#so i will not be forcing myself to write

[smeddiemunson]

(part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Gareth, in a feat of truly impressive self-restraint, lasted all the way through their band practise before asking.

The four of them packed into Eddie’s van. Gareth had ultimate dibs on the front seat since he’d known Eddie the longest, despite being in different grades. 

“So,” he said, breaking the expectant silence. “Steve Harrington?” 

Eddie groaned and let his head thunk against the steering wheel, not even flinching when the horn sounded. “Please don’t.” 

“Nah, man. It’s all good,” Jeff soothed as he leaned through the gap between the front seats. “We’ve not got a problem with it, but Harrington? Really? Not exactly your type.” 

Eddie laughed humourlessly. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Gareth turned in his seat to share a loaded look with the two sat in the back as Eddie started the van. They were planning to find out the all of it.

“And you guys just don’t have a problem with it?” Eddie asked once they were well on the road to Loch Nora. “I know you don’t exactly have the best memories of him from school.”

Eddie tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn’t even match the tape that was playing quietly. He was nervous and Eddie hated being anything other than completely sure of himself. 

“You’re right, we don’t have the best memories of him, but the guy saved your life, Eddie,” Gareth reminded him gently. 

It was the worst phone call he’d ever received in his life. He couldn’t imagine getting another one like it. Wayne on the other end, breathing shakily as he told Gareth that Eddie was in the hospital, that he wasn’t waking up but that he was going to be okay and that he thought Eddie would really like it if his best friends, his brothers, were there when he woke up. 

It had been hard seeing Eddie like that, small, frail and paler than usual, no rings or battle vest, no Eddie. Steve and Wayne had been sat at his bedside, both just staring into the middle distance, when they had filtered into the room. Gareth remembered so vividly the sinking feeling that he felt at the quiet. Eddie hated the quiet, he was never quiet. 

And maybe it had been the wrong thing to do, to interrupt Steve and Wayne in such a way, but Gareth knew Eddie. Wayne, for all he tried, never really understood his nephew and Steve was clearly a new development.

So he started talking. He talked about school, about the assignment he was working on, and he talked about the girl that worked behind the counter of Camelot, and he talked about his mom chewing him out for almost crashing her car. Jeff and Grant, who knew exactly what he was doing, picked up the thread when it sounded like he was running out of steam. 

He just couldn’t stand to let Eddie exist like that.

Gareth owed him that much. Gareth owed him everything.

Eddie who had stood on lunch tables and made himself the centre of attention, the target, when Gareth couldn’t fight off the tears after getting an F on his history midterm. Eddie who got them their first paying gig as Corroded Coffin and pushed them all to take their music seriously. 

He joked about them being his sheep, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yeah, man,” Grant doubled down. “We can’t hate him anymore. Without him you wouldn’t be here. And you trust him?” 

“With my life,” Eddie confirmed with conviction. 

“Then that’s good enough for us. It’s all water under the bridge,” Jeff concluded. “Now turn that fucking music up, I don’t want to cry in the back of your shitty van, Ed.”

Eddie cracked the music up with a blubbery laugh and all four of them yelled along with Ozzy for the rest of the drive.

The door to the Harrington house was opened before they even got out of the car. Steve stood there, excitement buzzing around him.

"Ed," Gareth stopped him with a hand on his arm before Eddie could scamper off. "Do they know about you?"

Eddie shook his head. "Only Buckley."

Gareth nodded once and jumped out of the van. He was still too short to climb out normally, and at seventeen, he didn't have much hope for a late growth spurt to help him out with it.

“You been waiting for us all this time, Stevie?” Eddie teased as he slammed his door shut.

Steve laughed, stepping out the door with bare feet on the porch so he could accept Eddie’s hug. He didn’t have a shirt on, pink scars on full display, and short yellow swim shorts on. It was nothing short of a miracle that Eddie still had the brain cells to flirt.

“We could hear you guys coming all the way up the street.” He explained as Eddie let go of him. “Ozzy?”

“Oh for fuck sake,” Jeff muttered from his place at Gareth’s shoulder. “How is Ed not seeing this?”

“He had to do senior year three times, dude.” Grant fired back from Gareth’s other side, but still not loud enough for Eddie or Steve to hear. “Steve could plant one on him right now and he’d still find a way to make it a just friends thing.”

Steve, having finally managed to pull his focus away from Eddie long enough to see his other guests, waved them over. “Come on in guys.”

Gareth made sure to share with Steve what he hoped past for a friendly, macho and athletic half handshake as he passed him to go through the door.

“Thanks again for having us. You really didn’t have to invite us,” Grant said, using the good manners his father taught him.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “No way, man. I’ve been trying to get Teddy to bring you guys over for ages. He talks about you all the time.”

“You talk about us, Ed?” Gareth asked with a shit eating grin. 

Eddie pushed at his shoulder, sending Gareth stumbling towards the open french doors. “Yeah and I’ll talk about Tammy Thompson if you don’t shut up.” 

Jeff and Gareth snickered together. They knew all about Gareth’s benadryl induced dream about Tammy Thompson because when he told them he was still half high on the same benadryl.

Gareth huffed but didn’t say anything. He didn’t doubt that Eddie would follow through with his threat if pushed. 

Out in the garden, it seemed that the party was already in full swing. There were scattered cans, Robin and Nancy were giggling together at something, and s portable stereo playing The Cure. 

Steve smiled shyly. “We got started without you.” 

His voice seemed to draw the attention of the other four people. They all stopped in the middle of their conversations. 

“Whoa, dude,” The guy with long hair that Gareth didn’t recognise said to break the silence. “Your cult looks super culty.” 

Gareth froze. Jeff and Grant did too. 

But Eddie, determined to always surprise them, just laughed. “Not a cult, my man.” He kicked his shoes off by the door (surprising how little care he paid them since he sulked for a week straight when Jeff accidentally scuffed them) and started making his way over to the sun loungers. “This the legendary Corroded Coffin. Gareth, Jeff and Grant.” 

He pointed them out each in turn then shucked off his shirt and started working the intricate handcuff clasp of his belt. 

Gareth pretended he didn’t hear the strangled noise that came from Steve’s throat. 

“And guys, this is Argyle. You know everyone else.” 

Gareth waved politely but awkwardly and it was returned by a chorus of ‘hello’s.

Once Eddie had divested himself of his jeans, the black swim shorts he had forced underneath them sitting starkly against his pale skin, he dipped back in his jeans pocket to pull out two perfectly rolled joints.

“I brought party favours!” He waved them in front of Argyle’s face how he would sometimes play with the stray cats that skulked around Forest Hills.

Grant groaned. “Eddie, you know I can’t afford weed right now.” 

Eddie scoffed at him. “These’s ones are on the house, Ad-Grant-age. This is a party after all.” 

Steve, somehow having forced himself out of the trace that Eddie’s torso had put him in, was the first to start moving. “You guys can change inside if you want. There’s bedrooms upstairs or the bathroom just past the kitchen. I’ll get some more drinks. Can we switch this tape?” 

The rambling did nothing to hide the redness of his cheeks. If anything it just brought more attention to them. 

“Your tapes are shit, Steveo,” Robin informed him happily. “But this one is also awful, so yes I will change it just for you.” She ignored Jonathan’s annoyed hey and beckoned Steve to follow her. 

Eddie settled on the sun lounger next to Argyle, already having pulled a lighter from somewhere. 

Gareth took that as his cue to drag Jeff and Grant inside to change. 

Jeff, as soon as they were out of hearing range, asked, “When has Eddie ever given us free weed?” 

Gareth shook his head. “I’ve known about this crush for less than a week and I’m already tired of it. We have to do something to get them together.” 

Grant narrowed his eyes. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”

He pushed them both towards the bathroom. “Get changed, our work starts today.”

(part 4)

[epicene-humanoid]

something about the silk moth stede finds and pauses to admire on the treasure hunt, something about izzy running stede through with a sword and pinning him to the mast like a butterfly, something about the transformative nature of life, something about starting life as a creature of the land and then growing wings to take to the sky or setting sail to live on the sea, something about curling into a protective cocoon or retreating to a former home in order to achieve a final form— to kill the creature you were born as to become what you were meant to be, something about the wooden puppet who became a real boy, something about how a name changes you— how a moth is not a caterpillar despite being the same creature and the gentleman pirate is not stede bonnet despite being the same man, something about flashy colors and fine fabrics and patterned wings, something about aposematism and fuckery and performance…

but also. “great, you found a bug. cheers.”

[becca-e-barnes]

BECCAAA Ive been thing about a concept of Bucky using pre-workout before sex and this man just going for HOURS. I could just imagine him being a cocky bastard about it and using us like a doll. He's an enhanced super soldier too so if you think your "normal sessions" were long then then again because its just non stop cardio.

This is the way I want to die 💳💥💳💥💳💥

God no, okay, I'm going to overshare but I've always found orgasms are so much more intense after taking pre-workout. I used to be really into weights training so that was usually how I'd reward myself after leg day. Epitome of "make your own legs shake if no one else is doing it for you" 🙃

And that made me think about what would happen if you both took pre-workout before sex? And the first time he makes you cum, he notices just how intense it is for you.

Like maybe you're underneath him, not able to do anything but take the punishing thrusts he's giving you. His head is right down in the crook of your neck, kissing and nibbling, worrying your skin between his teeth while he moans out his pleasure.

"Oh shit, right there." You gasp, desperately clawing at your partner's back as he nails your little sweet spot perfectly with every frantic thrust. You hear him chuckle proudly, his breath hot on your neck.

"Just like that, sweetheart? You need daddy to fuck you nice and hard?" He's so confident but fuck, he's not wrong. It's exactly what you need.

"Y-yes, fuck. Oh God, I'm gonna cum." You sob, your fingertips digging in to the small dimples on his lower back.

"Cum for me, princess. Cum on daddy's dick." He props himself up on his elbow, his eyes trained on your face because this is a sight that he never likes to miss.

His thrusts don't relent. He's learned over time that when you tell him not to stop, he really shouldn't.

"Daddy, fuck." You groan, your legs trembling as your orgasm takes over. You feel your body clench and tighten in a way you're not quite used to. The intensity is overwhelming in the very best way. You feel the burning arousal creep up your spine, spreading right to the tips of your fingers. It's the most unrestrained kind of pleasure and Bucky knows it.

"Fuck kitten, you trying to make me bleed?" He smirks, fucking you through your high. You hadn't really noticed the way you'd been scratching at his back, desperately trying to pull him ever closer.

"You've gone so fucking stupid. That's cute. I'm not nearly done with you though. I want to feel that pretty pussy gushing for me." Before you have a chance to catch your breath, he has a hand around your neck, squeezing gently.

"Cum again. Right fucking now." He's smug because he knows you will. He's more than able to drag another orgasm from you and his thrusts are giving you no other option.

"M-make me." You stutter, letting out a pathetic moan when his lips ferociously collide with your own.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

[muzzlemouths]

Dead Mall Dare [The Golden Years]

A moment that occurs before the events of Chapter 1.

There's a showing at the Waning Lights theater, and Moon is more than happy to host the event - but things don't always go according to plan.

Wordcount: 2223

It was rare treat when the Waning Lights theater had a showing. Not just any showing, either; a special feature, Saturday Night Fever, viewed on the big screen for one night only. The event drew in crowds from surrounding counties and promised to be a truly unforgettable night.

Customarily, the theater’s very own mascot lead the scene. Moon stood just beyond the entrance, velvet rope sat aside, delighting in nothing more than gesturing the queue through the two crescented doors with a handshake and a smile that reached both corners of the mouth.

Folks piled in by the dozens and left only stragglers, concession connoisseurs and parents who did away with their children by slipping coins into their pockets and ushering them towards the mall’s plentiful list of other things to do, the candy shop and playground being notable favorites.

A particularly bratty shaver caught Moon’s attention as he was headed inside, causing him to pause at the door, ever briefly, before he returned to the outer lobby and came upon the family - mom, dad, and the wailing child, giving his parents a good deal of grief - and crouched down to his level, fitting him with a stern look. “Now what has you in such a fit?” Asked Moon, calm as a clam.

“Oh, don’t let us keep you,” the mother, shame behind her eyes, sighed with exasperation, “he’s only upset with having to miss the show.”

“He’ll miss dinner and a day without chores, too, if he doesn’t shape up,” chimed the father, looking thin in the lips.

“Is that so?” Now, Moon wasn’t a hit with the kids. He catered to the night crowd, business men with a schedule chalked full and youth on the crisp of adulthood who fancied a quieter time and fewer distractions during their visits - it was Sun who carried on conversations with the tots and blew balloons to keep the kids happy and the parents happier - but it was Moon who knew his way around the fussier ones. Though his methods were questionable.

“Well, we could let you in to see the film,” he mused, finger tapping against his lip in thought. Both parents shared a bug-eyed expression, obviously against such an idea, but Moon continued, “though I must say I’m surprised, I didn’t expect anyone your age to want anything to do with a pair cutting the rug,” he watched the boy’s face turn sour and carried on with the wave of a hand and a perfect poker smile, “and I suppose a growing boy like yourself won’t mind the kissing, either.”

His tantrum came to a grinding halt. “The…kissing?”

“Well of course!” Said Moon, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin into his palm, “This story doesn’t end before the star finds himself a pretty lady and warms her up with a kiss. Isn’t that romantic?” He waited. It didn’t take long. The child’s entire posture sank with disappointment and he turned to look up at his parents with a face of utter betrayal, “Or,” Moon called him back to attention with a hand that dipped behind the child’s ear, and away from it he pulled a silver coin - Sun’s face on one side, his own on the other - and slipped it into the boy’s hand with a wink, "you could get lost in a few games until your parents are done.”

The little boy answered with an eager nod and a polite thanks at his mother’s behest, menace easily turned moppet, and scurried off towards the arcade without further argument. Problem solved and with minimal fuss to boot. And just in time, too. Moon beckoned the couple inside right as the screen came to life, a coca-cola commercial beginning the next ten minutes of pre-film entertainment.

A few minutes in and the smell of warm butter and popcorn steam wafted through the room, paper bags worth a handful tucked into one another, pinned against stacks of Mars Men and liquorice twists and all crammed into a wide mouthed wooden box that Moon brought to every row with a flare of glamour, ensuring that each guest in their allocated seat was happy and fulfilled. Behind him the speakers sang with the melody of a brand, giddy voices chiming ‘mix it up, wrap it up, Buttercup is born!’ and boasting a king-sized cup.

It wasn’t until the intro came to an end that Moon left the crowd if only to climb the star coated stairs all the way to the projection booth to personally insure the film began smoothly. Sure enough, the booth’s worker was already having some trouble with the reel. This wasn’t unusual - the projectors weren’t what they used to be, and Waning Lights had been due for a new one since the year prior. The theater’s budget was all tied up elsewhere, management said, and Moon never found it in himself to complain. It was nothing he couldn’t fix in a pinch.

A few precise taps - clearly practiced - knocked the machine back into functioning order, and the reel slipped into its frame with ease. Static formed, then a light, and finally the screen came alive with the opening number. Moon found a chair of his own beside the projector and settled in to enjoy the movie.

Twenty-eight minutes in and things were just starting to heat up when a customer began causing a ruckus. This, too, wasn’t unusual. There were always interruptions in the theater - whispers amongst the crowd and walkouts, or the occasional pair of teenagers who thought they were being sneaky, but this was different. An uproar created from the belly of a drunkard whose vulgar speech competed for volume with the film itself.

This, of course, meant he had to go. The poor projection booth employee wearily found their way to their feet only for Moon to set a hand on their shoulder, standing himself, “I’ll take care of it,” he promises smoothly, “offer the guests more refreshments - on the house.” He waits for the affirming nod, then sets his sights on the man below.

It took all of two minutes for him to be escorted down the theater’s hall and out towards the lobby - all the while Moon soothed his angry prattles with a patient voice and a polite, but firm hand - unfortunately, they don’t entirely make it there. Not ten feet from the exit and the man whipped around, fist raised high, intent on making a scene. Moon wasn’t having any of it. “Sir, you need to leave,” he gave the man a second chance, hoping he might see reason, “you’re causing a disturbance. If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll have to–”

He caught the first throw, easily avoiding the attack. But not the second. A harsh shove against Moon’s shoulders drove him into the wall, the force of it enough to jostle a poster from its place, the wooden frame splintering open on impact.

Moon’s posture changed immediately, manners somewhat forgotten as his system recalculated an appropriate response. The situation was growing dangerous. He pulled himself away from the wall, dented where his joints met plaster, and dusted the fibers from his silicone, retaining utmost composure even now, “Sir,” his head felt funny, static snow dancing in his field of vision, but he’s nothing if not forgiving, “I’ll ask one more time before escorting you from the mall’s premises entirely. Please leave the theater and–”

Again, the man aimed his fist, rage in his eyes and steam erupting from his nostrils, not looking to play nice - but Moon was faster. He caught it by the wrist, long fingers wound in a vice hold. His world swayed and swam. A new protocol slithered into his coding when he wasn’t looking. Then there was a crunch, followed by a scream.

He doesn’t know how it happened. One minute he’s holding his own against this rowdy patron and the next, he was holding him up by a broken wrist, his fingers still bruising around the joint. Then came the security. Alerted by the pained shriek, no doubt, they marched through the theater in a pair and took the customer away by his folded arms. The man’s incessant howling turned every head in the theater, then all eyes fell to Moon, still trying to make sense of it all.

The employee, who appeared at his side a moment later, outstretched a hand to his shoulder much in the same way Moon had a few minutes prior. “Are you alright?” They asked him, thinly veiled distress in their voice, “I heard the commotion from upstairs. Did he hurt you?”

The question caught him off guard. Did the man hurt him? No, certainly not.

“I need to clear my head,” said Moon, avoiding the topic entirely, and he didn’t wait for an answer, either.

Moon recoiled from the touch without another word and strode a far ways from the exits, finding himself inside a photo booth.

With the curtain being pulled taut, he let his head fall to his hands, and a deep exhale escaped. A worrying feeling washed over him like spiders dancing on his skin, creeping along with legs like pins and needles. He found himself nauseated and dizzy, steam sweltered inside his chest and rose to form beads of sweat - that is, condensation - and a hand arrived at his mouth a second later to prevent himself from losing stomach oil.

He heaved, dry and ugly, for a full minute without interruption.

Then the curtains came away with a quickness so jarring it snapped him clear out of his daze.

Moon squinted into the sudden burst of light, and Sun stared back, a look of concern crossing his features. “Are you alright?” He asked, frantic.

His mind flashed to the employee asking that exact question and immediately he remembered his sickness. He shuddered, forcing it down as well as he could manage, for Sun’s sake, “What are you doing here?” He forced the words past gritted teeth, “Your shift doesn’t start for another five hours.”

Sun straightened his back, the action enveloping Moon in his shadow, much to his counterpart’s relief. “They said something happened,” he answered, “that there was a fight, and you got knocked around pretty bad. I was worried, so–”

“I’m fine.” He interjected, the bite making Sun stiffen. There was a broiling heat running rampant in his system, a burning under his skin. He couldn’t place it - the fire, or the source of the sickness. His gears felt like they were clogged with molasses. “I’m–I’m fine,” he tried again, with a much smoother, softer tone this time. His eyes raised, his smile plastered on with it, “Thank you for worrying. I’ve got a headache, but that’s all. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“If you’re sure…” Sun wasn’t convinced. Still, it wasn’t kind to challenge the other when he was evidently already going through it, so he let it go. For now. He paused then, thinking, then climbed fully into the booth and closed the curtain behind him. “Mind if I stay with you until then?”

“You don’t seem to be waiting for an answer either way.” Moon replied. He can’t help the way his smile relaxed into something genuine, or the way his shoulders slumped with relief as Sun crammed his way into the seat beside him. The company was nice. It eased the sickly flare somewhat.

“You know what might cheer you up?” Sun reached for the photo booth triggers, “We should take a picture! We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Sun, I don’t want to–”

“Say cheese!”

He didn’t have much time to argue. The timer clicked away and Moon, never knowing how to let him down, obliged with a roll of his eyes and a smile. Something a little silly, despite the tension boiling under his fingertips. The printer spit their photograph into his hand a minute later.

“That’s a good one,” said Sun, “we should hang it up in our room.”

Moon nodded, thumb pressed against the smooth film. He didn’t recognize the Moon in that picture.

They sat in perfect silence for some time after this. Moon with his head on Sun’s shoulder, and Sun’s head on top of his, the rays retracted where his faceplate brushed against the hat.

Eventually, Moon was able to return to his theater, but something had shifted. Something was unmistakably different. He caught the tail end of the movie and assured the other employees that he was alright as the final scene played out.

He remained in the booth until the credits rolled, shook the hand of each departing customer, and personally locked up once the last staff member made their way out. Then, finding his way to the middle seat in the center row, Moon sat and stared at a blank screen. He sat there until the mall closed and then opened, and dawn crawled over the horizon.

Sun had already made his way out for his morning shift after being reassured, once again, that he was alright. Moon found his way to their shared bedroom alone and got himself plugged in for the night. He would often dream in this state, but tonight he hoped they would stay away. He wanted nothing but stillness. An empty, boring sleep.

Maybe that would put this nervous feeling to rest.

[synonymroll648]

reblog with ‘me’ as a comment or in the tags if you want to be on the taglist for the ‘the vackers got their teal eyes from hatsune miku’ essay that spiraled way out of control

hey to all the people still saying me: the essay is up now :) 

[justablognothingweirdhere]

My favorite scenes in HD were the ones in seasons 4/5 where Ray and Henry would act like they were on fucking crack, and the only reason they don’t let them act like that anymore when Henry visits in DF is because Charlotte isn’t around to fix things when they inevitably cause more problems.

[crows-home]

Agh, I feel bad that the next chapter of You are at your lowest, I am rising higher is taking me longer than I want, so here’s a 2k sneak peak of when everyone first gets word of Sonic’s death :’))

.

There’s an analogue clock on Amy’s wall.

It’s hung just above her fireplace, in her living room, black hands displaying the time- 10:35 P.M. At least, Silver thinks it’s somewhere around 10:35? Reading those things are difficult and he has little practice with them.

It’s old, Silver thinks, even for this time period. It’s a clock he’s only ever seen in ancient books and torn pictures unearthed in rubble. It’s shaped like a box, but crafted to look… fancy. A fancy box. Red paint peeling and chipping away to reveal the brown wood underneath.

It’s nice. Silver can admire the details and the fancy swooshes at the corners and the bronze swinging thing in the middle behind a glass barrier. Blaze would have better words to describe it; she’s always been the more knowledgeable about these types of things. Too bad she’s handling responsibilities in her own world right now.

Tick tick tick.

When he walks through the threshold, it’s the first thing his eyes go to. A nice clock, really, Silver isn’t one to criticize his friends’ furniture and home- but he could do without the subtle noise that it makes every second. Each second, the thin red hand moves, ticking and ticking in a way that gets under his skin after too long.

Silver cringes as he sits down on Amy’s couch, next to Knuckles. The scrapes on his elbows hurt and the back of his hands burn like they always do whenever he overexerts his powers.

[Amy’s called a meeting with everyone at her home at the edge of town. Knuckles, The Chaotix, Silver, even Sticks.

Well, almost everyone. Rouge and Omega have already been contacted, and Tails and Sonic are nowhere to be found. It’s deathly quiet when she sits them all down in her living room and passes out the first aid supplies. She hangs her head low, and Knuckles thinks the battle must have shaken her up more than usual.

She looks like she’s been crying.]

Silver hisses while applying an ice pack to his bruised leg.

“Have all the evacuees made it out of town?” Espio asks. Silver turns to look at him. He’s to the right, sitting down in front of the pink loveseat where Charmy and Vector are. Right in front of the fireplace, right below the clock.

Amy nods, putting the first aid kit on the coffee table in the middle of the room. She takes a seat in front of them, in a peach chair that looks like it needs serious upholstering.

“Good, we should focus on our next move,” Espio dabs antiseptic onto a scrape on Charmy’s knee. The bee whines. “Eggman’s not wasting any time.”

“Yeah,” Vector gripes. Silver sees him flinch when he presses an ice pack to a bump on his head. His headphones and gold chain have been tossed to the side. “And he’s got a real bad team with him this time. I mean, did you guys see that masked guy?”

They did. It was fast. Silver couldn’t get a hit in no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t even keep him still with his telekinesis. He’s still sour about that. He glares at the floor like Amy’s cream carpet will give him forgiveness.

Tick tick tick

Besides Silver, Knuckles removes his gloves roughly. Silver wisely chooses to tilt away from Knuckles before he elbows him without thinking. “Chaos was there,” Knuckles says while applying a heart patterned band-aid on his palm. He frowns ruefully at them. “But I don’t get how or why. He’s supposed to be on Angel Island.”

“What the heck was Zavok doing here, too?” Sticks calls from the floor somewhere to Silver’s left. “I thought Sonic took care of him and his goons months ago!”

Zavok isn’t someone Silver has any real personal experience with, but he was a formidable opponent.

“Metal Sonic was mean…” Charmy whines.

The ice pack he’s pressing on his knee doubles as a balm to his aching hand. It’s white and nothing much, but Silver frowns at it all the same.

Metal Sonic was his usual fast and unflinching robotic self. Was that other guy, the one with the mask, a robot too? They shared similar traits…

“…We saw Shadow as well,” Espio mumbles.

There’s a pause in the air- a tense silence that hangs and goes on for too long- almost overpowering.

Tick tick tick tick

Silver chances a glance around the room and sees that everyone else is looking at the floor, at the walls, at their own hands, like that will give them any sort of answer. No one really knows what to say about their friend who turned enemy again.

[Knuckles knows what he would say, but he’s been told he can’t say those words around Charmy.]

When Shadow had first teleported beside him in the middle of battle, Silver had expected assistance. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of Shadow being a threat! That’s why he was completely caught off guard when Shadow grabbed him by the quills and flung him meters away.

This isn’t his time period, he’s so out of his element again, he doesn’t know. It’s frustrating that he doesn’t. Frustrating that he hesitated before engaging in battle against a former ally. He would fist his hands in anger if they weren’t aching so much.

Silver flinches when Knuckles balls his fists and growls. The hearts on his palm bunch up and wrinkle.

“Forget this!” Knuckles says. “We don’t have time to wonder why Shadow’s bad again or why so many of our enemies are back. Whatever’s going on, it’s nothing some good old-fashioned force and teamwork can’t fix. I mean, how strong can they be? We’ve beaten them once already!”

[That has them lifting their heads a little bit. Knuckles sees Vector smile, and Silver sit up just a bit straighter. Good.]

Silver feels himself smile, despite everything. Right. They just need some time to reorganize, is all. Even after that rough battle and loss, Knuckles still looks tough; ready for the next fight. He’s a good person, Silver thinks. He’s grateful he has these people now. Grateful he has someone like Knuckles to rely on.

Tick tick tick.

[Amy still seems down though. Hm.]

Probably feeling bold, Knuckles smirks and raises a fist. “So they got the upper hand today. Big deal! Just some luck on their part that we’re a little rusty. I, for one, can’t wait to head back out there and show them that no matter how much muscle they bring, we’ll always be stronger.”

Sticks sits up. “Knuckles is right-”

[Heh, as always.]

“-for once-”

[Wait what?]

Sticks [rudely] ignores Knuckles’ indignant growls, and Silver has to hide his laugh behind a cough. Charmy doesn’t hide his at all. “-But we’re gonna hafta decide on a plan fast, because with Shadow on his team, there’s no telling how much time we’ve got! That guy will cover so much ground like nobody’s business!”

Speaking of fast…

Switching the ice pack from one hand to another, Silver looks at Amy, who’s sitting on her armchair and staring resolutely at her hands folded in her lap. “Were you able to track down Sonic and Tails?”

Amy’s muzzle moves with a thick swallow.

“I-” she begins, and then glances to one corner of the room. “I- found Tails. He’s, um- he’s in my room right now. Resting.”

Tick tick tick tick

Had Tails been a part of the battle without them realizing? Silver feels a pang of worry go through him thinking about young Tails, going into battle against such powerful foes, completely unprepared. At least Amy’s taken care of him now.

[She keeps blinking. She’s trying to keep her eyes from watering. Knuckles stops paying attention to everyone else in the room, focusses solely on her. His own heartbeat is loud in his ears.]

“What about Sonic?” Charmy’s high voice pipes up.

They need Sonic. Silver frowns and thinks. Where was Sonic during the battle? Taking care of Tails? He’s always been pretty protective of him.

Once they get Sonic and the rest of the team here, they can figure something out. Like Knuckles said. Nothing they haven’t done before. Silver lets himself feel a little bit of hope, lets the ball of anxiety in his chest turn into anticipation.

Keep a cool, level head. Just like Knuckles, who’s not saying anything and is looking at Amy. Looking for the next step.

[Knuckles doesn’t think anyone else is watching Amy as intently as he is, he feels like he’s the only one who sees how unnaturally stiff she’s become. Sees how she fiddles with the tassels of her throw pillow.]

“We didn’t see him anywhere!”

[Knuckles is suddenly struck with a familiar sensation. A stomach-dropping, time stopping one. He’s been here before.

Why? Why does he feel like this? Amy hasn’t even said anything, but he already feels like- like she’s told them-]

“He’s… Sonic is-”

Is what? Is he hurt? Silver blinks and tilts his head forward. Amy cares a lot about Sonic’s well-being. That must be what’s gotten her so bad.

Tick tick tick tick

[Amy takes in short, quivering breaths. Like she’s trying to keep herself together- like she’s seconds from falling apart.

Knuckles knows immediately where she’s going.]

Everyone’s looking at Amy now. No doubt wondering what’s got her pausing and why she looks so tense. Amy takes a deep breath brings her gaze up- not looking at anyone specifically, Silver thinks. She’s looking but- she’s not? How is that even possible?

[It’s familiar. It reminds Knuckles of the day he realized his tribe wasn’t coming back.

…Is that what it is? Maybe it’s something else entirely.]

What’s this déjà vu? Silver is struck by an image- fuzzy and almost a memory- that flashes in front of him. For a second, he thinks he sees Sonic. On the ground and surrounded by- by- something. Someone? A purple and black sky overhead, twisting and distorting, as he and his friends surround- something-

It’s gone. The memory- memory?- is gone a moment later, barely a whisper of a thought left when Silver tries to prod at it.

Amy sniffs, and Silver zeroes in again.

“Sonic is no longer with us.”

Tick.

What?

“…What?” He hears someone- Vector- ask.

Amy closes her eyes, and now Silver can see her clearly. Her jaw is stiff, her hands are shaking, and her back is so straight he thinks she must be in pain.

“What do you mean?”

Is it just him, or is everyone’s eyes too dry all of a sudden?

A ringing in his ear, sharp and growing, almost drowns out everyone’s words. Except for Amy’s. Amy’s words as she explains that- that Sonic was there. He was there before everyone else, along with Tails.

“…Tails saw it happen… -one with the mask- ended his life right in front of him-” Amy is saying, but Silver’s not really hearing. “Early this morning-”

Tick tick tick

He can’t hear because- because of the ringing in his ear. Subtle, but still there. And- and the clock. And- Has the light always been that bright? Have his lips always been this chapped? The room was warm before. A nice place to be during a cold night. Now it’s suffocating. His fur is uncomfortable. And blinking- it’s such a weird motion, isn’t it. He’s never thought about that before.

Amy’s still talking. “…found Tails in his room- scared- … neck was snapped-”

Breathing- breathing is weird too. He’s never noticed. He’s hyper aware of every breath and the way it fills his lungs because it will never fill Sonic’s ever again.

Tick tick tick

Has the clock always been that loud?

[There’s a strange air in the room. Like all of this is not quite real, but Knuckles is hyper-aware of every one of his senses. The bruises on his arms and legs and the way the bandages hug his injuries. The way his heart is thumping in his chest.

He’s aware of the way Silver’s become deathly still beside him. How Charmy’s cries sound and the shuffling noise Vector makes when he goes to hug the kid.

He doesn’t turn to look at any of them, but he can feel.]

[shirozora-draws]

“Are you doing deliveries today?” Grogu asks while they wait at the intersection. Din ruffles the kid’s black hair, making him scowl and yank his hood over his head. “Not tonight. You wanted me to come with you to Miss Tano’s academy, remember?” Grogu’s eyes widen and he nods vigorously. His smile drowns out his earlier annoyance and there’s a spring in his step as he drags Din across the crosswalk. The kid’s happiness is always so bright and it carries Din through his day shift. In the evening, he takes Grogu to the new force—“It’s a Force academy, Dad. The Force is a proper noun.”— academy run by Ahsoka Tano, a newcomer to Nevarro, where he watches Grogu try a beginner’s class and ignores curious glances from other parents.

Listen. Listen.... I got no excuse. I need to fill in the time between now and NaNo and it is cold, it is sweater weather, I have 3k+ words, and I absolutely managed to lay down the groundworks for an excuse to whip out another supercharged sparring scene because I am a fucking fool of a Took.

Anyway, how human!Grogu work? I decided to roll a kid!Grogu rather than toddler!Grogu because I think the dynamic will be way more interesting and also the idea is that this hell of a tale takes place several years after all the drama happens. This is people who had settled into their everyday lives because this is a slice-of-life nondrama modernish AU written with a really light hand and I hope to hell it stays that way.

Also Peli has 3 rescue dogs. And is in this fic. As well as Ahsoka. Among other things.

*slides into a ditch*

[hanji-is-life]

Ok so-

Bakugou with a hair pulling kink but you discover it by accident

You two are in an argument and he turns to leave, but you’re like “you ain’t leaving we aren’t done here” but he doesn’t listen. So you grab him by the hair and yank him back hard and he just lets out a sinful moan And you both freeze

Now he’s 10 inches deep in your gut and begging for you to do it again

t-ten inches? 😳

I think I love it when he’s eating you out, and pulls away from your cunt, your slick and his spit still connecting his lips and chin to you. and he’s panting all hard from smothering himself in your scent and taste without taking a breather, but he manages a breathy,

“Pull my fucking hair, make that shit hurt,” before he dives right back in. all sloppy and loud, but he gets even worse when you take a handful of his hair and just pull to your hearts content. he’s leaving the bed with a few missing strands, but he doesn’t mind. the burning pain laced with pleasure in his scalp is enough to have him coming in his boxers in no time.

[cyancherub]

the terrible urge i have to write but i also want to read so i can improve my writing but i cant turn my writer brain off and i just want to keep squeezing juice out of it 

[st4r-c0d3]

part two of what songs mha character would use to confess during karaoke (based on the ship): Deku Edition <3

Kamideku: Melting by Kali Uchis. it's a sappy love song about wanting to be engulfed by one's lover. it is EXACTLY what Deku would go for if Kaminari is his target. being in love with his smile?? wanting to be able to make him laugh?? its all in the lyrics baby

Serodeku: Corduroy Dreams by Rex Orange County. its ALLLL about wanting the other to be happy. we know how much of a giving person Deku is. he would want Sero to know that he loves him while also making it perfectly clear that if he would be happy without him/doesnt reciprocate that its perfectly fine. bc all he wants is for him to be happy. and if that isnt the most Deku thing possible idk what is

Tododeku: Right Side of My Neck by Faye Webster. it fits PERFECTLY because its about being so infatuated that its all that can be focused on. mostly the first verse is what made it seem very Deku to Todoroki

Kirideku: Puppy Princess by Hot Freaks. honestly its mostly bc of how the subject of the song is already in a relationship. id imagine Deku would pick this song bc he wants to confess but knows he probably wouldnt have a chance due to Kiri being friends with Bakugo

Rodydeku: Luv Note by chloe moriondo. this song bc it talks slightly about distance?? its really sappy and slightly self deprecating which just fits Deku in general. its vv easy to see why it makes sense if you look at the lyrics

Iidadeku: Would You Be So Kind by dodie. its cute, its fun, what else is there to explain?? its flowery and explains his feelings adorably. ESPECIALLY with the verse about writing a book. he would probably stutter through the whole thing but like thats expected

[gintrinsic-writing]

Time, Legend, and dealing with chronic pains. Written in two sprints, unedited and rough lol. 

CW: drug use 

--

“I’m going to take a walk,” Legend said, and Time wondered if he was the only one to hear more. Because their Veteran’s eyes had been tight all day, his lips near-pinched, and although he’d never complained about the pace, he’d also carried himself stiffly. It wasn’t difficult to guess why. 

Thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds passed before Time’s concern drove him to speak. “I’m going to check on him.”

Surprisingly, it was Warriors who turned at that. “He hasn’t been gone that long; give him a moment.”

“I’d rather be sure,” Time answered, blinking when Warriors frowned; seconds later, the Captain’s well-practiced smile took over. 

“He’ll only resent the coddling.”

Time very carefully kept his features smooth. He wondered what Warriors was hiding, what secret he was trying to preserve for Legend’s sake. “Oh well,” he said, curtly motioning for Warriors to stay put. “See to the others.” That said, he  left in the direction Legend had gone, scanning the ground for tracks. There weren’t many, a testament to Legend’s skill, but Time had grown up in the woods, and he knew how to recognize the slight disturbances in the rich blanket of moss. 

It didn’t take long to find him. It did take Time several seconds to process what he was seeing, though. And smelling. “Oh.”

Legend visibly startled. “Hylia’s tits,” he swore, voice mildly strained. He waved a hand through a small plume of smoke, his other hand quickly moving out of sight. “What are you doing here?”

Time watched the smoke fade away. He fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. “I was worried about you. Are you… hurt?”

“No.”

“Hm,” Time answered noncommittally. His gaze darted to where Legend’s hand was hidden by his hip, then away. “Are you sure?”

Legend shrugged, then fidgeted. “I’m fine.”

“But are you hurt?”

“Fuck, Time, don’t make me say it.”

Time nearly hummed again. He realized he was struggling with what to say. The strange lack of confidence was its own brand of discomfort. “Does smoking that… help?”

Legend’s grimace was followed by a loud sigh. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?” He finally revealed his hand, revealed the smoldering end of a short blunt. He couldn’t quite meet Time’s eyes. 

“Does it help, though?” Time asked again, quieter this time. 

“It…” Legend sighed again, then ran his free hand through his hair. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy. “Yeah, it does. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that helps. Potions take away the worst of the pain, sometimes, but they don’t do much for the chronic stuff, and…” He chewed on his upper lip, cheeks pinkening in what Time could only assume was embarrassment. “Sometimes, it’s just too much. I can’t—I can’t deal with the pain every second of every day. I have to sleep.”

Time nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Legend asked, squinting disbelievingly. 

“What else should I say?”

Legend pursed his lips in thought. “I figured you’d be mad,” he muttered. “It’s not very ‘hero’-like.” 

Time snorted before he could help himself. “What isn’t? Doing what you can to get by after years of accumulated physical and emotional injury? Finding relief from the pain and insomnia you obtained from ‘destiny’?”

Shock made Legend appear younger than he was. He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, then hesitantly held up his blunt. “Do you… need a hit? Because you sound like you might need a hit.” 

Amusement curled through Time, short-lived and not a little wry. “No, but thanks.”

“Oh, alright,” Legend said. He raised the blunt to his lips, hesitated, then re-lit the end with a single snap of his fingers; one of his rings glowed, and a spark ignited from the bulbous end of a large ruby.

“Warriors knows, doesn’t he?” Time asked.

Legend nodded, holding his breath before blowing to the side. “Yeah. He and Twilight; can’t hide anything from those busybodies. Wars found me out right away, and Twilight told me he could smell it on me.”

“We’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t we?” Time murmured. 

Legend snorted. “Hardly. Seems like we’re discovering new things about each other nearly every damn week. No fuckin’ privacy around here.” He rolled the blunt between his fingers, watching it pensively. “And yet, maybe it’s for the best. Maybe we need to admit to a few things.”

A chill settled across Time’s skin, its weight only sharpened by the enormity of a lifetime of regrets. “Maybe.” Taking a slow, deep breath, he forced away the emotions that weren’t relevant just then. “Do you want to be alone? Until you’re done, I mean?”

“It’s not personal,” Legend assured him. “I just… it’s nice to have a moment.”

“I understand,” Time told him, and he  did. Sometimes, life felt easier when no one else was around to judge. It just worked out that way. “See you in a bit.” 

[cynical-marshmallow]

please someone write a modern AU domestic merthur fanfic based on taylor swift's sweet nothing, I beg of you (if no one does it then I WILL, and that is a threat).

[pedgito]

possible part 3 to don’t hang up today if i can actually focus for the next few hours

[alex-guerin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Characters: Alex Manes, Michael Guerin, Walt Sanders, Dallas Haines Additional Tags: 4x13 spoilers, Malex wedding, The vows we should have gotten to hear, I wanted the vows and the tears, Michael and Alex get married, How many more wedding fics are gonna get named this? Summary:

"Isobel asked me one time what I’d do sitting out at Foster’s Ranch all by myself at night, and I told her that I’d wait. That it was the last place I saw my family and that maybe one day they’d come back for me, take me home. At the time, I’d meant my biological family…but, I think deep down I’d actually meant you. See, Foster’s Ranch was the last place I saw you before you’d left for basic training, and I guess I’d always hoped I’d find you there again one day and that you’d take me home. And I did find you there again one day, but instead of taking me home, you kinda accused me of cooking meth.”

Alex pressed his lips together tightly as he ducked his head, giving it a slight shake. His shoulders shook as he hid his own laughter at the memory. Because nothing says love like accusing someone of cooking illegal drugs in their trailer, obviously.

[lab-trash]

So, I'm asexual (a grey-demi mix, I think?) And like... I can process conventional appealing appearances. But I cannot actually understand it.

I'm specifically bringing this up for 1 or 2 reasons (depending on how you look at it). 1, I've literally never had a celebrity crush. Like... I dont– how can you be attracted to someone you've never talked to? And that brings me to the second thing.

People simping over Chase, I can understand. But it doesn't stop me from being confused whenever I come across it. It's just like... he's a guy... he's like 5'6 or whatever. He's strong and flippy. Why are... like, what's the big deal?

Absolutely no hate to people who have fictional crushes or celebrity crushes, I just think it's funny; my perspective. Like, I just don't understand this perfectly normal thing. That's hilarious to me.