#sonic and his science experiments

[turbo-autism]

i proudly present to you: my autism nativity scene. my stack of spiky guys keeping me company at my computer desk. my 3 hedgehogs <3

[captain-krow-drozdov]

Movie!Shadow: Ok.

Game!Shadow: What Are You Doing?

Movie!Shadow: Talking To God?

Game!Shadow: Is He Telling You To Kill Everyone?

Movie!Shadow: Yeah

Game!Shadow: Oh That's Black Doom... *Loads Gun* Hello Father.

Black Doom: Hi Boys

[alephzdraws]

That Freak of Nature AU

I can imagine Sonic becoming increasingly exasperated trying to explain to Shadow how to function as close to a normal mobian as physically possible so that G.U.N. has a harder time discovering him and Shadow just goes "what's the point of all this? I don't get it. I hate this skin already, get it off me."

Like trying to remind him to blink so he doesn't stare deep into peoples' souls as much, and he does, but with a third eyelid so he doesn't lose sight (Immediately freaks Sonic out on the spot).

Or attempting to explain to him that he can't just morph his body around in public to get around the discomfort of existing in a form he doesn't like (if you're unaware, the Doom Morph in this AU is Shadow's true base form and he can shapeshift into a hedgehog. Pretty much the reverse of SxS Gens).

---

No, splitting your face open to scare away people you don't like isn't a good idea. You're trying to stay hidden from those guys who want to finish the job of killing you.

No Shadow, eating people is wrong, even if you're an alien. Yes, even if they're bad people like the ones who killed your favourite human.

Try not to make weapons out of your or my limbs unless you really need to protect yourself.

Please don't take over my body unless I need you to. I don't wanna have to "explain" that to the public, and it's kind of existentially terrifying for me to lose control (Don't tell anyone I said that).

I understand that your "quills" are technically your tentacles and kinda wanna move on their own, but you're sorta freaking out those people across the street.

I know it sucks walking around in the wrong form, but it's either that, you hang out in my body like a weird alien parasite, or G.U.N. takes you.

[thegreatyin]

update on my previous post; dived too deep. read way too much sonic lore. hey quick question is shadow the hedgehog like okay

[nausicaaandhermouth]

Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

mdni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived. 

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

[lv9su]

K. Bakugo x reader.

Reader has a quirk called chaos control. Your quirk and storyline is based off the character shadow from the sonic universe but ofc not the exact same.

PART 1, DESCRIPTION AND BACKGROUND UNTIL PRESENT TIME.

Y/n can teleport, fly, fire bolts of energy - chaos spears, and blast giant explosions - chaos blasts. Because of the strength of the quirk you also have enhanced speed, strength, stamina, durability and combat. When I say enhanced speed, I don’t mean it lightly either.

Y/e/c eyes turn red when you activate your chaos energy, so they glow red a lot of the time. And y/h/c hair has natural red highlights in them.

You have to wear limiter rings around your wrists and ankles to control the chaos energy, and your shoes were specifically built for you, air gliders.

For 50 years you were frozen in time. Too strong to kill but also to valuable.

This was before quirks were common, you were kept as a science experiment. And your only friend, another guy with a quirk, you never knew his real name, you were both given names there, he was named sonic. You were named shadow. You never forgot your real name, y/n, but he decided he didn’t want to have the name given to him by a family who didn’t want to fight for him.

His quirk was enhanced speed, you were fast but he was the fastest being in the world.

The were brothers who frequented at the lab too, you never knew why but the younger one - yoichi shigaraki and his older brother, his older brother only went by shigaraki, and they were related somehow to the doctor, you never knew if it was because they also had powers or because they wanted to work in the same field, but you never cared to ask.

Yoichi was nice to you and sonic, he took you out of experiments when he could, snuck you food, played music. He became someone you could trust.

One day, tests were being run on you and your built up energy caused an explosion in the lab, taking multiple lives, the military immediately shut it down, sonic was killed before you, just like everyone else.

For 50 years you were trapped in stasis. Every single day replaying the memory of your only friends being shot.

When you woke up, you fought every military guard who came at you and escaped the prison to the closest city. Meanwhile, in the new surroundings, cars crashed around you as you stood in the middle of the road taking in the city, being cooped up in the lab most of your life you never realised how bright cities were.. how different they looked to the movies you watched.

A group of ..heroes? Came to the area. They looked abround your age, 16/17 with two older guys, one with long black hair and a long scarf around his neck, the other with blonde hair sticking up like a bunny. But they were with the military, they wanted to put you away again. You began to hover above ground and your eyes glowed red,

“Who are you? Why are you destroying this city young lady?” The blonde bunny hair man shouted up, his extremely muscular arms now resting on his hips. The ones your age stood behind him.

“The ultimate life form.” You tilted your head, examining the people before you, their faces twist in shock hearing what you said.

“What does that mean?” The older man with black hair asked.

One had green hair and a green costume, one with spiky blonde hair and a black and orange costume, one girl with pink skin, and one boy with yellow hair and a black lighting strike through it.

“Your a colourful bunch.” You glare down at them.

“..you don’t know who we are?” The pink one cocked her head.

“Your just wasting my time. Walk away, before you get hurt.” You clenched your fists, feeling your energy begin to build up.

“Easy there young lady! We don’t want to fight you.” This man raised his arms, seeing how you were just a kid, you didn’t know where you were or who anyone was, you just had a lot of ..anger.

“Yeah speak for yourself.” The spiky blonde one grumbled,

“Not now young bakugo.” He whispered.

“Why don’t you stop throwing cars for a second and come down to talk.” The man with long black hair shouted up,

“You all came here to hand me back to the same people who trapped me. There’s nothing to talk about.” You turned around,

“I’ve had enough of this angsty bullshit. How about we talk with our fists.” The boy referred to as ‘bakugo’ leaped up using explosions, his companions shouting for him to stop..

You teleported in front of him, grabbed the hand he’d brought forward to attack and twisted it. He practically growled, then, while still in the air you teleported everywhere around him punching and kicking him about before blasting him to the ground, you threw him so hard the ground broke when he collided with it.

“No way..” the green one muttered,

“Looks like bakugos met his match.” The yellow one with the black stripe added with wide eyes,

“She’s kinda cool” the pink one whispered, so the pros wouldn’t her her.

The green one and the teacher with long hair ran to him, clearly beaten.

You hovered in the air for a moment before blipping to the ground.

“Who is this girl..” the green one muttered again,

“Hey, you can’t take us all at once.” The yellow one smirked, charging lighting around his arms.

Soon enough him, the pink girl and the buff man were all in the ground the same way ‘bakugo’ was.

“Okay she took us all at once.” He spoke almost slurring and fell back down.

Beginning to hover again you look behind you “don’t try to follow me.”

—

Hours later back at UA, the pro heroes were having a conference.

You were a threat to Japan yet no one knew who you were, what your motive was and you were confused about everything around you.

“With her powers of teleportation, her speed, and those blasts.. she seems to be invincible. We need to get her on our side and make her realise all for one is lying to her.” All might says at a conference.

“That could be used for good. This is the first we’ve ever heard of her, yet we don’t even know her name.” Midnight mumbled.

“I’ll try to see if I can find anything out about her tonight and I’ll report back tomorrow.” Aizawa mumbled,

—

“You should have seen the way she handled bakugo, all might, Mina and Kaminari… it was like they meant nothing to her. It was insane.” Izuku rambled to the others in his class.

“What did she look like?” Ochako asked,

“She had y/h/c hair but with red streaks here and there, and whenever she used her quirk her eyes went red. It was strange. But she was really pretty.. and looked about the same age as us so I don’t know how she ended up the was she did. But she didn’t even know all might..” he rambled on again,

“Wait what do you mean she didn’t know all might? Everyone in the world does, has she been like ..living under a rock or something?” Sero asked,

“She didn’t know any of us. She didn’t recognise the city, nothing. But she hits hard that’s for sure.. I felt kinda bad though, she was dark and broody ..it was sad.” Mina pouted.

You were the talk of Japan. But nobody knew who you were. Except for AFO. Now he could use this to his advantage, and only the wielded of one for all could tell the truth about yoishi, and who really started the attack.

—

[son1c]

a boscage sonic to go along with my boscage shadow

they exist in the same altered universe, where the overgrown plant life is the result of a science experiment catastrophe. and hey, ““eggman”” is here too! not everyone was able to board the ark and escape the planet way back when, so he’s been helping the remnants of civilization survive down on good ol’ terrafirma.

windthrow acts as an “assistant” of sorts, although he’d never consider himself as such. if his tall, mushroom-headed friend asks for something from the forest, he’ll run out and get it. simple as that.

sometimes he asks for really weird stuff though. and he spends a lot of time in that back room of his, working on... something. but i’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. right?

[ghostlyvoidbones]

Sonadow Lovebug AU - Pt. 1

a/n: This entire series is complete impulsive crack and I expect no one to take it seriously. That being said, not me actually putting effort into writing it ;O-O. (Art is mine).

summary: Your average Sonic and Shadow interaction, with guest star mosquito (Courtesy of Eggman Enterprises).

contains: Drugging? (I think I can classify it as drugging). Minor fighting. Hedgehogs being stupid.

wc: 2K

He’d done it.

One of the greatest feats of science, a true force to be reckoned with. A project that only took a few weeks to complete and, not to brag, he’d only started experimenting with chemicals and serums a month ago. Really, Dr. Eggman was a tried and true genius.

Weeks of effort culminated into a singular robot that was small, compact, and yet oh-so effective. He called it; The Death BugTM.

After extensive research and testing, he settled on a mosquito design. It was perfect for what he was trying to accomplish. Inconspicuous and unexpected.

Although its true danger lay hidden inside. Its proboscis was a reinforced, steel needle that acted as a syringe to inject the contents of its abdomen into its unsuspecting victim. Which, thanks to the doctor’s brilliance, was programmed to target a specific blue rat running around.

At first he wasn’t quite sure how this would work out, considering it started off as more of a vague idea than a solid plan. However, that changed quickly once he got to work. Suffice it to say, this particular concoction was going to be a treat, and it would take nothing more than a little prick.

What does it do? Well, in short: it forces the target to become overly focused on the task they’re doing at the time of injection. So focused, in fact, that they become physically incapable of stopping themselves from working on that task. So focused they wouldn’t even stop the task to… oh let’s say…. Defend themselves from an oncoming attack.

Dr. Eggman cackled, slapping his workbench as he reveled in pre-victory. All he needed now was to catch Sonic doing something debilitating like napping, then the hero’s defeat would be absolutely guaranteed. Eggman wouldn’t even need a robot army as backup since there wouldn’t even really be a threat for them to fend off.

As a matter of fact, he thought to do just that. Wait for the alert that the serum had been injected, show up with two or three badniks, and finally wipe that nuisance out of his life once and for all.

And it was with this eager confidence that he sent his little terror mosquito out into the world to track down its target.

****

Sonic zipped through the trees of Green Hills, shoes picking up traction as he went until he was little more than a blue blip against the foliage.

It was late in the afternoon, the sun burning bright overhead in the cloudless sky. He’d just finished helping Amy out with a few of her errands and decided to go for a long run to relax. After all, it was when he went fast enough that the wind whipped past him, shifting from white noise to pure silence, did Sonic feel the most liberated.

He sped by an open clearing, a flicker of black and red catching his eye.

The scuffed soles of his shoes dug into the earth as he ground to a halt. He’d overshot by just a few inches so he had to jog back a bit to get to where he saw the familiar figure. And as he shuffled through knee high grass, the figure became more clear and defined from where it was crouched slightly out of view.

“Shadow?”

The dark hedgehog in question shifted, an audible grumble of displeasure slipping out of him.

“Hello, Sonic,” Shadow responded flatly, not even bothering to turn and face him. The low timbre and roughness of his voice only made the words come off as more irritated, something that Sonic either didn’t not notice or completely ignored altogether.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you today! What are you up to?” Sonic tilted to the side, leaning over to try and take a peek over Shadow’s shoulder.

“None of your business.” Shadow rumbled, tying off a small bag before tucking it away into his quills. Sonic opened his mouth to respond, only to stumble backward when Shadow stood up so quickly they almost collided.

“Aw c’mon, don’t be like that Shads.” Sonic steadied himself, taking a large step to the side in an attempt to meet Shadow’s eyes. “Hey, listen! I was just going on my afternoon run, but whaddya say we make a race of it?”

“I don’t have time for your games, hedgehog.” Shadow pushed past him.

“What, scared you’ll lose? I mean I guess that’s fine with me. Even if we did race, I know I’d outrun you any day.” The grin blooming across the hero’s face widened when he saw Shadow freeze.

Shadow’s head slowly turned to face him, that telltale frown on his muzzle accompanied by a searing glint in his crimson eyes. Sonic had to physically hold back the chuckle bubbling up his throat.

“I see your ego has gotten bigger.” A flash of teeth that bordered between a smirk and a sneer. “Maybe I should knock it down a peg.”

Got ‘em.

“Heh.” Sonic swiped a thumb across his nose. “Challenge accepted.”

And just like that the two were tearing off through the woods. No more pleasantries or witty banter needed. 

They were streaks of color across the grass, matching each other’s pace as one tried futility to pull ahead of the other in an endless loop.

It wasn’t often that they raced. Mostly because they never met up outside of fights or accidental run-ins. Or really, it was Shadow who didn’t do the meeting up. Sonic definitely offered a few times in the past and was swiftly turned down each time, not that it stopped him from inviting the agent regardless of his displeasure.

So when rare times like this came up, it was admittedly not too bad of an experience for either one of them. Shadow, for one, didn’t mind the challenge and quietly considered it a good exercise if not an outlet for the stress of his day to day life. Sonic just liked having someone who could keep up with him and push him to go faster than he usually let himself go.

And like every race they’d had before, it was over in minutes. And like about eighty five percent of those races, this one ended in a tie.

Their finish line was at the top of one of the low rising hills. Upon reaching it, Sonic dropped into the grass and splayed out on his back to bask in the warm light of the sun. Next to him, Shadow looked out over the island with his arms crossed and a neutral expression on his face.

“One more round.” The smile shone clear through Sonic’s voice and Shadow rolled his eyes, shaking his head loosely.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being such a nuisance?” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of being so grumpy?”

As if sensing the incoming retaliation, Sonic rolled over onto his stomach just in time to avoid a swift kick to where his shoulder had just been. The blue hedgehog only laughed at the rocket shoes planted inches away from his face and the irritated huff from the hedgehog that owned them.

Although the laughter was swiftly cut off at the sound of a sharp hiss from above him, followed by a loud smack. Sonic looked up to see Shadow pull his hand away from his shin, bringing it up to his face with a furrowed brow.

“What was that?” 

“A mosquito.” Shadow answered before flicking the presumed mosquito off his glove and into the grass.

“I didn’t know the ‘ultimate lifeform’ could feel something as small as an itty bitty bug bite.” 

Sonic’s teasing was promptly ignored in favor of a small device that Shadow pulled out of his quills, tapping away at the screen with intense focus. He puts it back almost immediately, turning his gaze to some point on the horizon. Not able to see just what it was the other hedgehog was looking at, Sonic shrugged and decided on revisiting his previous comment.

“So about that second race-”

“I’ve wasted enough time with your nonsense. I have things to do.” Shadow cut him off, not sparing him a single glance. “Important things.”

“Suit yourself.” Sonic stretched out in the grass before sitting up. “Another day then?”

“You never-” The words stopped abruptly, making Sonic glance over at Shadow. Shadow stared hard into the grass, looking but not really seeing, as he brought a hand up to cradle the side of his head. His entire body seemed to sway as if it were off balance.

Sonic gets back onto his feet, mildly alarmed at the sudden change in his demeanor.

“Uh, Shadow?” Everything alright there?” He asked, taking a careful step forward. Shadow’s teeth were gritted, almost bared, a twist of pain lingering there that wasn’t common for the dark hedgehog. 

Getting no response from Shadow, Sonic moved closer, brows drawn tight in concern. Sonic waved a hand in front of his face, hovering his free hand over Shadow’s back, not quite touching but still present in case it looked like he was about to fall.

“Helloooo… Mobius to Shadow….”

He didn’t know what part of that ended up getting Shadow’s attention, but something had to have worked as Shadow blinked a few times and slowly came back to himself. Still observing his reactions, Sonic lowered his arms and moved out of Shadow’s space.

“Are you back with us now?” Sonic tried again, momentarily startled when Shadows eyes shot up to meet his and just… stayed there… for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

“Hm.”

“Are you ok? What just happened? You went all spacy for a second.” A beat of silent staring. “You still look a little out of it.”

“A dizzy spell.” Shadow finally straightened up, regaining his composure as if nothing happened. “I must be lower on chaos energy than I’d previously thought.”

“Low on chaos energy? I’m guessing that’s for one of your ‘top secret’ G.U.N missions?” Sonic puts air quotes around top secret that earned him an unamused expression for his efforts.

Although with no vocal response, or a shove for being too close, or really anything that was decidedly a normal Shadow thing to do, Sonic kept talking while keeping a wary eye on him.

“Well I guess I’ll let you go then. We wouldn’t want you crashing into a tree or landing in a lake somewhere by accident. See you ‘round, Shads!”

Plastering on his signature grin, Sonic gave him a two fingered salute before posing to set off back into his run. Though he paused when a hand suddenly hooked around his forearm.

Easing back into a normal stance, Sonic tilted his head at Shadow who hadn’t stopped staring at him since he’d come back to.

“You, uh, you need something?”

“Where are you going?”

Sonic blinked. It was worded as a question but it surely didn’t sound like one. The tone of voice, pointed and deep, came off almost as accusatory. Sonic glanced down at the hand around his arm before looking back up at Shadow.

“To finish my run? I’ll probably head home after that though.”

Shadow glared at him for a moment before his eyes trailed down to where his fingers were looped around Sonic’s forearm. He lingered there for a second, tightening his grip, before shaking his head hard and ripping his arm away like he’d just been burned. 

Taking a step back out of Sonic’s space, Shadow eventually pulled his gaze away.

“Right… right.” The dark hedgehog’s face pinched, like the words he was trying to spit out took more effort than they should to get out.

Sonic nearly flinched when Shadow snapped his gaze up to meet his once more. Crimson eyes darted across his face for what felt like a minute too long, before Shadow vanished without another word. The sudden use of chaos control left a faint buzz of chaos energy in the air that made Sonic’s skin tingle beneath his fur.

“What was that about?” Sonic mumbled to himself, staring at the spot where Shadow had just been standing.

He wasn’t given much time to dwell on it, however, when a mechanical whirring caught his attention. The noise steadily grew louder until it was joined by the soft rustling of bushes. Then came the all too familiar maniacal laughter.

“Hello, you blue pest! Feeling distracted today?” Dr. Eggman spoke, lips curling up in a grin, looking like the cat who caught the canary.

Rolling out of the bushes were a few badniks. A significantly smaller amount than what the evil genius usually brought along to these little battles. Sonic paid it no mind. In the end, he always destroyed them all anyways.

“Not too distracted to kick your butt, egg face!”

Dr. Eggman’s grin immediately slipped away.

“What the-” Sonic spin dashed directly into the egg mobile, cutting off the doctor’s confusion to send him spiraling into the air.

 In the same breath, the hero smashed each one of the badniks with ease. It took no time at all and with one last satisfying ‘crunch’, Sonic landed on his feet, patting the dust off of his gloves. 

“Seems like you’re the distracted one here. Are you finally giving up?”

“What- that- you-” The evil genius sputtered, leaning out over his floating carriage to scan the damage done to his robots down below. His hands gripped the metal ledge and his goggled gaze cut over to the blue hedgehog, a scowl fixed on his face. “You! Why aren’t you intensely distracted by something stupid and mundane?!”

Sonic cocked a brow at the fuming scientist. “Yeaaah… that’s not really my MO. I thought you would’ve known that by now.”

“NO! The serum, it- you were supposed to-”

Dr. Eggman released a fierce howl of frustration that had Sonic jolting in surprise. He’d upset the man multiple times in the past, what with foiling his schemes all the time and all that, but this felt different. And admittedly a strange reaction for a casual battle where Eggman had come to attack with basically nothing prepared.

The man stabbed a finger down at the hedgehog, leaning so far forward the Eggmobile tilted dangerously in the air. 

“This isn’t over hedgehog!”

And with that, he swiveled around and hovered away. Sonic watched from his spot on the ground, arms crossed and foot tapping speedy patterns against the dirt.

“Jeez. What is with everybody today?”

<< Master Post / NEXT >>

[silverequation]

Silver has a very topsy turvy time in Sonic 06. First he has to kill lava Satan over and over again to try and save the world then he has to go back in time and kill some blue dude to try and save the world, then some pink girl he spent a day with challenges his world view on love and the world then he decides to go back to assassinating the blue guy only for someone that looks exactly like the guy that told him to kill the blue dude to get in the way, kick him in the head and then take him back another 10 years in the past where he learns that lava satan and the guy that sent him back in first place are actually two halves of a sun god that was torn apart by a science experiment so he has to seal lava satan inside a princess before returning to the future and deciding to seal lava Satan inside himself to save the future but he’s not compatible with lava Satan so his friend has to do it instead and she puts herself in another dimension and pretty much dies in front of him

Every time Silver makes progress on his mission it turns into a different mission

[triple-starsss]

idk if you've answered this before but what does everyone study in college? in my head tails majors in aerospace engineering :)

making me wrack my brain for college courses LMAO. thing is since i live in the UK, people here start college at 16 and its manditory.

BUT I THINK I WANT TO VEER TOWARDS THE US SYSTEM? FOR THE AU. so they'd start at like 18/19 and they'd be able to skip it entirely if they really wanted to.

this goes on for a while so erghghgf

not gonna go into specific courses since i'd be here forever but.. I THINK

Sonic didn't go to college, i genuinely do not know what career path he'd choose so he sort of just decided aaghh fuck it i'll take whatever job i can. I feel like whilst he values education, he'd much rather learn from experience than sit in a classroom for hours on end.

Shadow didn't attend college either but thats because he's homeschooled!! majority of his studies were more veered towards science n medicine. so something within those fields.

SILVER!! HE DID ATTEND!! n this guy did want to pursue music for a career so he went with that!! At first he thought he'd never actually. be able to put what he learnt to use since he'd been working at Vanilla's Bakery for so long and didn't really see it as an option anymore but then BAM Ivo jumpscare.

Tails..the one guy who is actually going to college,, YEAH HE'D DO SOMETHING WITHIN ENGINEERING!

OKAY YK WHAT GONNA SPEED THROUGH THE REST.

Blaze - business, do you guys see a pattern here with the canon royalty owning businesses LMAO

Amy - probably switched courses like multiples times but i think she'd pursue something within psychology, sociology or culinary arts!!

Vector - economics, my guy is stuck in student debt forever

Espio - something in my gut is telling me he'd do anthropology and i dont know why

Knuckles - didn't attend, busy working his ass off on the farm

Rouge - business/management!! didn't end up doing anything with it though (UNTIL WAY LATER MAYBE, wouldn't be rouge if she didn't own a club eventually pfft)

Metal - don't think he'd go to college

Infinite - went but didn't do shit LMAO. don't know what he'd do but i dont think he does either.

Mephiles - another bitch in psychology (went to college to learn how to become a master manipulator LMAO)

Jet - he didn't go

[sonics-schoolhouse]

Meet the Sonic Schoolhouse staff!

You can always find this post with #staff!

🔹Mr. Sonic is the School Principal, as well as the math and literature teacher! He does pretty much all the planning for the Schoolhouse.🔹

🔸Mr Tails is the science and biology teacher here! Who let the 8 year old become a teacher?🔸

🩷Ms. Rose is the History and Spanish teacher here! She’ll do her best to make learning fun!🩷

♦️Mr. Shadow is the School Counselor! He also teaches Mental Health! He has a lot of personal experience in his field!♦️

[susahnasomething]

FLETCHER PROPAGANDA

Fletcher the Fox is one of the many test tube babies in my Au. He is the first and only kid of Tails and Kitsunami, who love him very much. When Fletcher was young they would tell him stories about they're adventures, but the only thing that seemed to get Fletcher's attention and could put him to sleep was when one of them spouted about science. Which is what started Fletcher's want to know everything about, well, everything. He has done tons of research of his own, including eating a bug (it was for scientific discovery DAD!) how high can Brutus throw him (the broken bones is important to the research!) How much damage Brutus can take (Dad wont let me do this) where do babies come from (from Tubes obviously) and does eating the same bug result in the same outcome (it does) Fletcher is currently travelling with his Friends, Brutus the Hedgehog and Hectic the Tenrec, in they're own little team called "Team Edge". Travelling with his friends (and lowkey experimenting on them) is his favourite thing (is enrichment for him)

@sonic-fankid-showdown

[angelkitty54]

Sonic Prime AU time! (coz this has been everywhere in the last month or so.) Basically just some ideas I had for shatterverse versions of Sonic and Shadow, set after the end of the series.

New Yoke City: Based on the idea in SA2 where it's kinda implied Sonic was also made on the Ark like Shadow (which is never brought up again). Basically Nine stumbles across a pod that contains the New Yoke version of Sonic (Spirit) and excitedly wakes him up. However he quickly finds that this is not the Sonic he met before; Spirit has never been out of his bio-tank thingy before, he is basically a newborn in a full grown body, with the mentality of a newborn too. Spirit is a wide-eyed innocent child, sweet, kind and trusting, a stark contrast to the world around him and the people in it. Nine is having a hard time adjusting, especially since Spirit's keeps chewing on all his power cables. He is also constantly being accused of having cloned Sonic. Which he totally did not! He found this Sonic fair and square thank you very much!

Meanwhile, having lost their power source, the Chaos Council has lost a lot of ground to the resistance. In searching for new power sources and weapons, they discover Project Umbra (three guess who this is). Umbra leans a little more into his alien side than Shadow does, he is also less of an angsty teen and more of a scared, grieving child lashing out at a world that hurt him. He agrees to work for the council only due to the distant family connection, but he doesn't particularly like them or care about their goals. He just wants to see the world burn. Of course, things change when he finds out his baby brother survives the raid on the Ark. Tho he is not particularly happy about this strange fox hanging around, acting all buddy buddy with Umbra's brother. Ugh, the nerve of that guy!

Boscage Maze: Got inspiration from movies like Nausicaa and Origin: Spirits of the Past. So the instead of the prism, the massive jungle was actually caused by a bio-experiment gone wrong which set off an apocalypse. There are effectively three groups of survivors, those that escaped into space (mainly GUN people), those that survived on the surface (whose descendants became groups like the scavengers) that live more or less in harmony with the jungle, and those that made it into underground shelters and were put into stasis chambers where they have slept for several hundred years. The latter two group are often at odds with each other, one wanting their old world back, the other wanting the jungle to stay as is. Dr Nightshade Robotnik and his assistant, Sunny, are among the stasis group.

In this universe Gerald went down the road of cybernetics as well as genetic engineering when creating his Ultimate Lifeform, Nightshade. Their Maria got to live her life to it's fullest, becoming a scientist like her grandfather. Nightshade also dedicated his life to science, wanting to follow Maria's dreams of making the world a better place, even after she passed away. Sunny benefited from their research, as it's thanks to their work into cybernetics that he is able to walk (and run) again. Upon waking in the post-apocalyptic world, Dr Nightshade has made it his mission to find out what caused the plants to grow out of control and hopefully reverse the effects. Sunny, someone who sees the benefits of both the old and new world, hopes that he can help the good Doctor find balance between the natural and mechanized worlds. Meanwhile GUN is up to something rather suspicious up there in space...

No Place Sea: Yay pirate AU!! Honestly didn't have a lot of ideas beyond just pirates tho... Shadow is Captain Blackheart and is like super duper cursed. He is captain of a ghost ship, whose crew is also super cursed and/or undead. All save a single member, his navigator Tempest (Sonic), who is immune to the effects curses due to him being half siren. Tempest does not speak much as his voice is imbued with the charming power of a siren, which he lacks much control over. He has a knack for reading the winds and currents making him an ideal navigator in treacherous waters. He is both drawn to and fears the water, as something in those dark depths keeps calling to him, eager to drag him down down down into darkness... However he can't bring himself to stay away despite the danger, and luckily whatever is hunting him seems to steer clear of the ghost ship. In exchange for shelter aboard his ship, Tempest is helping Blackheart track down and decode ancient sea charts that will lead them to a great treasure he's been hunting. One said to be able to grant wishes: the chaos emeralds!

[randomthefox]

I need to emphasize again that changing stuff from the plot of SA2 is not THE REASON Sonic 3 is bad. They changed the backstory of the Master Emerald and that whole idea of the owls vs echidnas war in Sonic 2, and that's different from the games and I liked that. They gave Maria skates, and that's different from the games and I liked that. Longclaw isn't in the games, and I like her. (You might notice a pattern that all of these examples are things that have less than four minutes of total collective screentime in any given movie).

The problem is NOT that things were changed, it's that they were changed WITH NO CONSIDERATION OF THE CONSEQUENCES FOR MAKING THAT CHANGE. The changes CREATE PLOT HOLES.

Like, why the fuck is Maria even at the secret military base AT ALL? In the GAMES it MADE SENSE why she was on the ARK, because she had a terminal illness and Gerald's research was devoted to curing her illness. There was a REASON she was there. In the movie, there is no reason. She's just there because she is. The lack of Maria having an illness in the movie now removes the reason for Maria's presence in Gerald's research lab environment. The change creates a question for which the movie has no answer. This change isn't bad because it's different, it's bad because it makes the story worse.

Shadow being the Venom Symbiote from Spider-Man 3 is a change from the games that COULD HAVE WORKED. The way it's done in the movie is that it's obviously a Black Arms meteorite. He could have been sent as some kind of advanced scout or herald for a Black Arms invasion, but he got amnesia or something. This is a change that COULD have made sense for the universe of the movies.

The problem is the movie doesn't actually DO ANYTHING with this change. Shadow is just Venom for no reason. The trappings of the story of him being a science experiment actually don't make any sense now, because WHY IS SHADOW COMPLYING WITH BEING RESEARCHED ON BY THE LAB SCIENTISTS? If they aren't treating him particularly well and they're all afraid of him and he very clearly doesn't like that, then why doesn't he just LEAVE? What could they POSSIBLY do to stop him? He EFFORTLESSLY walks through everything GUN throws at him in 2024 including casually tossing giant armored trucks around, what the fuck is GUN of 1974 going to do?

To say nothing of how the entire thematic importance of Shadow and Maria's relationship is stripped away and replaced with NOTHING. In the games Shadow was literally created FOR Maria's benefit. She is his reason for existing. The movie removes that, and just makes it that they happen to have been friends for a few months maximum. Because Maria just happened to be living in the secret military base for no reason. Contrivance after contrivance.

Shadow is GENOCIDALLY angry because oh no his friend that he knew for a little while died, and she was the only person in the base which he was not confined in in any way who treated him nicely even though he had unrestricted capacity to just fucking leave if he wanted to. Like, yeah sure, it's sad that Maria died in the movie. But is it sad enough for Shadow to want to KILL EVERY SINGLE PERSON ON THE PLANET EARTH AND ALSO HIMSELF? I DON'T THINK IT FUCKING IS. In the GAMES it would be, because Maria was LITERALLY his entire reason and purpose in existence. But in the movies she's not. So like. I don't really care as much.

Do you see what I mean? The changes have a compound effect on the nature of the characters, story, and audience response. It isn't that things were changed, period end of discussion. The problem is they were changed FOR NO REASON, and without any THOUGHT into what they should be changed TO.

Let me put this as simply as I can: the movie is bad for making changes from the games BECAUSE THE CHANGES MAKE THE MOVIE WORSE. NOT because they are different. They can be different and still be just as good, or even better than the way things were in the games theoretically. But instead the changes are WORSE.

[owen-writes]

Son Of The Doctor

11th Doctor x Son Reader

The Reader is the son of River Song and The Doctor. Which also makes the reader a Time Lord.

As a young Time Lord growing up in the TARDIS, your first memory is the mesmerizing hum of the time rotor and the Doctor's warm smile as he introduces you to the wonders of time and space.

River Song, your mother, often regales you with thrilling tales of her adventures with the Doctor, creating a sense of excitement and mystery about your own future.

Your childhood is a kaleidoscope of adventures across different eras and planets, learning about history, science, and cultures firsthand from your time-traveling parents.

The TARDIS becomes your playground, and you spend hours exploring its vast corridors, discovering hidden rooms, and playing games with the Doctor and River.

The Doctor teaches you Gallifreyan, sharing the rich cultural heritage of the Time Lords and instilling a deep sense of pride in your heritage.

River, with her archaeologist expertise, guides you through the complexities of the Vortex Manipulator and the intricacies of time travel, making you adept at navigating time and space.

Your bedtime stories are a unique blend of historical events and fictional tales woven by the Doctor, turning each night into an enchanting journey through time.

Growing up, you witness the Doctor's unwavering commitment to saving civilizations, fostering a strong sense of compassion and justice within you.

The TARDIS is not only your home but also a sentient companion. You share a unique bond with it, and it often responds to your presence with soothing hums and gentle vibrations.

The Doctor, in his whimsical way, introduces you to various alien species, and you forge unlikely friendships with beings from distant galaxies.

Your teenage years are marked by rebellious adventures, where the Doctor reluctantly allows you to take the reins of the TARDIS under his watchful eye.

River Song's guidance on wielding a sonic screwdriver becomes a rite of passage, and soon, you're effortlessly using it to solve problems and save the day.

Time travel has its challenges, and you experience moments of loneliness as you watch friends age while you remain young. The Doctor, understanding this burden, becomes a pillar of support.

The TARDIS is equipped with a library spanning all of time and space, allowing you to indulge in literature and knowledge from countless civilizations.

The Doctor encourages your curiosity, and together, you embark on quests to uncover ancient mysteries, blending archaeology with time travel.

As you reach adulthood, the Doctor proudly declares you a Time Lord, acknowledging your growth and maturity as a guardian of time.

You develop a keen sense of responsibility to protect the timelines, ensuring that history unfolds as it should while embracing the fluidity of time.

River Song, despite her occasional mysterious disappearances, is a constant presence in your life, leaving enigmatic messages that often lead to thrilling adventures.

The TARDIS's telepathic circuits allow you to communicate with the Doctor and River across time, strengthening the bond of your unconventional family.

Your love for exploration extends beyond the confines of the TARDIS, and you occasionally venture into the universe alone, carrying the legacy of the Doctor and River.

The Doctor shares stories of past companions, creating a tapestry of friendships and experiences that shape your understanding of the impact one can have on the universe.

Despite the challenges of time travel, you witness the beauty of fleeting moments, cherishing the ephemeral nature of existence.

The TARDIS console room becomes a place of reflection, where you ponder the mysteries of time and space, contemplating your role in the vast cosmic tapestry.

The Doctor's face lights up with pride as you use your knowledge of temporal mechanics to solve complex problems, proving that you've truly embraced your Time Lord heritage.

River Song's journal, filled with notes and observations, becomes a cherished family heirloom, connecting you to the adventures and wisdom of your parents.

Your romantic relationship with the Doctor deepens over the years, the bond strengthened by shared experiences and a mutual understanding of the complexities of time.

Together, you and the Doctor face adversaries that challenge your resolve, but your unity prevails, illustrating the resilience of love across time and space.

The TARDIS evolves with your presence, adapting to your preferences and desires, making it a true home that transcends the limitations of conventional living spaces.

As you stand on the threshold of eternity, the Doctor imparts the final lesson: the true power of a Time Lord lies not in manipulation of time but in the ability to bring positive change to the universe.

With a heart full of gratitude and a TARDIS that echoes with the laughter of countless adventures, you continue your journey through time, eternally connected to the Doctor and River Song, a living testament to the enduring legacy of the Time Lords.

[velveteen-vampire]

i think shadow the hedgehog is nonbinary in the way he was made as some sexless science experiment but everyone on the ark just defaulted to referring to him as a boy in typical "the default is male" fashion and bc its the 50s he learns like rudimentary gender roles from maria (little girl who wouldnt know better anyway) and then he wakes up 50 years later and encounters sonic and his transgender as fuck circle of friends hes like WHAT THATS ALLOWED