten older, i've actually grown to really like the character, especially in the older 3D games and with retranslation mods. Her story with Gamma was beautiful, her speech to Shadow, her jokes, her flirty/fangirl attitude towards Sonic. It's really fun to watch. Most media has a boy fall in love with the girl, but with Amy and Sonic, it's the opposite. Their dynamic is unique.

I also love how in some stories, Amy can get REAL PISSED OFF and have anger issues. Even roses has thorns.

However... in more recent stories like Frontiers, her personality has been mellowed out by a lot and her crush for Sonic is pretty much gone now. She's all about "sharing love with the world" now and her anger issues are gone.

Some say she's grown up and "oh she changed!" But we actually don't see this character growth at all. It's one thing to tell a story about how Amy learns that maybe her love for Sonic is too much and she learns to just be a good friend to Sonic. But it's another when the character has a MASSIVE personality change between Lost World, Forces and Frontiers. AND THEN THEY CHANGED GENERATIONS TO MAKE AMY LESS FLIRTY AND ANGRY LIKE.... HUH!?!? WHY!?!?!? THAT'S NOT HOW YOU WRITE A CHARACTER ARC!!!!! YOU GOTTA SHOW IT!!!! (A lot of Sonic characters have this issue too so it's not just an Amy problem.)

And them also doing the whole "Amy is no longer a damsel in distress anymore and her love for Sonic is over" is just... no dude. Amy was a damsel a couple of times and they never lasted that long. She's not on the same level as Peach. And the IDW comics tried to make her a Sally Acorn type character for some reason as well at first. Which was REALLY WEIRD! But maybe it's changed idk, i haven't kept up with the comics these days.

The only Amy that i really like in more modern stories is the one from The Murder of Sonic The Hedgehog. Now THAT'S how you write Amy.

So now, when i see Amy come in with a hood on and destroying Metal Sonics with ease, I'm left wondering, "oh no... how are they gonna write her?"

Will they actually show Amy's crush on Sonic? Will Amy just have Sally's personality? Will they give her some damn thorns? Will they make it to where SONIC IS THE ONE WITH THE CRUSH!?!? PLEASE DON'T DO THAT! DO NOT GO THE GENERIC ROUTE PLEASE!!

If they make it to where when Amy takes off her hood in Sonic Movie 4 and immediately falls for Sonic I'll eat all of my words, but i doubt that would happen....

Anyhow, those were my thoughts, i know that it's too early to make a definitive statement on things but i just wanna voice my concerns due to other recent Sonic stories not landing in the characterisation department for me.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[thedissonantverses]

This is related to this post which is so on point it hurts. I wasn’t going to write this but yet another one of my mutuals had someone be super racist again directly to their asks so here we go.

I go super hard on the Veilguard positivity a lot not out of an urge to stan for BioWare but because parts of the fandom have gotten so unbelievably toxic I’m not even sure why they’re still playing the games. Legit if you’re actively in mourning about this franchise because of a, at worst, competent game you need to find something else to do. I have been told I don’t know how many times I just don’t like “critique” of Veilguard which is fecking hilarious and I should show you my dm’s. You’re not actually showing “love” for the DA franchise when you’re overly negative and reductionist.

We absolutely should be able to critique Veilguard and I do attempt to do this from time to time. But to be honest we can’t even discuss the actions of the antagonist in an honest way. It is actually laughable how far away from the source people have gone when analyzing this game and its characters. It might be my favorite game in the series but that in no way makes it perfect or flawless and I’m aware. Not gonna share the critiques here cause y’all can’t handle the base plot of the game without bullying other fans.

I keep seeing people complain about the lack of fan engagement and fanworks while directly being the reason artists and writers don’t want to be anywhere near the space. Again if you’re not commenting or reblogging or otherwise supporting other creators in the fandom you are the problem I’m talking about. If you’re being super vitriolic then yeah, no one wants to make stuff for you for free. They’re too afraid or exhausted and we are all culpable, myself included.

The media literacy problem, the bigotry, and the lack of engagement are all related issues and until the most vitriolic amongst us reckon with that nothing will get better. And yeah, if you’re going super hard against a game that stands this hard by its queer, disabled, and POC characters that’s a huge red flag. Unpack it. Offline. Away from the marginalized members of your fandom.

[birdsandbeetlesandmoths]

The Sonic Movie Franchise and The Found Family Trope

A personal request by my dear moot and friend @writer--in--theory, which I am entirely happy to deliver on.

Feel free to point out inconsistencies or anything you think I can improve on in my analysis.

Alright, so, the Found Family trope. Extremely popular and very well done, along with one of the tropes I find the most fulfilling to write in to fanfiction.

As I, and I believe most people in fandom, consider the Sonic movies to be an AU, I’m not going to be comparing specific relationships or characterization to any other games or media, other than that the familial aspect is more apparent in these films than in most games, and I haven’t read enough of the comics, either Archie or IDW to develop opinions as to those.

The Sonic movies do a fascinating job at truly displaying and fleshing out that found family trope that is more of a notion or behavioral quirk between characters in most games. They aren’t given as much concrete development in games as the movies have allowed, since the Sonic games focused more on the gameplay aspect rather than a more slice-of-life/slower storyline (a story that takes its time to create relationships between characters) that found families are most often found in.

I'm going to go by specific character relationships, and connect them as needed.

Sonic's Characterization

The first Sonic movie begins with Sonic losing his only parental figure, an extremely traumatic event that leaves a hole in him for the rest of the series and leaves him to fend for himself during his most formative years. He grows up alone, but retains the sassy, care-free demeanor.

I believe the reason he's still so outwardly unaffected by that trauma is that he coped for much of the unseen years between Longclaw's death and formally meeting the Wachowskis through exploring the world. He finds a home in Green Hill because he sees a home in the Wachowskis. We know that he had already been "spying" on them for a while and hanging around their house without them knowing. And he feels that longing for a home, a family, for what he had with Longclaw, and he wants that back.

But he is still aware of what he is, of how they might see him, as only an alien. And that is what keeps him away, that fear of the possibility and being rejected again, being alone again. So he's content with just viewing their life, imagining himself with Tom and Maddie.

I think that's one of my favorite parts of Movie!Sonic. Despite many of his characterizations by the fandom is as an emotionally unavailable character, Movie!Sonic is emotionally intelligent, whether already or as a result of having to grow up too soon. To take care of himself early on, and as much as he may boast or pride that he is totally fine having fun and running around the world, he is, in the end, running to escape the possibility of standing still and realizing that he is still incredibly lonely. While he may not explicitly say it, much of that initial montage in his cave and at Tom and Maddie's movie night, from the outside always looking in, he is aware of what he feels. However, that fear keeps him away.

It pushes him to the baseball diamond, and him running to escape the emotions, the memories, and his imagination, creates that very first outburst of incredible energy and power that alerts the real danger (GUN).

It's only the possibility of being found out by an unknown danger, being attacked and forced out of his cave, out of his home yet again, that forces him to finally act. Not quite meet the Wachowskis yet, as that isn't his intention.

But he does knowingly go to the only other place he feels safe at. The Wachowski's home.

He realizes that he needs to run to escape this danger, doing what Longclaw's last words bade him do before she sacrificed herself for him, but is found by Tom (and promptly shot with a tranquilizer, but, y'know, it starts rocky sometimes!!).

As for the Wachowski's, as original characters we have nothing to expect of them. But they are immediately charming and unique and, while understandably wary of Sonic at first, immediately realize the danger he's in and want to help him.

Sonic and Tom Wachowski

An obvious father-son relationship within the overarching found family (which will eventually include Tails and Knuckles, but I'll get to them later). However, Tom's interactions with Sonic are written in a way that feels incredibly sincere and I think their believability together made my skepticism for humans being related to Sonic (as a character and as a story) disappear.

Tom is obviously skeptical as well at first, especially after finding out that Sonic had just been spying on them for years. But when he learns of Sonic’s past and how he’s been alone for all of the years after that, he understands. He wants to protect Sonic from whoever is hunting him, from experiencing that loneliness again, and after getting to know that little blue blur, is willing to do anything to make sure that Sonic is safe, that he has a home.

And Sonic is bracing for the inevitable rejection again, after he chooses to stay in Green Hill and not escape to a new world, near the end of the movie.

But they surprise him by showing him that they want him to stay, setting up a whole room for him, and allowing him to be a kid!! He doesn’t have to be alone anymore, because he has a family who wants to take care of him, who cares about him and would literally throw the rest of their life to the side to care for this little hedgehog who crashed into their life one day.

There isn’t enough content between Maddie and Sonic only for me to give her a section as well, but she definitely feels the same. The protectiveness she feels is just as strong.

Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles

Sonic and Tails

Now, for the even better found family relationship. Sorry, as much as I love Tom and Sonic, these two will forever be my heart.

Tails, in the movie, is also coming from another planet, bullied and ostracized from his village most of his life for the mutation causing his double tails. He hears news of a blue speedster and, beginning to practically idolize him, uses his capability with technology to track Sonic down. While it’s barely explained why Tails is looking for Sonic in the first place, he is clearly expecting for something to happen to Sonic, saying that he hopes he “isn’t too late.” What exactly, he’s worried about, isn’t explained either, and he and Sonic are pulled into the race to find the Master Emerald against Robotnik and Knuckles.

Tails is, thankfully, not characterized as naive or too young to be responsible, which I am glad for, as I was initially worried that they’d infantilize him as a result of him just being a younger kid. He wants to prove himself, rather, and shows his skills through his gadgetry and eagerness to help Sonic, and his initial adoration and interest in Sonic changes into something more brotherly. Tails was inspired by Sonic and saw someone who was clearly different, other. Just like him. And he thought that if Sonic could be great, then maybe he could too, and his otherness didn’t have to stop him.

My favorite scene for this is when they’re in the inn in Siberia, and both of them are finally able to see a more relaxed, actual child-like version of the other.

Sonic is told that he’s Tails’ first real friend, the first person to truly care about him, and to not judge him for his appearance or his interest in tech. And Tails is surprised by this fact, not sure at first if Sonic is being genuine, but once realizing that he is, hugs Sonic and reveals the parts of himself, the feelings and his past, that he hid and felt shame for for so long.

Sonic and Knuckles

Sonic and Knuckles have a classic rivals to friends relationship and it was probably one of my favorite parts of the movie besides Sonic and Tails being absolutely adorable.

Knuckles is another character who is alone, the last of his kind, a race of fierce warriors and protectors, who value loyalty, strength, and honor above all. He’s seemingly destined for a solitary life, much like Sonic assumed himself to be, from the beginning of the movie, and his lack of knowledge of the world he is adjusting to allows him to be taken advantage of by Robotnik so easily.

(Christ, loneliness and loss is a really reoccurring theme, and I haven’t even gotten to Shadow yet)

Knuckles is only able to truly interact with and talk with Sonic after he is betrayed by Robotnik, breaking one of his key values and shattering his worldview and who he believed was the right side. However, he fully expects Sonic to leave him behind as well after the temple battle, the flood overtaking him. But Sonic, seeing only someone who was taken advantage of and who also lost everything he loved, chooses to save him, nearly sacrificing himself in the process. Knuckles also saves Sonic as well, after realizing that Sonic didn’t swim to the surface with him.

Sonic chooses to deliberately ignore that Knuckles was apart of the tribe that killed Longclaw, letting it bring them together in grief instead of driving them apart, and doesn’t care that Knuckles has been attacking him since they met, as Sonic understands why and forgives him for that. Knuckles doesn’t understand, at first, why Sonic saved him in the first place, but when Sonic explains his hero concept and that he needs to take responsibility for others and couldn’t just let Knuckles die, Knuckles sees who Sonic is.

And a mutual respect is gained.

Knuckles, while he is incredibly blunt, deliberate, and honest, understands this. He sees a pure will that he admires in Sonic.

Altogether . .

The third movie only strengthens their bond, as both Tails and Knuckles have been accepted into the family, as the Wachowski’s are happy to adopt another couple of super powered alien kids.

Tails and Knuckles, while still sidelined due to Shadow’s storyline, are key factors in how their team functions and they work the best together. This is a result of the familial relationship formed in the time between movies 2 and 3, as they, during that time, are able to live together and learn from each other.

While they do have a 3rd act separation that I was worried about, it’s established that it’s only allowed through the trust formed between Sonic and Knuckles. Which they handled perfectly, as it wasn’t out of character and wasn’t even malicious, it was a result of the trust between all three of them. They all suffered when Tom was critically injured, they all watched the ambulance drive off with the same, devastated look. They had become so close over these few months together.

Their relationship becomes the most adorable and genuine of sibling relationships, as they are all able to bond over discovering the world, learning and playing and being allowed to be kids. I know I emphasized this before but I will do it again: What makes this found family so incredibly strong is that all of them are able to learn from each other, to build and grow alongside each other and they have all greatly affected each other’s lives in ways that changed them for the better.

Their shared experiences of otherness, of loss, of grief, brought them together into warmer emotions of family, of friendship, of trust.

That is the basis of a found family. People brought together through mutual respect, understanding, and love.

Outside of Sonic-related relationships . . .

Shadow and Maria

Shadow crashed into Earth from a meteorite and supposedly spent the first moments of his life on Earth in a lab, in a tube, isolated but for scientists who would stare and write and run tests and treat him as, honestly, less than a being with a conscience.

The time before Maria was probably extremely lonely, despite him being surrounded by people, setting a precedent that Shadow would assume that humans wouldn’t want anything to do with him, didn’t care about him aside for his powers.

But when he meets Maria, she immediately interacts with him, smiles and mocks him playfully, not for the purpose of analyzing him, but just because he was another kid in the lab, and she wanted to be friends out of pure interest for who Shadow was, not his alien blood.

The montages of their time together in the lab, spent having fun running around the halls, Maria introducing Shadow to dancing and music and sweets and movies and everything he would never have gotten to experience if not for her, only reinforce their close bond, the family he found with her. She was the only one who could understand him in the lab, probably in his whole life, as we have no clue what happened before he crashed to Earth.

The rooftop scene is my personal favorite, as Shadow feels comfortable, safe enough, to confide in Maria about his self-consciousness, his fear that his power will make him only terrifying, only a monster.

Maria comforts him, telling him that he can choose who he wants to be for himself, that he’ll know who he wants to be in his heart. She teaches him that his purpose and life doesn’t have to be dictated by what he possesses or what he appears to be, as his actions and decisions are what truly matter.

That even when a star has long since faded, their light still shines.

This barely concealed metaphor for the effect your life can have on the people you know is beautifully poetic, and reminds Shadow, near the end, of what his true goal should’ve been.

That Maria would have never wanted him to hurt others, to destroy the world, in order to avenge her. Because she loved the world. And Shadow would never want to destroy what she loved.

They make me hurt in the best way. Maria’s line about a star’s light still shining even after it’s long since faded breaks me every time.

Agent Stone and Ivo Robotnik

I know that this isn’t necessarily found family in the familial sense, but if you don’t ship them or believe them to be romantic, don’t worry, this further analysis is purely from a non-shipping perspective.

While the power dynamic is clearly tilted towards Ivo, and I think this acknowledgement of the relationship is very one-sided in the way that Stone is very aware of how he feels towards Ivo, with his devotion and willingness to do whatever it takes for Ivo, while Ivo does not outwardly admit how attached he’d become to his agent, his presence and intelligence, and that he appreciates and needs Stone’s company. Ivo has never spoken his feelings aloud while Stone has practically worn them on his sleeve.

My point is that the third movie, in terms of Ivo’s plot, outlines the choice between blood relations and your chosen family.

Ivo has a chosen family, which consists of only Stone. He’s never had a true family before, no blood relatives, no parents to speak of, and when he discovers Gerald, who may be the first blood family he’s ever had, he begins to value blood over chosen, leaving Stone to pursue a life with his grandpappy over him.

However, when it’s revealed that Gerald never cared about Ivo in the first place, only needing him to be able to achieve his goal of destroying the world in order to avenge Maria, even going far enough to say that Ivo could never be Maria. Could never be what Maria was to Gerald. Ivo realizes the mistake he’s made.

Ivo has his hero moment, to attempt to redirect the Eclipse Cannon’s impending explosion, that “if he can’t rule the world, he might as well save it.” He is still, as much as he may say he hates it, affected by his humanity.

And when giving his final livestream, he finally speaks aloud the feelings, the effect Stone has had on him, in his own words that he knew Stone would know the true, sincere meaning of. That he truly did value him and care about him (“I love the way you make them”), which wasn’t even just about the work Stone did for him, but also what Stone brought to his life, that consolation and trust.

Ivo said that Stone was the only person in his life he could trust. That he was the only person who truly cared about him. As tragic as that sentiment is, he’s right. Stone loved Ivo unconditionally, and Ivo didn’t realize this, didn’t realize that he also cared for Stone, until it was too late for him, but not too late for him to make sure that Stone lived.

——————————————————————————

All in all, the Found Family dynamic, in all of its forms, from parental to siblings to a weird boss-employee relationship, is practically perfect.

These relationships are well-built, developed by shared experiences that characters bond and heal over, mutual respect for each other, a strong trust, and an unconditional love between them.

Oh, the unconditional love is the most important part. Because that is what brings so many people into the found family trope.

Those who are experienced with not getting that constant trust and unbreakable bond from blood, seek that love from others. Build their own family. And the families crafted in these films are beautiful.

[beausprouts]

PLEASEEEE GIVE US THE LORE TIMELINE FOR UR AU

WELL I MEAN IF YOU INSIST-

I made this timeline JUST FOR THIS MOMENT. More rambling under the cut if anyone is curious 👍

So essentially I changed everything because I can. I've been in the fandom since like the first game came out and I was a baby so it's my right to mold the lore to what I want thank you very much.

I essentially just condensed it. So FNAF 3 and the events of the Steel Wool era are combined. It makes sense to me that a company like the one that owns the Pizzaplex would use a literal real life murder spree to make a haunted house. Did you guys see the Scraptrap arcade cabinet? Yeah. Exactly.

I took inspiration from the movie with how Will was able to have a weird psychic connection to the kids, and controlled them in a way to how Henry's relationship with the missing children is in this continuity. He was essentially able to convince them it was Will that killed them. Only Charlie knows the truth, because she hasn't revealed herself to her father and pretty much saw everything happen (yikes). I like to think that Charlie and Will kind of team up similarly to how Henry and Mike team up in canon? A perfect mirror flip.

I'm toying big time with some twists, I do like the mimic as a villain but I haven't decided yet if I'm going to use him for this plotline. Maybe! Who knows maybe Henry never made it to his 70s and the current CEO was the mimic all along ooh spoookyyy.

My OC Beau essentially replaces Vanny as the partner in crime to Springtrap. Though this time the goal is to clear his name and to free the souls of the children. Vanessa is still around but nothing bad ever happens to her because she doesn't deserve it and I love her.

I want Michael to get out of the Sister Location spot under the Pizzaplex and become a minor antagonist too because him, Evan, and Elizabeth all also blame William for what happened, what reason would they have to believe otherwise its fair.

So yeah y'know, drawing my stupid oc being silly with Springs ended up getting its own lore bible my bad. Autism moment.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

is there anywhere that in game that says the Mc is the same age as the other first years?? I've been seeing a lot of discourse like "yuu can't do this/be shipped with that person bc they're like 16!!" (for ships this mostly refers to malleus, leona, and lilia)

but I don't remember anything that specifically indicates this? people argue its because they're in first year, but there are canon instances of people enrolling late/being older than their classmates. I was always under the impression that yuu was dropped with the first years regardless of age.

idk I've seen a lot of people get into stupid arguments lately, acting like other people's mc's are a crime bc they're like 17 or 18 (or god forbid 19, even though leona is 20 and there are other... complicated ages).

sorry, this ended up a lot longer than I meant for it to

I think many do assume that Yuu is 16 since they’re in class 1-A and hang out primarily with first year students. However, there is nothing in the game that states Yuu is 16 or has to be (similar to the vagueness about their gender); it’s probably left open-ended so players can imagine their own “Yuus”. As mentioned by the asker, there is variation in the age of canon students (Leona, Lilia, Malleus, etc.)—and even in the Yuus featured in official TWST materials, such as 17 year old Yuuka Hirasaka from the Episode of Savanaclaw manga. I feel it’s pretty pointless to argue over Yuu being “canonically” 16 or which Yuus are and aren’t “allowed” to exist since the game itself is set up in a way that encourages using your imagination to come up with whatever kind of Yuu you want.

More likely, Yuu is lumped into a first year class for reasons other than age. Firstly, they are “half of a student” with Grim, who is starting out his magical studies as a first year student. The two need to stick together—they “complete” one another. Secondly, first year classes center on theory and are basically the only ones Yuu is able to take. The higher level classes require the practical application of magic. Grim is not to that level yet and Yuu is incapable of meeting those magical demands.

Mmm, I think that’s about all I have to say on this matter? I’m afraid I don’t care to delve too deeply into the shipping discourse mentioned—though I do understand being frustrated with fans policing and attacking others’ creations 💦 My advice is to just enjoy your own slice of the fandom rather than letting bad apples ruin your experience.

[explodingchantry]

Anders isn't my problematic fave because he isn't problematic. I think the wider concept of anders being 'wrong' the fandom has is a clear example of how biased the writing has been in the games. It's the same reason why people hate Jowan, or why they think the kinloch hold mages were stupid. There's a clear bias in the writing and framing of it all that guides the player towards feeling negatively.

The majority of answers you can give Jowan in Dao are negative, mocking, or downright insulting. The ones who aren't are just... Neutral. You can be a bit sympathetic to him in the circle origin but by the time you meed him in redcliff most of your dialogue choices are so fucking mean. In my replay I was trying desperately to be nice and sympathetic to him but the best you can do is be neutral and let him go but for every rude dialogue option there is no "you've been through something horrible, I'm sorry" or "you were manipulated, loghain took advantage of your vulnerability, I'm sorry" it's soooooo.

Likewise, I always make sure to speak to every single npc in the mage origins and the One mention of uldred before the broken circle quest is from the one mage who tells you about the different political faction enchanters are in, and it's with absolute disdain. That mage thinks uldred is annoying and it's implied that the other enchanters think so, too. Uldred who was an activist for mage liberation is treated as annoying for being an activist.

Then he turns out to be a blood mage and to have killed the majority of the circle, turning them into abominations. The message is clear: those who seek liberation are wicked. In the first game of the series, thus in the game which introduced the concept of circles at all, their existence is justified by the text. It overtly says: look at all those foolish mages, how dangerous they can be when One of them is wicked. Can you imagine if they were free? Can you imagine those abominations' destruction if they were out in the open?

Something similar happens in the mage origin, with Jowan. Through the whole origin, whilst Jowan is painted as annoying, he's definitely seen as a victim. Up until he uses blood magic, that is. Suddenly, the player is likely supposed to think "oh, so they were right to want to make him tranquil after all". Instead of being a way to show that the circle will often turn innocent mages tranquil, it shows you that greagoir was right to distrust Jowan, because he was indeed a blood mage. Instead of showing you how paranoid those in power are about mages, the writing justifies their fear and hatred.

Bear in mind this is the first game and likely the very first thing that happens to a lot of new players. The game does not expect you to know the intricacies of its lore yet, doesn't expect you to understand that blood magic is actually fucking neutral unless you sacrifice people for it. You might be tempted to argue that it's setting up for that realisation later and for you to feel bad about Jowan later, realizing he was led to blood magic because it was his only solution, because he and all other mages are caged like dogs (except this is ferelden, so the dogs are better treated than them). But then you've got the redcliff fiasco where it's obvious the writers expect you to fucking hate his guts

And while dragon age 2 is more overt in its depiction of mage suffering, it also tries to pass on the idea that kirkwall is a special case, that it's only the gallows that are this bad. That it's just Meredith whose craaazeyyy 🤪 and not just Meredith being a product of a corrupt system. The writers expect you to think of Anders as an unstable extremist, or as his writer puts it, a "bipolar terrorist" (note that ofc there's nothing fucking wrong with being bipolar, but I don't think his writer cares!)

With different writers and the exact same set of events, Anders blowing up the chantry would be easily recognized as a positive, as an act of justice, of rightful rebellion. Instead it's seen as a tragedy, a mistake. Instead Anders is categorized as a villain, morally grey even though Hawke themselves has a higher death toll than he ever will.

It's a lesson, I think. In narrative bias.

[imaginethesepages]

say my name.

What do you mean you don’t know when she’ll wake up?

Captain, please, the impact on her head when she fell from the attack did a damage to her skull, leading to her current state. There is nothing much we can do but wait.

Huh? What— what’s going on? What are they talking about, and is that… Captain Narumi?

Nothing? No. We have the best facilities and the best equipment. What do you mean there’s nothing we can do!?

Captain Narumi, stop! Let go of the doctor now!

Master Moron, you need to calm down.

Wait— what is going on? Nothing is making sense.

I’m sorry, captain. We did our best; it’s all up to her now.

Every day, I hear them come and go, the soft clicks of a door closing, the tiny creaking noise of a dragging chair, and the constant beeps copying the rhythm of my heart. Sometimes, I can sense the cold wind on my skin or calloused fingers brushing my cheeks and grazing my hand. But I’m not too sure.

Everything is reverberated with dullness, like how I can hear the voices but never make out the words. It’s all muted and unclear.

How long will you keep sleeping? You’re worrying everyone, you know.

I don’t know, I want to say. I’m trying — really, I am. But everything is so heavy, like my muscles are too lazy to function, and every fiber is on a strike, not wanting to do its obligations.

You need to wake up, you hear me. You promised to follow me into battle, to have my back as I have yours. I’m holding you to that promise.

I remember. I did promise him that. 

My finger twitches, and I hear a gasp. Already, moving a single finger feels like lifting an enormous boulder with my entire being only an inch off the ground. But the same calloused fingers grab my hand, warm and encouraging — cheering me to push forward and out of the abyss.

You need to wake up. Who else would pull me away from my games if not for you? Who else would control my impulsive buying? Who else would I listen to? 

Ah, he’s right. Who knows what may happen if I leave the captain alone? He’d probably make Hasegawa-san want to pull out his hair — and that’s saying something when he’s already bald.

I chuckle. It probably sounded like a concerning wheeze. But it doesn’t matter, for all I can think of as I forced my eyes open is, “I cannot let Captain Narumi down.”

And what a sight for sore eyes he truly is.

How bad were my injuries? Did you really try to hurt the doctors who took care of me?

Can I still fight? Will you still let me stand beside you?

Did we succeed with the mission? What else did I miss?

Have you set the First Division up in flames yet? I pray and hope not.

How long have you been waiting, captain? Did I make you wait long?

I’m sorry for worrying you. Though, I can’t promise I won’t do it again.

I want to say so much and ask so many. But all that comes out is…

“He-hey, Gen.”

jeuel, did you just write a 500+ word drabble? well, yes. yes, i did. and let me tell you, it shocked me as well.

if you're new to my inconsistent and random drabble posting, i normally write for whatever fandom i feel like with whatever concept i can think of — mostly angst, not much on comedy. and usually, they only end up within 100 — 300 words, never 500!!

so this, for me, is a monster drabble 🤯

idk what happened, i just kept writing. and when i was editing it, i just couldn't keep it within my preferred word count range. when i took some paragraphs out, they didn't make sense without them. so, i just said, "screw it!! leave it like that."

anyway, enjoy xx