#it’s over I’M FREEEEE

[freshbeeth]

new vid just dropped :)

[fujii-draws]

VERY long Ribbons/Grovyle tangent cause I do not talk about them nearly enough.

[Instead of the usual, “Hero finding a young Treecko in the future.” It’s switched around to “What if Grovyle found Hero when they were young.”]

~The Past~

—————

-Grovyle was going on one of his usual dungeon crawls to stock up on items— until he heard nearby sniffling. It’s there in that moment where he finds Ribbons; hiding under the stump of a hollow tree curled up in a ball. The sight of a small, terrified girl burned in the back of the wood gecko’s mind.

He lowered himself to the ground, his snout and head poking out as he got a good look at the human— Something that made her reel back and startled her; before Grovyle offered her a smile. Something the stoic grass-type rarely ever did. Coaxing her to come out.

And although very hesitantly, she did. Slowly coming out before he extended a hand towards her. Helping her outside the stump.

Grovyle didn’t know why… but seeing her so disheveled and terrified… it reminded the grass-type of himself when he was a Treecko. He decides to then to take Ribbon’s under his wing. Holding her hand as he walked her back to his main hideout… with the company of two other Pokémon.

-He introduced the small human to the pink fairy and ghost-type. Celebi was overwhelmingly cheerful. So much so that her mischievous energy rubbed off on Ribbons in the future. Much to Grovyle and Dusclops(and eventually Dusknoir’s) dismay…

But it was also probably why Ribbons made it her mission to use this newfound ability from the fairy-type to do the impossible— to get Grovyle to smile. A rarity in which even the time-traveling pixie and cyclopean ghost never managed to accomplish. Ribbons remembered how the grass-type done so just to comfort her during their first meeting… and she wanted to see it again.

-She tried many times with her antics, only to end in failure. Barely making a dent in the grass-type’s stoic demeanor. The first time she managed to get a chuckle made the other two stare wide-eyed towards the snickering grass-type— and back at the human, somehow being the only one to ever make him emote so much. She didn’t know why he tried to hide his smile. She loved it. (And Grovyle did not overhear this detail and began to open up only specifically around her because of it. Nope.) (and it’s not a power she holds over him for many years to come.)

(That isn’t to say Ribbon’s didn’t slightly rub off on him too, with her naivety and innocent, trusting behavior. Grovyle being much, much more reserved and cautious… before she came along.)

-Dusclops… was interested. A human? In the future no less? It was unheard of.

…But he also thought that Ribbons would be a detriment to their group with how… little and runt sized she’d been, barely surviving as is. Acting rather closed off towards the human at first, not trying to get attached. That is until she begins seeking Dusclops out. Trying to befriend the slightly large mummy-looking Pokémon. Although slowly— she ends up winning him over. The Beckon Pokémon now having unintentionally formed a bond with the weakest link in their quartet due to how… oddly endearing she was. A mistake he’d repeat yet again in the present.

Even with her dimensional scream ability making Ribbons a somewhat useful assest to the team— the three take on the roll of her guardians in a weird way. Dusclops being the one to fret the most over her despite his dismissive behavior towards her in the beginning (hm.)

And then there’s Grovyle.

The one who probably spent the most time with her. He saw just how terrified and scared she was of the world around her. Grovyle tried his best to teach her how to survive— training her physically. (as Dusclops taught her mentally/intellectually)

Something Grovyle started to notice was how her demeanor changed when the grass-type was close. Acting almost… braver? Confident? It was like she was drawing her strength from him… something that made the grass-type a little emotional as her confidence grew more with each day. (She told him as much. Hoping some day she could be a role model to someone the same way Grovyle was to her.)

…He also noticed that the humans were also really susceptible to the cold, much like his cold-blooded lizard self—the brunette-haired girl having no real source of warmth around her neck… Grovyle dug through his matted Treasure bag, asking for her to come over. Before tying on a brown, Patsy ribbon around her neck. An item that she’d grow to love and cherish for many, many years.

The human girl absolutely adored the gift, thanking Grovyle before hugging him suddenly. Running off to show the other two her newfound item.

-She’d fidget and re-tie it whenever it slightly loosened around her neck… it was then the grass-type Pokémon finally decided on a name for her. Up until that point, she didn’t have a name— the other three opting to call her things like “human girl” “sweetie” or “kid/kiddo” (Dusclops, Celebi, and Grovyle in that order.)

So when Grovyle decided that her new name would be “Ribbons”… she kept it.

(this also explained why when inside of Wigglytuff’s room… Ribbons stared at the Green Aura Bow, before rejecting the item harshly. Her claws gripping onto the brown scarf around her neck.) (…although the color of the bow comforted her)

-The two end up forming an unspoken familial bond. Ribbons seeing Grovyle as her older brother… and the grass-type did her baby sister. This was further solidified by the way Ribbons followed him everywhere and copied his mannerisms. All the way down to his scrunched up, embarrassed face. (Something that greatly entertained the other two Pokémon.) Even if Grovyle wasn’t the best at showing how much she meant to him with his sternness for her to stay hidden and close whenever they traveled, or for her to stop goofing off so much, or his relatively stoicalness… Ribbons knew he did so because of how much he cared. He cared too much. Not wanting anything bad happening to her to the point that he’d more often than not sacrifice things to his detriment, but for her benefit. (Offering her all of the apples he found, taking the brunt of the damage from vicious Pokémon… ) It was one of the main things the two argued over.

-This… was also something Ribbons picked up on and inherited besides his courage. Something that Grovyle never forgave himself for. He never wanted her to adopt his self-destructive, reckless behavior.

-Another thing was his inability to tell her the full truth. He never wanted to scare her with the information of their disappearances. So the grass-type never told Ribbons (and made sure the other two promised him to never do so aswell.) (Until Dusknoir promptly breaks said promise out of desperation to tell Ribbons the gravity of their situation after the Stoneship fight. Grovyle glaring daggers towards the Ghost-type before hearing Ribbon’s quiet, yet terrified “W-What..?” Falling back on her old fears when she was once human—Grovyle taking his attention fully off of Dusknoir to try and comfort her.)

But even after any heated argument. Grovyle will find the human girl coming back to sleep right next to him on his hay bed, still very much frustrated with the lizard… but not pushing her away when she snuggled up to him. Grovyle reciprocated the hug right back— putting his head over hers.

Out of her relationships with the three, her bond with Grovyle was the most unbreakable.

…So when Darkrai threw the attack that disoriented the two, Grovyle gripping Ribbons’s arm as tightly as possible. His claws beginning to even tear into her skin. (A scar on her paw that never went away. She uses it as a reminder to show the woodland gecko how hard he tried to save her whenever he felt guilty.) Trying so desperately to not lose her— even if it meant being thrown out of the passage of Time aswell—

…It’s Ribbons who lets go, smiling up so brokenly at her older brother, before disappearing out the passage. And the grass-type can only watch in horror, as the self-sacrificial behavior Ribbons inherited from him came back to bite Grovyle in the worst way imaginable.

By the time Grovyle lands in the present— his claws are trembling wildly. Not even realizing his own tears began to mix in with the rain from the thunderstorm.

——————

~The Present~

——————

When he’s collecting the Time Gears alone— the desperation of it all comes back full force. If he lost her, the least he can do is finish this mission. For the future. For her.

-When Grovyle sees Ribbons for the first time in the Northern Desert, he doesn’t recognize her as an Eevee. But the item around her neck and voice both sound so eerily similar. As if this random Pokémon was haunting him for his past failures. If anything, the similarities make Grovyle even more angry towards the quadraped Pokémon.

-Crystal lake… really sucked. Before, Ribbons didn’t know what to feel about Grovyle. On one hand, he was a wanted criminal. Threatening the lives of every single Pokémon. But on the other hand… she felt so… sad? And guilty? Why would she feel guilty? And why was it that he was apologizing every single time for every little thing he’d done? Like he’d lost his confidence in his abilities? Why does it matter. He’s a horrible, rotten— no good Pokémon…

-It was when Ribbons had to helplessly watch as he nearly killed Aimilios that her resolve did a complete 180°. The Eevee being prepared to do whatever to took to get him caught. Joining the cloaked ghost in the library whenever she could, (even if she wasn’t as smart as the Great Dusknoir or her Riolu partner. She wanted to at least give them company and be there for moral support.)

And when he’s finally… finally caught. Tied up as the Sableye walked him through the town as they cheered… Ribbons isn’t celebrating. She should be. She should be happy. So why does she feel a horrible gut feeling when their eyes meet in the crowd? And he looks seconds away from breaking down…?

-

-The whole future arc is a rollercoaster of emotions for the Eevee. Although she’s immediately with Grovyle on the plan to help him escape— she does not trust him so quick.

-No. That time was over. The second Dusknoir tried to kill them, both her (and soon Aimilios’s) tendencies to trust Pokemon blindly were thrown out the window. They’re both are glaring daggers at him when he suggests that they trust him. That ‘If he was so untrustworthy, how would they explain what Dusknoir had done back there?’ Ribbons protectively gets in-front of her partner— hissing back that ‘They aren’t going to trade one lunatic trying to kill them for another. Or did Grovyle already forget about the little incident at Azelf’s lake?’

…And even though her and Aimilios do feel safer around him. (Gut feeling/aura sensing) it just feels so terrifying to trust someone again after what the giant wraith did to them. Not only that, but he was offering to take them back to their world… so they cautiously agreed.

It’s... strange. The way he’d called out for her and Aimilios to get away when Spiritomb had him in their grasp. When they traversed dungeons as he took as many hits as possible for them…the familiarity is almost nauseating.

And when Dusknoir reveals everything, the two only stare at the cloaked ghost-type cackling. The same one they both once thought was their friend.

She and Grovyle only stare at eachother as a painful amount of time passes by. He..

He tried to kill her.

She was still alive and he almost—

The realization is what makes him give up. To concede. Begging Dusknoir to just do away with him and let the other go. Let her go.

—

-When they’re in the Sharpedo Bluff during the nighttime— Grovyle explains the situation to the two… staring at Ribbons with hopeful eyes, sharing recollections of how they once were. Of how close they’d been. Hoping that it’d re-jog her memory now that he was there to explain the situation.

…Ribbons only stares. Guilt eating away the more Grovyle retold their supposed history. How the hope slowly died in his eyes little by little when he looked at the Eevee— seeing that same, clueless expression on her face.

One of Ribbons biggest fears when it came to her amnesia was forgetting someone important to her. Always having the dreaded feeling of losing three important Pokémon to her. And now one of them was trying to kill them. Aimilios reassured her many nights that it wasn’t the case. So for that fear to become a reality— her ears slump, the Eevee’s messy, leaf-and-twigged tail curling around her in anxiety. She wants to apologize— but she only breaks away eye contact.

She forgot. She wants to remember. But she can’t she can’t she can’t-

Ribbons sees Grovyle trying to reach out for her— only for the small quadruped to back away. Still too touch-adverse from everything that went down with Dusknoir. All the Eevee can do is watch Grovyle’s expression turned into a pained one. Trying to hide the hurt in his eye with a wry smile as he slowly retracted his arm, ”Ah… right. Too soon. Forgive me.”

…It’s a very rough night on the two of them. Both Pokémon completely unaware that they’d been trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill in their eyes. Eventually overwhelming and awakening the aura pup.

-

When they rode Lapras, presumably for many hours by now by how night fell, white stars scattering across the sky as it reflected in the dark blue sea. The Riolu had slept soundly— something that couldn’t be said for the other two.

Ribbon’s curled around her partner as he slept, grooming his fur with her tongue… before looking over towards the grass-type; something very much on his mind.

Grovyle looked pensively down towards Lapras’s shell— recalling Wigglytuff’s comment about how Chatot had been his ‘invaluable partner.’ The woodland gecko gripping the strap of his treasure bag. Unaware of the Eevee slowly approaching him. He stares— unsure of what to do. The last time they’d talked was at the Bluff, when she backed away from him in fear.

…Ribbons plopped right next to the grass-type, waiting for the uncomfortable silence to pass. When she realized he wasn’t going to cut the tension, she opted to ask the lizard what she was thinking about since their talk at the bluff.

“What was it like…?”

“What…?”

“Y-yknow…W-When we were together… What was it like?”

The small Eevee repeated. Wanting to hear stories of their times together… Memory or no memory— she hated seeing Grovyle upset. Something that was practically built into her. Like it’d been second nature.

Grovyle hesitates, afraid of a repeat of last time. He looks at Ribbons who was staring up coyly… before going on to explain and further elaborate on their history. He studied her expressions, trying to get a read on when he should stop… only to be greeted with an cheerful look on her face. The same, goofy one plastered on her human-self.

Grovyle calms at the sight, continuing to looks back on memories— preferably the more lighthearted ones the woodland gecko fondly looked back on. Although within those silly memories were times when Ribbons did… admittedly some of the dumbest things he’d witnessed during their time in the future.

What makes him smile even more is how she began to look more offended. Until she’d gotten fed up with the grass-type. Claiming that she would never do anything so blatantly stupid— and that she had a scale of stupidity she was abiding by— Chatot’s words, not hers.

This gets a chuckle from the grass-type… something that almost immediately warms the Eevee’s heart. She hesitates a littles before scooting closer, fully laying her body beside Grovyle as he continued to recollect stories of their past together… listening to the older Pokémon’s droning… until she fell asleep.

…

Now Grovyle is faced with another problem. And it was in the form of his little sister sleeping soundly right next to him.

…

He knows what’ll happen to them when he puts in the Time Gears.

He knows he’ll never get another chance like this again.

…

He lays his body near Ribbon’s, curling around her tiny body protectively. Before getting what was probably the most sleep he did since he arrived in the Present…

…What he fails to notice in his comatose-like sleep… is how Ribbons scooted closer into him, cleaning his face/leaf with her tounge… before curling into Grovyle— putting her head under the grass-type’s. Purring contently.

———

…When they’re traversing through the Hidden land, the same arguments when they did in the future about Grovyle’s recklessness. Although this time around— Ribbons had been calling the kettle black in this regard. The Grass and Normal type Pokémon going back and forth… before falling silent.

And when the ghost-type returned a second time to ambush the three Pokémon, Ribbons and Aimilios opted to fight the Sableye. Meanwhile, Grovyle took on Dusknoir—Which proved to be nearly impossible. It was only when the Sableye were dealt with and the two joined Grovyle on his assault on the wraith, that Dusknoir’s attacks begun to.. slow?

They fought and fought, Ribbons having managed to get in a really nasty Bite that made the cloaked revenant roar out in pain; unintentionally slamming her against a pillar. Hard. Grovyle yells her name, trying to run to Ribbons— before being intercepted by a large fist being mercilessly being swung his way. Not offering the same hesitation he did with the young Eevee and Riolu. If there was anyone Dusknoir was willing to kill— it was him.

It was when Dusknoir gripped the Riolu to the point of him whining out in pain— that the Grass-type’s adrenaline and anger made his body move harshly to knock down the ghost-type with the slice of a Leaf Blade. Getting protectively infront of his sister …and the Riolu Grovyle had begun to start considering as his little brother. His eyes turning into cat-like slits, glaring at the revenant.

———

Dusknoir hit the Eevee a second time when the two were distracted— Ribbon’s having cried out in pain, wincing from the hit she received from the large ghost-type— closing her eyes as she anticipated for him to finished her off—

Before Grovyle shielded her— and began shoving him into the Dimensional hole.

Grovyle could only smile to himself despite how much he was struggling to keep the giant wraith at bay— Dusknoir nearly breaking out of the wood gecko’s hold.

So many times. He failed to protect Ribbons. So many times. And now…

“Though the parting hurts… the rest is in your hands!”

He could finally make it up to her.

——————

~The Future~

———————

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Ribbons nearly broke Grovyle’s ribcage when he returned to the present, berating and screaming at him so angrily for leaving her the way he did… while hugging him in tears as she bawled her eyes out— Grovyle reciprocating the hug with as much strength as the Eevee.

…So when she saw Dusknoir and ran, he was the one to chase after her. Celebi having stayed back with Aimilios to explain the situation to the equally confused and afraid Riolu.

-The Eevee’d hidden under another hollowed tree stump, her entire body frizzing up at the sound of the woodland gecko calling out to her. Ribbon’s brows furrowed in anger despite her fear, yelling at him for bringing the ghost-type back. Grovyle tries to fit himself inside the tiny hollowed area… before curling around Ribbons— gently explaining the situation with the cloaked ghost. He apologizes for bringing Dusknoir without warning. Knowing that he should’ve better prepared those two.

-It’s because of Ribbons refusal to be anywhere near/talk to Dusknoir, that the Eevee has the opportune time to reconnect with Grovyle. Spending the first three years to catch up, talk, do jobs, drink at Spinda’s. Becoming even comfortable enough to start bantering with eachother, and squabbling like siblings. (and yes they partake in Cain Instinct ™️ through harmless paw baps/“oh no gravity’s increasing on me” “YOURE CRUSHING ME YOU ROTTEN BROTHER.”) Those two being practically attached to the hip as they constantly stayed side by side. Even having slept in the same hay-bed together the first year. (Separation anxiety is doing wonders.)

Grovyle is also Ribbon’s go-to hiding spot from Dusknoir whenever he’s near— not-so-discreetly hiding behind the woodland gecko anytime he’d gotten close. Something that he was more than willing to do, being a barrier being the giant specter and minuscule Eevee.

Grovyle is also the one constantly reminding Ribbons that if she feels uncomfortable/unsafe around Dusknoir, that she can come to him at any moment. And he’d talk to him. (Or smack him upside the head with a leaf blade, earning the gecko a laugh from his little sister.)

But… He knows she’s lying through her fangs when she says she’s fine with him being around. (Chalk that up to Older brother instincts) Which is why Grovyle goes to Dusknoir anyways to tell him to minimize his presence around her as much had possible in the beginning— something the wraith was already ahead/aware of.

-The Eevee also tries to repay the favor by reminding Grovyle that he actually isn’t the POS, horrible brother he thinks himself to be with the amount of times he failed to save her. Redirecting his attention to her paw scar and nuzzling the self-deprecating grass-type. Grovyle doesn’t believe himself to be the right guardian for her… but she trusts him anyways.

-And you KNOW by the time she evolves— he’s fighting back a copious amount of tears. (Dusknoir might be getting choked up over Ribbons and Aimilios’s evolutions— but Grovyle looks like he’s seconds away from actually tearing up. Just so happy to be alive to witness his baby sister having the chance to actually grow up.)

—————

Anyways!! that’s what I have for now!!!! Just mainly putting this here to give more insight to their dynamic :) (as well as have a little library of drawing ideas for Grovyle/Ribbons when the mood strikes.)

[supernovaa-remnant]

I’m done with my essays!!! Finally I can write fanfiction about my guys!!!

[sadgirlautumn]

8 more minutes and then I can go to bed

[alexturner2005]

just worked my last shift 🥳 it’s very weird to be closing a six year chapter of my life

[somethingsketchy3]

Kate tells Anthony some very exciting news 🌷

Written in the summer of 2022, boarded from May to early August of 2024, and then sitting on my laptop until now, this animatic is labor of love and wish fulfillment. 💕✨

~~~

IT’S DONE. OMG IT’S DONE. IM FREEEEE and I can actually admit I’m really happy with the result. I learned so much from doing this one project and I think it’s definitely given me some of the artistic confidence I had lost over the last two years. 

My intention was to get as close as I could to this being like a “missing scene” from Bridgerton by studying writing to the cinematography and I’m so glad to finally put it out there. Enjoy! 💕

Please no reposting!

[cupidsblonde]

in which reader and Choso have been talking online for a while and reader has gotten herself a pretty boy appointment

content includes: size difference, age difference (reader is 22 choso is 36) mating press, back-shots, reverse cowgirl, tit fucking“idk if it will fit” “ill make it fit” big dick big tits

inspo: my lovely favorite jjk author getodrools

any picture sent my reader there will be different links with different skin tones!

I thought I’d write something for jjk! I’m into all sorts of fandoms anime and all !! Feel free to tell me any other fandoms you’d be interested in me writing for !!

monday 10:23 am

my fav dick<33

hey baby watching those videos of u fuckin that pretty pussy <33

Attached: 1 Video

his fav pussy<33

your so biggg:)

you’d stuff me so full baby

Attached: 1 Photo (1 2 3)

my fav dick<33

i wish i could stuff your tight pussy baby:(

your tits look sooo good

maybe we could meet up?? lol

im only 30 mins away🤷🏻‍♂️

his fav pussy<33

when r u freeeee :)

im free friday we could frl meet up !! :))

my fav dick<33

thats great bc im also free friday babe;)

i have to go, duty calls but maybe we could

call tonight and play with a dildo of yours<33

his fav pussy<33

ooo yay !! can’t wait for tonight and to see you :))

my fav dick<33 hearted a message

it was true that you couldn’t wait to see him, you where a little nervous but he made you feel good and he makes you happy. but his cock was huge! you really didn’t know if you could handle all of that. but your pussy still hasn’t been fucked but anyone but yourself !! you have huge dildos so you think that you would be able to take him.

incoming call from my fav dick<33

“hey baby” choso says happily but still in his voice that you find so sexy “heyy which one are we using tonight?” “the big one” “perfect daddy !! i already have it let me put it inside” just as your about to slip it in he stops you “let me see” “of course daddy!”

choso gets to watch you play with yourself and shove the dildo in and out of your tight pussy while he jerks his dick

“s-stop” choso says into the phone and you listen, and stop.

“daddy please let me cum im so close”

“cum for me sweetheart” choso groans out as his load shoots out from his huge dick.

after both of you cum you guys talk for a little while and end up falling asleep on the phone.

friday 8:00am

my fav dick<33

what time will you be ready for me baby?

can’t wait to see you

his fav pussy<33

anytime daddy:)

my fav dick<33

okay then ill be there around 9:15 pm okay?

cant’t wait baby;)

his fav pussy<33

ekk !! cant wait:)) 9:10pm

my fav dick<33

im here baby

when you read that text your hands became clammy but your pussy is tingling !! you opened the door and you where met with a large man! you knew he was tall, and with the way you could see his dick grow when he laid eyes on you. it was going to break you in half

“hey baby” he says with a smile and you let him walk in and close the door behind him. you grab the chest of his hoodie and pull him down to you he had to be at-least 6’2. you start kissing him, he seamed a little surprised that you wanted to get started all ready but he pulls away “jump” he mumbled into your ear.

you jump and he grabs your under thighs and you wrap them around his waist and you continue to make out with him. he knew the layout of your house from the many times you would walk around with him on face time and headed over to your bedroom.

he opens the door and wraps him other arm around your body to support you as he kisses your neck. he knew you needed foreplay. as he continues to lay sloppy kisses along your neck he finds your sweet spot. you let out a gasp and a rather loud moan, thats how he knew he had found it. he sits on your bed with you on top of him.

your grinding on his dick as you let out soft groans and moans as he keeps sucking on your neck. he slowly moves a hand to your ass, and finds him way to your panties. he starts massaging the bottom of your thighs with his other hand.

you pull your neck away from him and peel your legs away from his hands and you moves your hands to his zippered pants, you pull both his pants and boxers down. he’s already hard. your met with a practically a third leg!

“wow.. your just as big(if not bigger) as i saw online!” you say with a smile as you take his balls into your palm. you cup them with one of your hands and start pumping his cock with the other. you start kissing his tip to the base. lick down and you put just your mouth on his tip and you start sucking

he groans. loudly. “fuck baby” he says as he grabs you by your hair and pushes you so you take him even deeper in your mouth. as you continue to massage his balls you feel his cock twitch when you suck. thats when he moans loudly. he starts fucking his cum inside of your mouth.

“swallow” you do as told and you swallow every last drop of his seed. when you do you open your mouth and show him, his cock is standing up again. your grabs you by the shoulders and he pulls you onto his lap and starts making out with you. before his cock almost finds its way through your panties, he lays you down on your back.

he wastes no time with shoving your tiny skirt up, which he only had to move little because it was so tiny and she slides your hot pink thong down your legs and takes them, drapes it along his dick and twists it so its all wrapped around his dick, he could feel your wetness on the thong still. he starts pumping his cock and at that time he moves his mouth to your pussy

he pushes your maxi tank top up and finds you arent wearing a bra, he uses that hand that isnt pumping his cock to pinch and twist your hard buds that lived on your massive tits. he has been sucking and licking at your clit and when he stops pumping his cock and peels the panties that are now covered in his pre cum, he suddenly moves his tongue to dart and and out of your pussy stops every once in a while to suck at your throbbing hole.

“im gonna cum” you say repeatedly and fast and when he hears this you feel him grin against your pussy and flip you onto his lap, spank your ass which makes you moan loud and hard then start rubbing your clit. he starts picking up the speed and thats when you scream out his name and cum. “oh yes choso !!”

his dick is standing once again and with not warning, he stands from his spot where he was on his knees on the floor and pushes your legs to your shoulders. “you ready baby?” he says and before you could answer, it was yes of course, his huge tip was sliding up and down your folds.

you moan out when his tip gets to your throbbing hole and he pushes just the tip in. “ i dont know if it will fit” “i’ll make it fit down worry baby”he slowly pushes inside and groans. it takes a little while for you to reach his base but when you do, you can see a bulge in your stomach. he was being so sweet but you wanted him to be mean to you, even if it was just for a little bit. “choke and slap me please” you moan out “ive got to fuck you harder then” you nod and he starts thrusting into you while choking you, but not hurting you.

he suddenly stops fucking you like that after such a quick pace, you whimper and beg him to keep going. suddenly he flips you onto your front. “arch for me” you arch. “i warmed you up with that now your gonna get back shots with this big cock” he puts his dick into your needy little pussy and starts fucking you, hard. “anything you want daddy” you moan out.

as he continues to mercilessly pound your pussy, hitting your g spot every time. you tell him your gonna cum. when he hears this he goes even faster. when you let out a scream, he keeps going until your squirting all over his dick. your body is shaking and he flips you onto your back and he presses his dick in between your tits. “tit fuck me baby” so you listen and press your tits together with his dick in between, and start milking his cock “yea just like that baby”

“come ride me” he says sitting on the bed, you where ridding him then suddenly, he wraps his arms around your waist and starts fucking you hard from under you. That’s when he finishes, but this time inside if you. And you where okay with it. You finish all over his cock, your juices mixing together and when he pulls out he fingers you to keep everything inside. He grabs his and yours discarded clothes, and helps you up.

“you good baby?” he chuckles when your knees buckle and you fall back onto the bed. he gets you new panties and helps you get dressed into your pj’s. he gets dressed himself and lays down behind you.

“im glad we met up” you say with a smile when you turn to him. “me too sweet girl” he says sleepily. eventually you both doze off.

in the morning you wake up to him nor being in your bed, so you go looking for him and you find him in your kitchen. making you breakfast. you smile and turn back to go to your room. when he enters the room he says “ i knew you where in the kitchen you know?” he says kissing your forehead and giving you the food and drink, setting your drink on the nightstand.

after you finish your food he stays with you in bed for a while, in comfortable silence. “can i be your boyfriend?” he suddenly questions. you turn to him with a huge smile and say “of course!!” you excitedly say. “im so glad.” he says kissing your forehead and dozing off, you not long after him.

[pinkydee10]

Andrew: *walks in* Hi dad.

Eclipse:…Try again.

Andrew: No.

Eclipse: Get out. Come back in. And try again.

Andrew: *walks out. Walks back in* Hi dad.

Eclipse: Oh my god!

Andrew: Haha

Eclipse: Stop calling me dad!

Andrew: But you’re my dad!

Eclipse: No! God I signed a contract…

Andrew: What contract? Those are adoption papers!

Eclipse: Don’t you “Your my dad boogie woogie woogie” me!

Puppet in the background: You are my daaaad

Andrew: Wait! Eclipse! Eclipse!

Eclipse: What?

Andrew: If you’re my dad now, can we get a dog?

Eclipse:…Let me explain something. My net worth right now is negative 100k because I wanted to get a degree to do this and you’re asking me for a dog?!

Andrew: So I’m guessing an allowance is also off the table?

Eclipse: Yes it’s off the f- I-I’m so done with this…Is it summer yet?!

Andrew: No. You still have 17 days of me.

Eclipse…*gets up and runs to window* I want to break freeeee!

Andrew: *bursts out laughing*

Eclipse: *bangs on window*

Andrew: Noo!

Eclipse: Let me out! Lemme out!

Andrew: Dad.

Eclipse: It smells good out there.

Puppet: HAHAHA!

Eclipse: Come over here.

Andrew: *stands next to him*

Both: *press their faces against the glass*

Eclipse: I can smell the freedom.

Andrew: Theres a car out there.

Eclipse: Yeah, we can probably drive it out of here if we wanted to.

…

Eclipse: I think my face is stuck.

Andrew: Yeah I think so too. Ow.

Eclipse: Can I leave?

Andrew: Here?

Eclipse: Yeah, can I leave the plex?

Andrew: No.

Eclipse: Ok cool.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 18

Staring John Lennon, as that kid I should’ve been nicer to in first grade who always smelled like PB&J and was never to be seen without his pokemon cards

The dancing is really too cute. They’re just absolutely giddy. Making each other laugh AND an excuse to touch? John and Paul’s heaven. 

John saying he was too excited after yesterday to go to bed. Like a fucking kid on christmas.

Everybody is serving today. While the candy-land suit is fun, I actually just love that vivid purple so much that I think it’s better without the coat over it. Billy looks extremely suave and classy.  And those red polka-dots on Ringo. Red suits him, and I think with his very frank, masculine aspect, he looks so beautiful and bold in feminine fits. Paul and John are both just wearing what they wore yesterday. Yeah. But John is still a cutie, and Paul, well, you all know.

The advice chain about finishing a song while you’re working on. Paul → John → George

Paul honestly does a great job being supportive of George and his work. Coming over and grooving with him, then hopping on drums then guitar (right-handed, may I add). Just to give George musical atmosphere to flesh out his song and start thinking of arrangement ideas, I assume. Then letting him bounce ideas around. And the whole time being overly-enthusiastic to build George up. Look how happy George is with the love and attention. 

John helping move some equipment in. We love a man who sometimes doesn’t think he’s too good for manual labor. 

Yes, clean that homeless man’s palm sweat off your instrument. Probably smart. 

TFW you made Paul McCartney jealous of your musical abilities. 

John really knew so well when to be his little impish self and when to be hard and intimidating. Exhibit A, going from, “Can we have our microphones, oh, mister, can we please?” to “And get one for Billy too.” In a matter of seconds.

George Martin stepping in when they’re all getting panicky about the sound and they need an authority figure to reassure them in ways that someone like Glyn Johns never could. Just, perfectly cool and collected, puts everything right as they’re all shouting at him like school children who’ve just had a terrible time in PE. 

“Believe me, when I tell you.” “Oh, I do.” Oh, good. He did put it in. That’s nice. Right, and this is the moment Yoko decides to tell John her divorce has come through and pull him in for a big smooch. Honestly, it just shows how threatened she feels by Paul. Nevermind her whole, “good thing Paul isn’t a girl or he would have been a great threat,” quote. Clearly, he just is a threat regardless of sex.

And then John, “I’m freeeee.” At Paul. Honestly, the amount of things they direct specifically and aggressively at each other that should’ve just been general statements if there wasn’t some weird thing between them. It’s really something. Normally, you’d announce something like that to the whole room. But it seems John specifically wants to impress upon Paul that he and Yoko could get married right now if they wanted to. I mean, it’s a little difficult to make the point, because John and Paul almost aways seem to be talking only to each other. But through the whole discussion of Yoko’s divorce, John does not take his eyes off of Paul. 

Oh my gosh, Ivan Vaughn is here? How many emotional support boyfriends does Paul need to make up for John having Yoko? Glyn, Linda, George Martin, Dennis, Robert Fraser, and now Ivan? Fuck’s sake, Yoko, you’re a powerful woman.   

Paul’s Strawberry Fields piano. Let me be as vulnerable and broken as possible in my singing, since I can’t show you any other way that you’re killing me. Do you remember this song? That you wrote when we were at the height of our partnership only two years ago? How happy we were then? How beautiful the world seemed for that one brief moment? And John can’t look at him, because, yes he fucking remembers and yes he knows he’s hurting Paul. But for whatever reason, (my theory is he wanted something more Paul couldn’t give him. What that was and whether it was ever specifically vocalized I don't have a guess) going back to that time would be more painful to John than this has been.  

So they’ve been goofing off and Paul gives this little speech to get them back on task. “Alright Chawn Love. I’ve gotta call order, John, now, valuable time, here, son. Cool down, son.” But John’s response, “Don’t let me down, babe” completely switches Paul’s gears. He now thinks it’s important enough to get in this little snatch of a *meaningful* cover, “Take these Chains from my Heart,” reversing the course of productivity he’d got them on and ignoring the fact that they were about to do a take on two-shilling-a-foot tape. My interpretation of this moment is a bit tin-hatish and long, but suffice it to say, John is not happy with the message.

Everyone convincing Paul to do another take of his song is surprising, considering everything we always hear about how Paul was a tyrant task-master who just forced everyone to keep doing his lame muzak over and over when they all clearly hated it. Mal, “You can always go back to it.” Paul, “Do you want your head kicked in?” John, “We’ll never get a chance to do it again.” Paul, “Okay, honey bunch. Let’s hit it one time, tutti-frutti.” 

Yoko watching Paul check out her boyfriend’s ass. Classic. Also the fact that she literally copied his outfit? I get so much second-hand embarrassment for her, and it’s not when she’s being a weirdo and a statement-maker. It’s the having to physically stick the gum you were offering your boyfriend into this hand because he won’t take his eyes off his boyfriend for two seconds to look at you. 

Everyone laughing at Perfect Paul being out of tune is so funny to me. Like when the nerd finally gets a question wrong and the whole class is all “ooooohhhh!”

Ringo having a grand old time on the drums. I love that he just knew that’s what he wanted to do from such a young age and he never wanted to do anything else. And why would he? He’s a genius at it.

Paul. “John’s got something at 1:30 and so have I.” Smirk emoji. Side-eye emoji. George is with me. “Yeah we've got something too. I’ll do Ringo at 1:30.” I'm dead.

This moment right here hurts me. Paul’s enjoying a nice cuddle with Ringo until he remembers the camera. You’re not going to get in trouble for having your friend’s arm around your shoulders, Paul. Why are you like this? 

[drownedrow]

Hello may i ask you if you could possibly provide a list of books and or/links that i could read about the nine hells? 😭 i'm so intrigued but so lost idk where to start and where to go lol. Love your blog btw!

Hi! Thank you so much thsts so sweet!🥰

Hmmm! It depends on what you’re looking for! And I will tell you the Hells has been retconned to (heh) Hell and back so feel to take what lore you like and ignore other bits, DnD is supposed to be fun. The Nine Hells is my current hyper fixation though so I stay reading about it lol. I get a lot of my stuff from everywhere but I can definitely provide some links!:

So books!

Descent into Avernus: This is a great world building book if you’re looking to learn more about Avernus or Zariel, I have this book so I can vouch that it’s great. Even not just for world building, the campaign itself is super cool and gives you the option to be EVIL which is so lacking in a lot of RPGs these days.

Chains of Asmodeus: is a great reference for like the entirety of the Hells I haven’t dug through it completely but it’s good. Don’t agree with everything but! Take and leave right lol…Here’s a little link to it free online and a bunch of other DnD assets for freeeee :3

The Godborn: I’m holding off on ordering this to have in my own collection bc the Twilight Wars comes first but my friend let me go through theres and for characterization of Mephistopheles this book it’s great. This is a novel different than the two books above which are more DnD adventures just so you know.

Twilight War Series: These I haven’t read but follows Magadon Kest who is Raphael’s brother, I ordered Shadowbred since I’m about to finish Homeland and I’ll let you guys know if it’s any good! But I’m very excited about starting this series. These are novels.

Brimstone Angels: I have mixed feelings about these but I have used sections of it for reference, good stuff for kinda of conceptualizing cambion behavior. It’s a bit…idk. It’s not always to my tastes but it is a good book to paw through if you’re looking for cambion stuff specifically. These are novels.

Websites:

Idk if linking these will work but these are scans from a dungeon master issue a friend sent me about Archdevil Glasya’s killing of her mother, service to Mammon and rise to power….lots of great details about Asmodeus, Bensozia and Glasya’s family dynamic too.

Hells layers details! Great stuff and great art, of course I’ve set it to Cania bc duh but there’s a lot of stuff there.

It’s lacking its barebones but it’ll give you your base lore on characters, can’t knock it bc we need it. And it does have a lot of stuff.

For Meph specifically ^ DMs talking shop about Meph’s characterization, it’s funny and I agree with a lot of their interpretations. This is a sillier one though.

Some Baalphegor lore bc I’m miss Baalphegor’s number one fan!!!!! Not enough about her…my missing babyGIRL!!!!

Video Games:

Neverwinter Nights: Hordes of the Underdark: Some of the stuff in this is as crazy to me as Raphy ruling over all the Hells but I do like Mephistopheles’s characterization in this sooooo!!!! I watched a playthrough and if you want Meph mannerisms for writing and stuff I think this game is clutch. His voice in it is…hot. 🤭

I hope some of these point you in lore directions you like and gives you some interesting threads to follow! The Hells are vast and I’m still learning a lot. I love it though. Yay Hells :D

source

[starrmarr]

Just woke up. Can’t wait to finish getting my degree(s) and work in cognitive psych research and wherever else life takes me in my mission to expose how psychiatry, and clinical pharmapsychology, is a money-grab pseudoscience that has everyone by the balls. The doctors of TikTok will be so mad, the feds will be listening, I will keep publishing. Y’all are gonna have to kill me. Everyone has a mental illness now, not even realizing how much it’s all a byproduct of advertising. “De-stigmatizing” my ass, you’re a customer. Psychiatry is inherently fascist and cultish. They never did a test for the “chemical imbalance” they said you have, did they? They “just know”, because their Bible tells them so, and so on and so forth. Once you are named, the authority to hold you against your will is handed over as your privacy is violated. You are never given clear instructions for recovery either, despite the “YEARS of research proving your illness”— kindness and responsibility towards yourself involve prioritizing your daily dose, presumably for life. Mischief managed. Kidney failure or thyroid disease because of all the lithium you take? Solution: another doctor, another cocktail.

Diagnoses work like activation phrases. There is a mental illness for believing you have a mental illness when you don’t— imagine that. A doctor once told me, when I was at the height of crisis, that it is difficult to know whether highly intelligent people are sick or not— that’s when I knew, I took control ever since. With that being said, a lot of what people experience is real, that isn’t what I’m trying to say. We just aren’t as helpless as they make us seem. Whatever. So much to do. I’m gonna be the female Szasz of my generation. We’re gonna get fucking freeeee! My psychiatrist has no explanation for my remission, I’m bi-winning and sometimes I flush my Adderall down the toilet. Sometimes I take it when I need to be a zombie, for the sake of others, of course.

[surelysilly]

WIP game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

from @haleswallows the word was STEP !!!

S: that which holds the image maintains the sincerest form of flattery (open the door)

dp au, horror

Something about the flippant tone breaks something in Jazz. She whirls on Danny and he startles, blinking, as she closes the scant distance. It’s hot and bubbling, the feeling frothing up within her — it hurdles the good sense, has her grab his shoulders, fingers twisting up in the sleeves of his shirt. Ghosts aren’t real! she wants to scream, but it’s not what she wants to say.

T: roger, zero-g, i feel fine (time burns above my head)

dpxdc, AU post-reality trip (secret wip)

These words don’t feel truthful sometimes. Rote, even, coming from himself. But Danny does love his parents. Of course he does. He wouldn’t say he’s ashamed of them, at least not anymore, but sometimes they’re just. A lot.

E: the light is gone, the light is gone (i don't need a wish with summer in my mind)

dpxdc, corpse au, danny & bruce & everyone

Everything is too much. Everything is on fire. The kitchen is burning — you can’t even boil water? Bruce blinks quickly, fluttering away tears. Danny is too close, yet not close enough, within arms reach and where he can’t get to. “Hey, look, I’m standing on my own two feet here,” Danny says grandly over the echoing hiss and pop, arms spreading much too wide. “Thank you.”

P: giving them these stories to tell (always, i'll care)

dpxdc, au of an au, post-agit, danny & jason

Pain, suffering, fear and confusion and anger. No, he's never going to forget, and he's never going to forgive Bruce either, he doesn't think. Jason rubs lightly at his throat, the rough scar tissue sensitive still to the touch. He probably could have if… if he hadn't— But no, he won't. Small potatoes again compared to what fresh hell this is, though. “No, you don't,” Jason replies. Pot meet kettle, but. “Maybe forgive, if that helps you in any way, but you're allowed to not forget. To remember and remind him forever if you want. And anyone who says you shouldn't is wrong.” “... You're a surprisingly sane serial killer,” Danny says.

*points at you, the viewer* if you write, your word is GONE !

idk anyone to tag be freeeee

[grawlix-ness]

Seasons’ Beatings

Dingo drifted the finger frame toward the table, toward Sleet. Scratching at a canine tooth with his pinky, the wolf was slow to notice. When he did, he flinched and ducked away, then frowned, realizing his overreaction. He played it off with a disdainful snort becoming of an aristocrat, turning up his muzzle and placing his hands in his lap primly.  Once again the words adorable and hilarious came to mind. And pretty. And periwinkle. But mostly pretty. Even in his cruder moments, there was always an elegance to Sleet.

Word Count: 6,789

Characters: Sleet and Dingo, brief nonspeaking appearances from Manic and Sonic

Pairing: Sleet x Dingo

A/N: rated G, no crude humor this time around. Well, this took far longer than I wanted. This was supposed to be a side quest, but I hit a few roadblocks along the way. Pretend it’s still December. Finally I’m freeeee

I don’t know if I’m super happy with this, but I figure I can always go in and edit. I caught strep writing the latter half and was feeling altogether bleh. Happy Slingo Holiday Special and to all a good night

As much as Dingo enjoyed getting straight to walloping, the thrill of the chase had its merit too.

He preferred charging headlong through crowded bazaars and port cities, sending market stalls and their contents flying, making his presence well-known. Stalking on a cool, starless night from the trees in the form of an arboreal apex predator and striking when the target least expected it offered a different buzz. No matter the approach, it was all good fun seeing the terror flood their eyes when they realized they were cornered and the two bounty hunters were only pretending to listen to their babbled appeals and excuses. 

Sometimes, they’d get a fighter, someone who really knew how to make the chase worthwhile, the type who’d whirl on Dingo mid-step and dare a glancing blow. Never much of a challenge, but refreshing nonetheless. Dingo liked to let them think they had him on the backfoot before quashing their hope and a great deal of their bones, if the client allowed. 

The thing with chases though was that they were more enjoyable when you weren’t on hooves. And you weren’t in snow that went up to your weird, jutting reindeer ankles.

 And you weren’t providing transport for Mobius’ worst backseat driver. 

“For the love of—Dingo, I’ve seen you move faster for the ice cream truck! Get up! He’s getting away!” Sleet’s heel connected with Dingo’s downy underbelly twice. “Yah, yah!” His spurring didn’t hurt, but it sure was annoying. 

With a huff, Dingo clambered wobblily out of the steep snowbank he’d sunken into, flung the rapidly piling snow that’d fallen onto his velveted tines off, and broke into an uneasy gallop onto hopefully less engulfing ground. His legs felt a hair’s breadth away from turning into icicles. Maybe he should have suggested a penguin form instead. Sliding down the Northern Tundra’s slopes on your belly sounded much less taxing than charging down them on hooves. 

“Come on!” Sleet persisted, albeit with a touch of chattering teeth. “Eyes on the prize!”

What do you think I’m doin’?  Dingo would have said, but his tongue was decently warm inside his mouth, and he didn’t want to risk a draft. Even in this heavily insulated form, the cold was managing to seep through. The froth that leaked from his fuzzy, cowish muzzle crystalized within seconds of exposure, and his tusks were starting to rime. 

Sleet was holding up well, all things considered. No doubt due to Dingo’s woolen craftsmanship. Winter was sweater weather, and Dingo fancied himself a pro at knitting sweaters. Sleet was wearing one beneath his armor, over his undersuit, both of which already conserved heat passably. His grousing when presented with the sweaters, among other handmade winter apparel, had decreased over the years. He still made an attempt—oh, did he try—but his efforts to avoid wearing them weren’t nearly as long-lasting, and his tough guy excuses were all used up. 

The prize of which the moody jockey referred looked like nothing more than a little green dot in the freezing fog and stretching white expanse. 

Sleet shooting Manic’s hovercraft out of the sky hadn’t slowed the hedgehog. As soon as the bounty hunters disembarked the Red Whiptail, expecting to retrieve the unconscious, if not dazed, royal pain, they found out he was very much still alert. The improvise and use your downed hovercraft as a snowboard type of very much still alert. 

“Move it, Dingo! Yah!” Another jab in the side. Dingo tossed his antlered head and grunted in warning. 

If only there were a low branch around to humble him.

A humorous idea, but an ill-advised one. While Dingo wasn’t against ill-advised ideas, capturing Manic was a win they both needed. Sacrificing their chances for a fleeting laugh, that’d be one of his biggest blunders ever. 

As the little green dot grew nearer, Sleet’s weight leaned forth. Blaster bolts whizzed over Dingo’s antlers. The volley lit the fog up enough for them to see Manic’s quilled shape serpentine with barely any difficulty, dodging every scintillating beam and vanishing into wintery obscurity once more. 

“Agh!” Sleet let out a growl of frustration and hammered a fist onto Dingo’s withers.  “Confounded pincushion!” His shouts were drowned out by a passing gale of icy wind. 

Freedom Fighter activity in Mobius’ polar regions had increased ever since the Empire began installing refueling outposts and garrison bases there. With construction underway on a secret major oil rig operation, and a group of nosy Arctic Freedom Fighters at large, His Pinkness had all his subordinates scattered high and low. 

On any other day, in any other biome, Dingo would have been pleased by the diversion Manic’s appearance brought. It didn’t snow where Dingo was from. The driest of Mobius’ continents, Trailus was warm year around. Before becoming a bounty hunter, he’d only experienced snow inauthentically, by way of depictions in media and decoration for festive storefronts. Those holiday specials he grew up watching never emphasized just how blisteringly cold the stuff could get.

Extended exposure to freezing temperatures also made his body feel a bit . . . starchy. Weaker even, although he didn’t like to think about that. Sleet once hypothesized his unique molecular structure would solidify at an extreme level of frigidity, such as the conditions found at the Ice Cap. Although the Northern Tundra wasn’t extreme, it wasn’t particularly cushy either. 

Why’d those Resistance wimps have to go and make a big fuss now? Couldn’t they have waited until after the holidays? Better yet, why couldn’t Robotnik have waited to build the rig until after the holidays? 

It’s the one thing this whole bleedin’ season is good for! thought Dingo. 

The abundance of seasonal sweets, the banquet halls to raid, the unattended banks, the carolers to throw water at, the parade floats to pop, the decorations to sabotage, the gift heists, the family-friendly icons to crudely imitate and subsequent children to frighten! There was no shortage of mischief and mayhem to be had. Or there would have been, if Robotnik hadn’t essentially criminalized any sort of revelry that wasn’t venerating him. The elite and subordinates like the bounty hunters had certain allowances, of course, but any gift-giving that wasn’t to him was strictly prohibited and, after the Urchino incident, Sleet was hesitant about going behind Robotnik’s back. Meaning no time-honored Sleet and Dingo gift exchanges! 

Anger at both his employer and adversaries compounding, newfound strength and speed surged through Dingo, cold-numbed legs accelerating, his hooves great pistons punching in and out of the compacted snow. A rumble built deep in Dingo’s throat, then exploded out as a forbidding bugle loud enough to rival the howl of the wind. There was such force behind it his head careened back. The cry rushed from his lungs, breath streaming out and billowing like white fire. Sleet, snickering, gave Dingo’s fluffy neck a companionable slap, evidently very pleased by the potent shift in energy.

Mid-bound and mid-reverie about pulling Robotnik limb from limb however, right when the slope began to bottom out, Dingo’s four-chambered reindeer stomach suddenly tightened. At once, he jammed all his hooves deep into the packed snow. His back and hindquarters canted low and hard while he slammed the brakes. Snow kicked up behind him in an impressive shower as he slid, like dust beneath screeching wheels. When his momentum stopped, he thudded heavily onto his haunches with a grunt. 

Dingo was a firm believer in going with his gut, his instincts. Sleet pooh-poohed this, but Sleet was an incorrigible pooh-pooher. If he wasn’t loudly naysaying something, he must have been out of sorts. 

“I have a six cents,” Dingo had once tried to explain. 

“A sixth sense,” Sleet had replied in his grousing I’m too tired for this voice.

“Whassat?”

Presently, his six cents were giving him a bad feeling about what laid up ahead. He took a few investigative sniffs of the air, the last of which being the deepest. The large snowflakes he accidentally inhaled on this turn made him hitch and sputter. Once he recovered, he stared into the wintery haze beyond. Far too murky to identify any obstacles or enemies. Dingo crept forward, keeping his antlers low and at the ready. He noted Sleet’s quiet. Perhaps he felt it too. 

Soon, he discovered just what it was: a gaping crevasse in the ice. Edging closer to its cliff, Dingo peered down and made an awed, distinctly Trailian noise as he admired the vivid blue of the chasm’s jagged walls. When he had his fill, he lifted his chin and said in a tone not the least bit hiding the smugness that swelled within him after all the kicking and yah-ing and unwanted, unconstructive critique, “Heh, good thing my mutant super senses felt that, eh, Sleet? What was it you were sayin’ about my steering again? About my tragee . . . trajuct . . . whatever smarty-smart word you said?” There was no nasal and grudgingly accepting reply to validate him. “Sleet?” Not even a defeated huff or grumble. “Sleet?” 

He realized his back suddenly felt a lot more cold, more bare. Dingo turned his head as far as his bulky reindeer neck allowed and took stock of his fussy rider’s absence. Inwardly, Sleet’s outlined afterimage winked at him like a neon sign. “Where’d ya go?” Dingo looked around, making a small circle in place. At the same time he completed his pivot, he heard a muffled groan from up ahead. Dingo squinted and focused in. 

The fog abated enough for him to see Sleet’s lower half sticking out of a snowdrift. Dingo jolted with panic . . . and then it hit him, the recollection of that one fancy science concept Sleet told him about whenever he feared he’d misplaced his tail: object permanence. Panic quickly gave way to barely smothered, full body spasming laughter. 

He hadn’t bisected his partner in some horrible, strangely bloodless accident. Sleet had merely gotten an icy cold faceful of comeuppance, flung off when Dingo stopped at the crevasse. 

“Hold—” An explosive ‘snrk!’ breached Dingo’s muzzle, and he had to take a moment to gather himself. “Hold on, Sleet! I’ve got ya!” He wheeled, bounded a few paces, turned back around, and primed his muscles for a running leap. Pawing the ground, he took a snorting breath, twin clouds of misty condensation blasting from his nostrils upon his exhale before he barreled forward and launched himself. “Hup!” 

He soared with a practiced ease. This  form might not have had any flying magic like in the tales—he had tried once before, there was a lot less whimsy and a lot more crashing—but Dingo had history jumping cliffs and canyons in the Badlands as a horse, which was basically just a less poky reindeer. 

His dismount was even cleaner than he could have hoped. The feat stoked his conceit higher. Tail raised, he took on an exaggerated trotting bearing, hooves lifting loftily. “Did you see that?” He paused, realizing the comedy of the question. “Oh, right. You couldn’t, ‘cause your head’s—” 

Giggles slipped out from him as he reared and pressed his forehooves into the snowdrift, returning to his fours as it gave way. How it crumpled apart reminded Dingo a little of the breakable chocolate desserts the aristocrats enjoyed. He found the mallets given to break the treats far too puny and ineffectual, though he supposed those qualities complemented the nobility well. 

Mumbling concussed nothings, Sleet sloughed out on his front. 

Alongside one unmoving Manic the Hedgehog. 

“Sleet!” Dingo tore backward in surprise. “Sleet! You got ‘im!” Excitement laced his voice. 

“Wha?“ Sleet’s gaze was unfocused, eyelids asymmetrically shuttered. He spoke with a thick dizziness. 

Dingo thrust a hoof towards the vermin, pointing as best he could. “The hedgehog! You got ‘im! We did it!”

A brief silence passed between them as Sleet registered this. His once woozy eyes lit up, and the wolf sprung to his feet, lifting Manic by his wrist and giving a breathless, ecstatic laugh. “I-I must have collided with him when you threw me!” The when you threw me part held none of the usual Sleet sneer. Nothing like a captured quarry to smooth things over. 

They whooped and cheered and Dingo trotted a little victory jig in place, the soul-crushing atmosphere and all work-related misgivings peeling away in the face of their electric jubilation. They’d done it! The Freedom Fighters’ morale would no doubt weaken when they saw one of the prophesied children roboticized. Robotnik could call this whole thing off! They could go back to the fortress in Robotropolis and make some pitiful small business fork over all the sweet treats they can carry and heckle a community theater play! 

And maybe, just maybe, they’d wander under a mistletoe. 

“Before we roboticize him,” Sleet was explaining, jogging Dingo from his moony pining, “we use him as a carrot to draw his accursed siblings out.” 

“Yeah! . . . Uh, what’s the carrot for?”

Sleet raised the limp hedgehog higher. “He’s the carrot.”

Dingo scrutinized the boy, brows and nose wrinkling. He hummed an indecisive noise. “I think I’d make the better carrot. Manic’s more of an artichoke, I reckon. Maybe asparagus?” Dingo quickly amended after giving Manic another glance over. “No, wait! Definitely an artichoke.” 

Just as Sleet opened his mouth, there was a booming sound, almost like a miniature thunderclap, as if the air itself had shattered. 

Then, WHOOSH!

A meteoric gust of wind and a glowing javelin of blue sped between them, the force of the blur’s passage slamming into them and bowling them over. Before the geyser of snow the interloper kicked up could settle, Dingo angrily leapt to his hooves and struck out with his antlers. Nothing connected. He’d only been attacking empty space, space where the impossibly fast Sonic had just been. 

Sleet’s hand, too, was empty. The only evidence of Manic’s short-lived nabbing were the scattering of green quills on the ground. 

Dingo bristled, nostrils flaring, blood burning. He made to pursue, but a steadying arm caught him in his chest. Dingo fixed the now standing wolf a pleading stare and uttered a desperate moo. His body went nervy and twitchy, like a housecat’s after seeing a bird they can’t reach. If he just pushed a little harder, if he funneled every ounce of his rage and hatred and anguish in the run, maybe he could catch him. 

Sleet said nothing though. His face was one of weary acceptance, a familiar sight. He turned his attention from Dingo’s shuffling and reindeer whines to the horizon. Dingo followed.

 There was no blue dot. There was no green dot. 

Sonic had cleared the Northern Tundra’s vastness in milliseconds. He and Manic were gone. 

“But I . . . we . . . ” said Dingo quietly. 

Sleet sounded half bored. “Come on, Dingo. It’s not worth it.” 

The fight drained from the mutant’s cervid muscles. His ears slunk. His tail drooped. He stilled. Sleet placed a hand on Dingo’s shoulder. The way it lingered before he vaulted and climbed aboard, Dingo wondered briefly if it wasn’t just to mount up, but a rare show of comfort. 

With Sleet astride, Dingo turned away from where the hedgehogs vanished. He took a few plodding steps forward, setting course for where they’d left the Whiptail. Dingo hesitated almost as soon as he’d started however, eyes falling upon the loosened spines. The clouds overhead, once blanketing and unconscionably opaque, had curtained somewhat. Bright sunlight pooled over the quills, and the snow beneath them glittered. As Dingo considered them afresh, his rounded deer ears bobbed curiously. They looked almost like pine needles. 

The image made him hearten. His mouth twitched into a small smile, the first stirrings of inspiration purling in his mind. He could still salvage this. 

Dingo walked over and, gingerly, picked one of the quills up in his mouth.

Living in the Northern Tundra base Robotnik had arranged for them felt a bit like living in a big sardine can. 

For something so recently built, there was a palpable aura of dinginess and dilapidation to it. Robotnik spared expenses whenever he could, and ensuring the bounty hunters’ quality of life was clearly something he didn’t worry himself with. That much was obvious by the low ceiling and door frame Dingo had to duck and sidestep to enter; no matter how many slapstick injuries he accrued, it took a mighty conscious effort on his part to remember to be size-aware. 

Bleak, minimalistic, and perfumed by the industrial fustiness ever-present in the emperor’s handiwork, the station was a true exercise in function over fashion. It was toasty at least. The hum and rattle and whir of the heating system went on day and night. 

The circumstances in which they found themselves reminded Dingo of a monster movie he once saw, about a group of scientists fending off a shapeshifting creature. As a shapeshifting creature himself, the irony was not lost on him. Only, he was far more handsome and charismatic than the space invader featured, and the scientists’ accommodation had more than three rooms. When the duo first arrived, Dingo jestingly promised Sleet that he’d never ever “assimmilatize” him, on his Quokka Scouts’ honor. 

The wolf, alas, didn’t get the reference.

Returning from their not-so-fortuitous hedgehog hunt in the Red Whiptail, Dingo, biped body plan restored, had been pleased to see an imperial freighter touch down with them. The robots that disembarked carted a large hovering dolly heaped with crates. Crates that held very special, very precious cargo of the jolly persuasion: Dingo’s extensive collection of holiday decorations. He saw to replacing the base’s gray upon gray upon gray with colors of a more lively mood posthaste. 

“Don’t you think you’re going overboard with . . .” Sleet began, sitting cross-legged at the thinly-cushioned circular booth in the middle of their measly kitchenette slash living room. He, now wearing his sweater true, waved the bitten end of a jerky strip he’d been gnawing on in Dingo’s direction. “All this holiday hullabaloo?” 

Their food options were limited to sledging biscuits, canned meats, and the unglamorous like. 

Definitely nothing he would swipe from a banquet hall, Dingo thought. What he wouldn’t do for some glazed ham right about now. 

The portions allotted sustained Sleet fine but they never filled Dingo up, hunger quick to wake him in the middle of the night from his bunk. How did Robotnik expect him to aid in world domination on a near empty stomach? If he was half the genius he boasted to be, surely he’d have created a food replicator by now, like the ones in the space serials on TV.

“This place is cramped as is,” Sleet continued. “When you said you were expecting a shipment, I was hoping you meant something useful.”  He added under his breath conspiratorially.  “Like libations.” 

Indeed, Dingo had considered using his imperial entitlements further, such as requesting an hourly delivery of frozen pizza. But he could only pull rank so much. Turning Robotnik’s logistics personnel into pizza delivery men was apparently a step too far. If they’d been given more time to prepare, Dingo would have stocked up his rucksack. As it was, he’d eaten all the snacks he packed already. 

Dingo gave a small shrug before extracting a red tablecloth from a crate and unfurling it in one big shake.  “It gives the room some life.” Dust and glitter flew off, causing Sleet to grimace and squinch his snout in a manner Dingo found both adorable and hilarious. Dingo turned his head slightly to hide his enjoyment of the pulled face, since Sleet wasn’t fond of being thought of as adorable or hilarious. “Some feng shui.” He wasn’t sure he was using the word right, but it felt nice rolling off his tongue. 

Sleet made a growly noise in his throat as he bit into the jerky and yanked off a piece after much effort. He gave it a few vigorous chews before saying low. “You’ve been watching those house renovation programs again, haven’t you?” 

“Heh,” Dingo’s cheeks heated. Not with shame for enjoying yet another traditionally un-bounty hunter-y activity, but from the knowing tone of Sleet’s voice, from being read so ablely, so easily caught. Man, he’s good. “I-I just think it’s fun to imagine wreckin’ the really fancy ones, y’know?” 

Sleet sighed. Dingo got the feeling it wasn’t true annoyance. “Do me a favor and get it out of your system before we return to Robotropolis,” Sleet said through chomps of his leather-tough snack, having popped its entirety into his mouth. “Robotnik doesn’t care for others questioning his judgement. I imagine that includes fortress design decisions.” 

Bit of a drab thing to imagine, Dingo thought, when one could imagine something more incredible like bagpipe-playing giraffes. “Okey-doke!” Dingo assented with a cheerfulness. He draped the cloth over the booth’s table. Not made for small surfaces, most of it spilled over and bunched at the floor. Dreamily, Dingo clasped his hands to one side, head following suit in a tilt. “Beeeautiful,” he said, then looked to Sleet with great anticipation, lower lip bitten and tail awag, whipping excited arcs. 

“It sure is . . . something.” 

Pleased with Sleet’s speechlessness, his dreamy pose deepened into a silent squee, a full-toothed, face-splitting beam scrunching his eyes. 

“Ugh,” Dingo opened his eyes to see Sleet shielding his own. “Don’t do that in front of me. I just ate. Your wrinkles have wrinkles.”

Oh, Sleet. Dingo would have rolled his eyes if he were better coordinated. The last instance he tried Sleet claimed he looked like a drunk chameleon, and the sensation felt odd. 

Taking a step back, Dingo appraised all his much-needed renovations thus far through a finger frame. His tongue poked out as he focused, scanning over the silvery tinsel and lights, the plastic garland and the big, red ribbons. It was no traditional Dingo family getup—he hadn’t his siblings here to help, and like Sleet said there was only so much he could unpack before things became hazardous—but considering what the room looked like before it’d more than make do. 

Dingo drifted the finger frame toward the table, toward Sleet. Scratching at a canine tooth with his pinky, the wolf was slow to notice. When he did, he flinched and ducked away, then frowned, realizing his overreaction. He played it off with a disdainful snort becoming of an aristocrat, turning up his muzzle and placing his hands in his lap primly. 

Once again the words adorable and hilarious came to mind. And pretty. And periwinkle. But mostly pretty. Even in his cruder moments, there was always an elegance to Sleet.

Dingo admired him and his proud, terribly kissable-looking snout a moment longer before skirting off to their sleeping quarters. There was more crashing than he’d intended. 

He returned shortly after with his tome of a scrapbook and an assortment of stationery supplies nestled close to his chest. He grinned at Sleet, who had risen in reaction to the clangor and squeaks of boot soles against aged metal. 

“Ah, yes,” said Sleet flatly as he resettled into his seat. “More essentials.”

“Uh-huh!” Dingo dumped all the items onto the table. Out of everything in the accumulation, Sleet stared most incredulously at the scrapbook, mouth agape as he beheld it. Heavy enough to qualify as a bludgeoning weapon, thick enough to jam a titanium blast door, the whopping composition was several years worth of recorded memories, a highlight reel of roguish escapades, bashed skulls, juiced up sidearms, double-dealing and ill-gotten Mobium. 

Dingo plopped down close next to Sleet. The wolf bounced slightly from the new weight on the shared seat. “And you’re gonna help me finish this!” said Dingo, opening the album to an empty two-page spread. Sleet looked at it, then back to Dingo, then back to the book, as if not comprehending. Dingo gave him a giddy and encouraging nod. Sleet, not for lack of Dingo’s trying, hadn’t seen the scrapbook up close before. It only made sense he’d be taken aback by its awesomeness.

When he spotted a certain green spine amongst the table’s clutter however, his expression curdled. “What's that doing here?” he said in a voice like he’d smelled something foul. “Don’t tell me you’re . . . ” Sleet cut himself off with an irritated huff, looking to the ceiling and muttering. Then he whipped his head towards Dingo. “What’s the use in memorializing such a humiliating failure?” he snapped, gesturing indignantly at the memoiric cause of complaint. “I thought your scrapbook was for triumphs, for trophies.”

Dingo blinked and shrank in on himself somewhat. He expected Sleet to be reluctant, sure, but not upset. Upsetting Sleet was the last thing Dingo ever wanted to do. He just thought this’d be a fun activity, something to do other than wait on pins and needles for another command from Robotnik. Perhaps Sleet had been more annoyed by their conditions than he’d let on. 

Ears edging back, Dingo averted from Sleet’s glare and tightened jaw. He grimaced and put a hand to his burly arm, rubbing there and holding himself uneasily. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

No, Dingo thought, quickly recouping his nerve. 

He had to try. 

Dingo drew a breath, then admitted. “It was sad.” His eyes turned downcast.  “Yeah.” Despite himself, there was an ache in his voice. His hand clenched unconsciously into a fist as he thought back to their defeat. A mental image of Sonic and Manic’s sneering faces apparitioned. Dingo’s heavy brow lowered, but only for a moment. He stopped himself from imagining thrashing them. There was a more important matter to attend to. His gaze lifted. “But,” he put extra emphasis on the word, brightening, “as my hero Tommy—” 

 Sleet interrupted with a groan. Dingo, recognizing the comparison concerned a multimedia action-adventure franchise Sleet couldn’t be further from being a fan of, winced. Nevertheless, it was the first example that came to mind and, considering the wealth of box sets and comics in Dingo’s quarters back at the fortress, this was assuredly one  reference the pop culture ignorant Sleet was familiar with. 

 “—Thunder said in Tommy Thunder and the Citadel of the Ancients, y’gotta take the good with the bad. It was bad Manic got away. But we made it out without gettin’ spindashed, yeah? And that rush when we had him? I know you felt that.”

Sleet appeared to, albeit grudgingly, consider Dingo’s words. His snarl lines softened, as did his disparaging glower. 

With this, Dingo’s resolve strengthened even more. “Things could’ve gone worse. There coulda been a snownado. I hear those exist. We coulda woke up a yeti, or fallen down that crack and gotten captured by creepy ice hermits who’d force us to perform for their entertainment.” Sleet arched a brow at him.  “Well, y’know. Just a thought,” said Dingo innocently, venturing a smile. “A hypothetical. That’s what it’s called, right? Hypo-thet-ical.” His nose scrunched. “Feels weird. Why so many letters? The time it takes to say it, y’could go ‘round the world and back again.” 

A corner of Sleet’s mouth quirked, and a soft ‘hm’ escaped him. Amusement. Faint, but there all the same. Seeing Dingo’s smile broaden in turn, Sleet caught himself and endeavored to reharden his face.  Dingo understood Sleet’s mannerisms too well for that to fool him. The mutant felt relieved his joke landed. He was starting to get the hang of these hyper-bollies and speech figures.

Dingo let his triumph sink in for a moment before speaking again. “A failure’s only a failure if you don’t learn from it.” 

Sleet, who’d taken to rolling a pen up and down the table with the flick of an idle finger during the lull, seemed to start at this. He stopped his distraction, and his ear twitched. 

“That’s why I record every job, bad or good,” Dingo patted one of the pages, “in this book.” When he turned to Sleet, proud of his craft, Sleet somehow looked at him even more bewildered than he had the book. Dingo frowned. What’d he done now? 

Sleet’s eyes creased, disbelieving, almost accusatory. “Where’d you get that from?” 

��Get what from?”

“That proverb? The thing you just said?”

“Uhh . . . ” Nervous, Dingo’s eyes flitted left and right, searching for help where there was none. “. . . ‘What’s a proverb?”

“No, the—” Another ‘hm’, and a slow half shake of his head. He inched forward, laying his arms on the table, the tenseness in his shoulders ebbing away as he regarded Dingo with a sort of mellow wonder. Their eyes held, longer than Dingo had been expecting. 

Was Sleet still waiting for an answer? “Can I, uh,” Dingo lowered his head in appeal and tapped his forefingers together, “get a hint?” 

Another beat, then Sleet mused softly at last. “Always the optimist.” As he said this, a small smile crept over his face. He let it remain. 

Small, but more nourishing any banquet hall raid, Dingo thought, heart dancing. His tail thrummed the cushion as he drank in the hard-won expression, a pleasant warmth blossoming in his chest and radiating outward. The aw-shuckness of it all overwhelmed him so much all he could do was smile back, rub the back of his head, and stammer little waving off noises. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what an optimist was. From the way Sleet said it, how he looked at him, it must have been a great compliment.

 “Awh, well, y’know,” Dingo began once his tongue untied, feet moving in slow kicks beneath the table. “I like lookin’ on the bright side, too. Oh, and hey,” he put in, giggling, “we might’ve lost Manic, but now we know you make a great projectile.” 

“Don’t push it.” 

“Right.” 

Sleet’s eyes found the book once more. He reached over, grabbed a corner of the album’s front cover, and closed it. 

Dingo’s dancing heart sank. Was the projectile joke too far? 

He knew Sleet had a dislike of revisiting his past. ‘Never look back’ was a maxim he’d hardwired into his very being. 

But the past in the scrapbook is different. I’m in it. I’m there for him, thought Dingo, feeling his ears sag. He swallowed his disappointment and steeled himself for Sleet to rise and walk away. 

And then Sleet began slowly tracing a hand over the album’s cover. Dingo’s ears lifted as he watched Sleet. The way the wolf contemplated it, if not for the puffy stickers, water damage, and yellowed photographs of their mugshots, one could have been convinced it was some hallowed, priceless artifact.

“You put everything in this?” he asked after a stretch of silence, gaze still rapt. Sleet’s voice was thoughtful, barely above a whisper. He passed the tips of his lithe fingers over the title, which Dingo had lovingly, heavy-handedly markered. 

BOWTEE HUNTOR BFFS

“Everything.” Most everything. He’d sooner wear shirts for the rest of his life than immortalize the arrow incident. “I’ve been wanting to show you, but you . . . well, you were always busy. With things like ironing and filing reports and ironing reports and filing ironing reports.” 

Sleet stiffened, and his face paled a little at the mention of his unusually frequent postponements. If Dingo didn’t know any better—and he was often told he didn’t—he’d say Sleet looked as if he’d just realized he’d forgotten to turn in one of those pesky ironing reports. Hopefully Robotnik wouldn’t notice. 

“Sometimes all on the same day! I don’t know how you do it!” Dingo amiably bumped his shoulder into Sleet’s. “It’s like, are you a worker bee or a wolf?” He chuckled at his own joke. 

Sleet cleared his throat before agreeing fast. “Yeah. Busy.” The sudden discomfort on his face began to abate. “I was busy. Very busy,” he said, and it almost sounded like he was saying it as much for himself as for Dingo. 

“Ah, it’s no problem. Really. Nothing to be sorry for. Better you than me! Haw!” Dingo laughed again, clapping a hand to Sleet’s back. “Robotnik’s never asked me to do any of that beep-boop ‘puter stuff.”

Sleet pawed at his shoulder blade, then leaned back to survey a bulge between the album’s text block. He opened the scrapbook there, a section in the middle. 

 “Oh!” Dingo piped up. “This is the poisoned knife of that Raiju Clan assassin that tried to kill me! Remember that? My gains were too thick for her noodly arms to yank it out, haha! Best sleep I ever had. 

Oh, and that’s my medal for eatin’ all that Spagonian ice! Remember? When we were tracking that runaway Mazuri prince for the reward money? Oh, oh,” he bounced in his seat when Sleet turned to the next page, “and this is a scrap from the robe of that Meropian city official I mugged! The one who looked at me funny! The pattern’s real nice. Oh, oh, oh, and these are the teeth of those Jackal Squad jokes what tried to poach our poached quarry! I kept the blood an’ gums on ‘em, it adds a little splash of color to the page, y’know?”

They continued like this, Sleet turning pages, Dingo commentating. Unprompted, he would point out the little flourishes he’d added to border his scrawled captions and detailed what material he used to produce his hand-drawn recreations of events. Occasionally Sleet would go beyond a monosyllabic reply, reminiscing along with him in his own way by critiquing the veracity of the accounts. 

 “That’s us making up our debt to Torque after you pushed me into that lever,” said Dingo, tapping a vignette with caricatured versions of themselves holding wrenches and looking sooty. “When we put her and her crew months behind on work. I didn’t know a monkey that small could be so angry, gahah-ha! I was gonna make it a sorta flipbook, so the ships could crash into each other like they did in real life, but I, er, couldn’t figure it out. Check this out!” He held the scrapbook up and jostled it lightly. The rendering of Torque had googly eyes, and they shook below her big, angry eyebrows. 

The interactive feature evoked a genuine snicker from Sleet. It was a sound Dingo wished he could bottle up and listen to on repeat. 

Luck shone upon them. At least half an hour had passed with nary a pinging communicator to answer. 

Dingo had been so occupied retelling exploit after exploit that he’d almost forgotten about the blank spread. It was Sleet who’d reminded him. 

“What would I do without you?” Dingo had said. 

“Flounder.” Sleet had replied. “Well, more than usual.” 

At first, Sleet seemed intimidated by the wide-ranging assortment of crafting supplies. He was very precious when using them, holding them like scientific specimens rather than tools to free one’s imagination. Dingo thought it was sweet he cared so much about not using up his things, but Sleet was being much too cautious. It took a while for him to unrestrain himself and indulge, although his manner of design was more controlled than Dingo’s. He was especially taken with the bottles of glitter glue, praising the adhesive’s efficiency and cleanliness. 

Soon enough, they eased into a comfortable rhythm, cutting and pasting and drawing away. Dingo continued to hark back to past vistas and wrought havoc aloud all the while, but slower, less gushingly. 

 “Are we still banned from Emerald Coast? The staff was real huffy about my shark fin prank, the buncha snobs.”

“No, Dingo, they were ‘real huffy’ about you uprooting the resort’s ornate marble fountain and throwing it at the mob of heavily-armed bounty hunters that were tailing us.” 

“Hah, yeah. Good times.” 

It was when Dingo began coloring in the page’s piece de resistance, the grand pine tree that Manic’s quill would adorn, that he felt his eyelids growing heavy. He fought it, blinking his eyes determinedly and completing another swathe of green, but the pull came to him once more, stronger. Somewhere between recounting the Chaos Cola security gig and their time in the Mercian dungeons, Dingo had helped himself to a mug of hot cocoa. The warmth of the beverage, the soreness of his reindeer-worn muscles, it was all beginning to sap his energy.

Maybe if he just rested his eyes, just for a moment . . . 

“Dingo.”

“Mwuh?”

“You’re smushing me.”

Dingo cracked his eyes open. Sure enough, he was slumping heavily against Sleet’s side, one weighty arm draped across the slighter canine’s shoulders. He jolted with a snort and removed himself. “Sorry!” Dingo blurted and dusted orange fur off from around Sleet’s collarbone. 

How could he have dozed off during something so important as BHBFF bonding? He wiped his mouth with a forearm and sniffled. Shame faintly panged at him. “I wasn’t asleep,” Dingo denied preemptively, removing his glasses for a moment to scrub his eyes. “I was . . . ” A yawn threatened to interrupt him. He stifled it the best he could, face screwing up. “I was inspectin’ your . . . work.” 

“Mm, of course. Snoring while inspecting. What a novel idea.” 

Dingo stretched his arms upward. In doing so, he almost cuffed Sleet with an elbow. 

“Watch it!”

“Sorry! Again!” More heedful of his dimensions, Dingo brought his arms back down and, blinking off-kilter, smiled lopsidedly.  “I’ll inspect less closely.” His BHBFF remained skeptical. “Agh, okay, okay! So maybe I’m a little tired. Not much of a cardio guy.” Dingo raised his unbraced knee and massaged a small circle into it. “Still kinda achy from that run.”

Something that looked a little like sympathy set on Sleet’s face. Dingo couldn’t quite tell. His eyes felt like they had a film over them, and even if they weren’t currently beset by rheum he doubted he’d be able to recognize a sympathetic Sleet, since he wasn’t demonstrative when it came to certain emotions. 

“You should get some rest,” Sleet said. 

“What? And let you have all the fun? Not,” Dingo spoke around a yawn bigger than the one before, “a chaaance.” He frowned, realizing the grogginess in his voice was undeniable. Pesky biological need, ruining the moment. “Just a fluke. I’m up. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!” 

To illustrate, he grabbed hold of his tail and tried shifting it into that of a squirrel Mobian’s. With a dull heat, the appendage distended and rippled promisingly for a few heartbeats before sagging like a deflated balloon. The air trapped within sputtered out, squeaky and indecorous.

“Th-that’s supposed to happen. The molecules are, er, moleculing. Warming up.” Sleet’s unimpressed expression redoubled as Dingo protested. “It’s a real thing!” 

“Dingo.” 

Eager to prove he still had it in him to scrapbook, Dingo reached for a sequin on the table. 

Sleet’s hand intercepted his. “Dingo.” There was a firmness to his voice. 

Dingo stiffened in surprise, ears shooting up. A fluttery feeling stirred in his stomach as Sleet’s hand coaxed Dingo’s away from the sequin. It intensified when Sleet used both hands to clasp Dingo’s transgressing one. Dingo was more than strong enough to pull free from his grasp, but why would he ever want to? The sequin was a distant memory. 

Their gazes lifted at the same time. 

“I insist,” said Sleet, in that hushed, velvety tone only he could muster. 

To Dingo, the trappings behind Sleet seemed to dissolve into an ethereal scene, a peach-pink sky with clouds as round as cotton balls. A welcoming, warm and radiant glow ebbed around Sleet’s form. 

 Dingo barely realized he was purring. “Hhokay,” he said, sounding like he’d taken a lungful of nitrous oxide, feeling lighter than air. 

“Good.” Sleet nodded once, then withdrew and shooed at him. “Off with you. If we’re going to catch those insurgents, you need as much energy as you can get, and I can’t work if you’re going to be snuffling and puffing and mumbling about penguins right in my ear. Your jowls flap like old shingles in the wind.”

Dingo blinked, and the Aphroditic backdrop vanished. “Y-yeah.” He was late to pull his hand away, returning it to his side as haltingly and awkward as a SWATbot. If Sleet noticed, he didn’t say, having delved right back into stenciling snowflakes, just as committed to their detail as he would when creating a blueprint. “Shouldn’t you get some sleep too?” 

“Later. I have some reading to catch up on.”

“Oh, did a new fashion mag come in?”

“I’m talking about the scrapbook, Dingo.”

“Right, right,” Dingo said as he stood up, “I knew that.” He thought he heard another ‘hm’ of amusement from Sleet as he shambled off to their quarters. 

As soon as he saw his bed, the buzz of the day’s unexpectedly long leisure and Sleet’s open affection waned. 

Eyelids already shuttering, he crashed onto his too small mattress and drifted into sleep, dreaming of new adventures, new floggings. 

New memories to record with his best mate Sleet.

[shima-draws]

You blogging about One Piece Treasure Cruise is really making me want to play it…is it fun? Do you recommend? :D

FROTHING AT THE MOUTH UMMM HI YES you should get OPTC and play it it’s SO much fun. I’ve only been playing for about a month (?) or so and I’ve been having a TOTAL blast

I know that generally gacha games can be really hit or miss for a lot of people but I will highly recommend OPTC bc of the MASSIVE amounts of freebies they give out. I’ve played lots of different gacha games over the years and I’ve never seen a game give out as much freebies as OPTC has;; There’s multiple different game modes you can do and they all have different rewards where you can literally just. Choose the character you want. There’s some game modes where you can challenge the same boss over and over and get multiple of the same character to increase their level to the max. They’re stupidly generous with their rewards too like just by leveling up or beating a certain quest or doing a challenge x amount of times they’ll give you a sugo rare (basically a 6 star character, the best units in the game) for free! FOR FREEEEE!!! Also they give tons of unique rewards to rookie players as well so just by getting the game and starting it for the first time they will bury you in Stuff :)

A lot of gacha games are pay to win but honestly you don’t need to spend any money in OPTC to A. Have fun and B. Win harder challenges. It really just depends on how you build your crew and with all the free handouts you’re BOUND to get some really good recruits even at the very start. And if you don’t mind spending a little money they do have achievement packs that unlock whenever you hit a certain level, and the rewards are very generous.

Anyway coughs now that I’m done ranting about how much free shit they’ll give you the actual gameplay is a lot of fun too, like I mentioned there’s lots of different game modes but they generally all revolve around the whole building your crew thing. And a few of these game modes will reset every couple weeks and let you get new characters/rewards so things are always changing and updating! They just had an event to get a free 6 star Bonney and then super evolve her into a 6+ star with her in her Egghead outfit and like.

Bro. That’s so RUDE,,

I will say they do dump a lot on you so it can be really. Confusing and complex lol. I wouldn’t say I know the ins and outs of this game QUITE yet but I have learned a lot of things since I started playing, so if you have any questions feel free to come ask me 🥰

Also the game’s 10 year anniversary is happening (Franky voice) SUPER soon so now is a great time to start playing bc they’re definitely gonna give all the players heaps of rewards ;)

Anyway I’m totally not obsessed with OPTC can’t you tell

[fear-is-truth]

btw the entire time i was writing that note (in CHURCH btw, we got there early 😭😭) my mom was over my shoulder going “who’s that? 🤨 what’s this app? why are you anonymous? are you drug dealing?” like no mother im talking to my bestie across the globe from me who writes rlly good fanfics i am not drug dealing 🙄❤️

- 🍒

LMAO “drug dealing in church” ?! that’s downright blasphemous… yapping with a long distance bff is so much better than drugs 🤍 bestie i’m SO looking forward to winter break, RAHHH two more weeks of exam torture and i will be freeeee (and yapping 24/7 with ya)

[mcondance]

that’s why i’m standing on my own2 now and you can hand it over ain’t no better time than now i got it all figured out and you know this don’t come for freeee for freeeee